Viper

8

New York City Shiny's restaurant was famous for its truffle-flavoured sturgeon and Kumamoto oyster and quail egg shooters. And those were the main reasons Jack had picked it for his rendezvous with Luciano Creed. His restaurant-owning wife had given him strict instructions to sample as much as possible and come away with both lunch and dinner menus. 'Steal them if you have to!' she joked as she kissed him goodbye. 'And if you can get tips from the chef on how he makes the shooters, then tonight I'll put a smile on your face wider than the Hudson.'

It was smack on one o'clock when Creed walked through the door. He stamped snow on the doormat. Jack – always early for meetings – sipped still water without ice and watched him squint around the room before spotting him.

'Hi, I didn't see you at first,' said Creed enthusiastically, as he settled into a chair and put a plastic folder on the tabletop.

'Buon giorno, come stai?' said Jack amiably, noticing Creed wasn't only wearing exactly the same clothes as the day before, but he smelled as though he'd been in them for the past year.

'Aah, parli Italiano?'

Jack laughed and raised a defensive hand. 'I understand quite a lot, but I'm not so hot on the chat. All those irregular verbs and rule exceptions, they finally saw off my patience.'

'So you don't help out in your wife's restaurant – in San Quirico, isn't it?'

Jack's warmness faded. It was no secret that the former FBI man and his family had taken on the restaur ant, but it certainly wasn't a big or famous hotel, so Creed must have been doing personal research. 'Yes, it is. But how do you know about it?'

'Like I said yesterday, I have come to New York to see you at the conference, and for you to look at this case.' He tapped the plastic document folder in front of him. 'So I do my research on you. I use Google, and I look at your website. And I see lots about you, then I use the MSN and the Yahoo and the Lycos and -'

'I get the picture,' said Jack, growing bored. 'Shall we look at the menu and order?'

'I take the spicy crab as an appetizer and the robata – the skewered meat – they recommend that as a house speciality.'

'You Googled this restaurant too?'

'Yes. I didn't want to waste time looking at a menu. You said you would give me one more hour of your time, and now…' Creed glanced at his watch, 'we have only fifty-seven minutes left and I want to make every second count.'

Jack motioned to Creed's document file. 'Then let's get going.'

'Si.' The young Italian quickly produced papers and passed them across the table. 'I made copies in the hotel. You have a map of the area in Naples marked with all the places the girls lived. And you can see also the times when they were seen.'

Jack looked at the papers and saw dates for the first time. It made his blood boil. Creed had been holding back on him. 'Luciano, I now understand why your cops in Naples aren't giving you house room. These disappearances are all cold cases. In fact, they're so damn cold they're deep-frozen. They go back, what, five, maybe six years?'

Creed was unflustered. 'Yes, some more than six. From memory, the first disappearance was a little over eight years ago. But why is this important? A murder is still a murder, no matter when it happened.'

Jack was exasperated. 'Can you prove that even one of these women has been killed? Were any homicide investigations launched at the time of any of the disappearances?'

Creed remained unfazed. He shook his head, then dug in his file and produced more paperwork. 'Victimology,' he announced. 'Please listen to me and then tell me this is only coincidence.' He handed over another sheet of paper and counted off his points on outstretched fingers: 'All of the women had long hair, lived within twenty kilometres of each other, probably went to the same clubs and bars in Naples.' Creed stopped to make sure Jack was following him. 'As I said to you yesterday, Mr King, none of them packed clothes, none withdrew money, none told any friends they were running away and none seemed to have anything to run away from.'

Jack softened. 'And the police haven't investigated this? I don't believe that.'

'Separately, yes,' said Creed, 'but not as one single case. Not with the thought that one person might have abducted and killed them.'

There were lots of details still missing. 'I imagine many young women run away from Naples. No doubt the prettier ones run furthest and have more chance of staying away. No disrespect, but I'm told Naples is not exactly the nicest place in Italy.'

Creed shrugged. 'In Naples there are no jobs. Many people live in what you call slums. Their homes are likely to be broken into, their cars stolen. And the Camorra kills many people every month. What sane young woman would not want to grow wings and fly from this city?'

'Indeed. That's exactly my point.'

'But, Mr King, this pattern that I have shown you, this does not happen all the time. These kind of women don't just vanish in this way.'

As food came and went Jack gave him room to build his case. 'You mentioned the Camorra – you think the mob is involved in this?'

Creed huffed out a laugh. 'They are involved in everything. They run Naples. They control everything from the milk you drink to the rubbish you toss away. Do you know anything about them?'

Jack didn't show his offence. 'It's some time since general crime intel reports fell on my desk but I know about them.'

'Without the Camorra, Naples and Campania would fall apart. They're not just a crime organization, they're a social welfare network. They're the brains and wallet of most businesses. That's why we don't talk about the Camorra, we talk about the System. Where I was brought up, you had more chance of getting a job from the System than from the state. For every member of the Cosa Nostra in Italy there are now half a dozen Camorristi. They are everywhere. Everyone is somehow connected. And they want to be connected. If you're part of the System you don't worry about jobs, paying the rent, feeding your family. You're made for life. The man who killed these women may be in the System, he may not. The point is, he's a killer and he's still free.'

Thoughts clicked into place in Jack's mind, a confusing Rubik's cube of criminal puzzles. Were the women just missing, or were they dead? Was this so-called System responsible for their disappearances, or just a backdrop to everything? Was Luciano Creed really what he seemed, or maybe something even more unpleasant?

Jack picked up the bill from a white china plate. As the waitress slotted his credit card into a reader, he noticed Creed openly checking her out, his stare so intense it almost sucked sweat from her skin.

Hunter's eyes. Cold and hungry, no softness, not even a flicker of warmth.

The machine buzzed. Jack signed. The waitress smiled and thanked him for the tip. As she walked away, Creed swung round in his chair and drank in the last of her before she disappeared into the kitchen.

'Some women might think that rude,' said Jack, unable to let it pass.

'There is no harm in me looking.' Creed grinned a yellow smile. 'And no shame in it. We all think about fucking; it is our basic instinct to find a mate and breed. I don't believe it is healthy to deny it.'

Jack sipped at his San Pellegrino. 'You sound like a caveman. I think most of us have become a little more advanced than that.'

'As you said in your speech, Mr King, our fantasies and feelings are hidden like icebergs. But you and me, well, we're profilers, aren't we? We know what hidden thoughts men have. We divide the world into women worth fucking, and women who we'd rather die than fuck.'

Jack was uncomfortable, but stayed polite. 'I think we're about done here. Can I keep these documents you copied for me?'

Creed leaned over the table. 'I want you to come to Naples with me. I just need two days of your time to show you things.'

'Can't be done, sorry.'

'Five women, Mr King: Luisa Banotti, Patricia Calvi, Donna Rizzi, Gloria Pirandello and Francesca Di Lauro. The last of these, Francesca, I knew her personally.'

Jack stood up from the table and picked up the papers. The emphasis on personally explained a lot. He could well imagine why anyone who was the object of Creed's attention might want to vanish from his life and never be traced. 'I'll ask one of my friends in the national profiling unit in Rome to look into your findings. If you're right, then they'll help and I'll give my opinions. If you're wrong, then thankfully, you and I will never speak or meet again. Now I'm going. Enjoy the rest of your stay in New York.'