City of Devils: A Novel (13 page)

Annoyed with himself he took another, less generous mouthful. This time he allowed it to coast its way down his throat. He felt it warm him and it gave him a kind of courage, which, for some reason, he felt he needed.

‘Nice place,’ he said, looking about him at the Spartan furniture and dirty floor.

Sofia smiled. ‘You are used to better?’

‘Not really,’ he replied, thinking wryly of some of the places he had frequented as a student. Then it was the cheapness of the ale that mattered, rather than the décor.

‘Sofia . . .’ He looked at her sitting before him, bathed in the warm glow of the candlelight. It might have been the
grappa
on top of the wine he had consumed at the salon but it seemed to him that she shimmered somehow, as if she was from a different world. In fact this city and all that had happened there in the last few days had a surreal quality to it.

Sofia leaned forward and put her hand on his. ‘Signor,’ she whispered. ‘I need to talk to you.’

‘Talk away.’

‘As I told you, the professor has enemies. He needs someone to protect him from them. They will use this murder to destroy him. Trust me, I know them.’

James was curious. ‘Why do you care so much? He’s just an employer – or is there something else between you?’ He felt as if a cold hand was squeezing his heart as he uttered those words.

She shook her head violently. ‘No, no! How could you think that? He is like a father to me. I owe him everything.’

James sighed inwardly with relief. ‘I am a fool. I don’t know why I even suggested it.’

She looked away as if she could not meet his eye. ‘I have only ever sold myself when there has been no other choice.’

James felt ashamed. He of all people should have known that the past could be slow to relinquish its hold. ‘I am sorry. Please forgive me.’

But even as he spoke a vestige of doubt remained in his mind.

‘Who are these enemies? What kind of threat do they pose?’

‘You are going to the debate and the Marchesa’s reception, are you not?’

He nodded.

‘Then you will find out soon enough.’

‘What about Ottolenghi? Couldn’t he help you?’

‘He is a good man, but he has his own interests. You, I think, are different, and . . .’ She paused and looked at him, almost coquettishly. ‘He is not so handsome.’

James could not help but smile at her. ‘I will do what I can.’

‘You promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘And signor—’

‘James, call me James.’

‘James . . . you know that this must be our secret, don’t you? If the professor found out that you and I . . .’ Sofia clutched his hands tightly in hers.

‘That you and I?’

Sofia laughed softly. ‘We’ll see,’ she said. ‘We’ll see . . .’

They sat and talked a little more about this and that, acquainting themselves cautiously with one another as if they were engaged in a formal dance, keeping their distance, not giving too much away. Later, he watched as she left, negotiating her way through the tables. She turned to look at him just before she went through the door. There was something in her expression. James did not know for sure what it was but he hoped that it was an invitation for the future, and the not too distant kind at that.

He awoke in his room some hours later and stretched and yawned, the memory of last night still lingering. He wondered if he was being naïve, expecting anything from Sofia. But for the first time in a long time something had awoken within him and she was the cause of it. He felt alive – as if he was regaining some sense of the self that he had lost in last year or so. How could he resist her?

Refreshed, James looked at his watch and realised that he was running late for his meeting with Ottolenghi. He picked up his jacket and left, slamming the door firmly behind him. It was time to think of more unpleasant matters.

He found the Piazza Statuto easily enough. It was off a narrow cobbled street near the Porta Palazzo market, in an area earmarked for potential slum clearance. The smell of rotting vegetables hung in the air and the statue where the body had been found seemed very different in the sunlight, now that its gruesome sideshow had been removed.

He knew the importance of examining the scene of the crime. Before his first encounter with Dr Bell during his medical training he had known little about the ‘art of detection’. Indeed, most of his information had come from reading novels –
The Moonstone
by Wilkie Collins and Poe’s
The Murders in the Rue Morgue
were two of his particular favourites. They made it seem a simple matter to identify and track down a criminal. Ratiocination was all that was required, a satisfactory conclusion to a mystery, reached by logical reasoning.

However, he had subsequently learned that it was a far more complex matter when real people were involved. According to Dr Bell it was not enough to apply a set investigative formula. One had to be a little more inventive and adapt to the circumstances as they presented themselves. He had proved to be proficient at this in Edinburgh, but only time would tell if he could bring his skills to bear in Turin. This would be an excellent test for him.

Ottolenghi was already at the scene when James arrived and he was not alone. Tullio was with him. They were both bending over the site of the body, peering at the now bloodstained cobbles where it had lain.

‘Good morning, Ottolenghi, Inspector Tullio. Have you found anything of interest?’ James enquired.

‘Not yet,’ Ottolenghi said glumly.

Tullio looked at both of them suspiciously. ‘Does Professor Lombroso know that you’re here?’

Ottolenghi cleared his throat in an effort to hide his embarrassment. ‘No, he doesn’t. For some reason he prefers to leave the investigation to the police. And Tullio, I assume that you have told Marshal Machinetti of your intention to re-examine the scene?’

Now it was Tullio’s turn to be embarrassed. ‘I may have forgotten to let him know. My superiors have told me to cooperate with him but I’m finding that rather difficult.’ He sighed. ‘Machinetti is still convinced that the professor is implicated. It is the only reason he is bothering with this case at all. He doesn’t usually trouble himself if the victim is a criminal.’

Ottolenghi frowned. ‘Just because the victim was a thief doesn’t mean his death should be ignored, particularly given the circumstances.’

Tullio nodded. ‘Quite so. Machinetti’s interest may prove troublesome. I should warn you that he is intent on proving the professor’s involvement. I, however, have my own ideas.’

Ottolenghi smiled with relief. ‘I am glad to hear it. As the professor himself pointed out, I hardly think that he would be so intent on his own destruction that he would kill a man and then leave a note implicating himself.’

‘I agree it doesn’t seem at all likely. That is why I am here.’

James watched the two of them eye each other cautiously. It was clear that they wanted to trust each other but didn’t know if they could.

‘Perhaps then, together we might make some sense of this?’ he suggested.

Tullio thought for a while. Eventually he replied.

‘Three heads would seem better than one. Since I am forced to investigate without the assistance of the carabinieri, I can’t see that your involvement would do any harm. Do either of you have any practical experience in this area?’

James considered what to say. As well as a foray into literature he had also read of many real cases and had studied the work of Lombroso and others. His work as Dr Bell’s clerk had introduced him to investigation. James had even accompanied his tutor to the scenes of one or two crimes when the doctor was working as a consultant to the police. As a result he had picked up a good deal of information but did not have much direct experience. He decided that honesty was the best policy.

‘A little . . .’

‘The same applies to me,’ Ottolenghi admitted.

‘And to me,’ Tullio said frankly. ‘I am only recently appointed. Still, perhaps between us we might make some progress. It will be good to have someone to talk to at any rate.’

‘What about your colleagues?’ James asked.

Tullio paused for a moment. ‘Let’s just say we don’t really see eye to eye,’ he said, a little ruefully. ‘I don’t think that they fully appreciate the possibilities of scientific policing. If we could make some headway in this case then perhaps . . .’ He tailed off and looked into the distance with a smile on his face, as if imagining parading the killer in front of his fellow officers.

‘Well let’s get on with it then,’ James said firmly. He knelt down and started to examine the stained cobbles more closely. Tullio and Ottolenghi joined him.

‘You can tell from the stain that there was quite a lot of blood, which is strange,’ James said, remembering the dark sticky pool that had been there not long ago.

‘Why?’ Tullio asked. ‘Surely the mutilation would have produced bleeding.’

‘Yes, but as you know, bleeding stops after death, when the heart ceases to beat,’ James replied.

‘You’re right,’ Tullio said thoughtfully, ‘but there would still have been some bleeding if the mutilation was carried out immediately. I asked the pathologist about this. I wanted to know if the body could have been killed elsewhere and then left here. If we can work out exactly how this was done, and where, then it might lead us to the killer.’

‘What did the pathologist say?’ James asked.

‘He said that the blood would still flow quite freely for a minute or two.’

‘So he was garrotted and then mutilated post-mortem but quickly enough to produce the blood we see here,’ Ottolenghi said thoughtfully.

James looked up. ‘There is another possibility, of course.’

‘What’s that?’ Tullio asked.

‘He could have still been alive when the mutilations were carried out. The garrotte could have just immobilised him long enough.’

‘So Soldati would have bled to death. What a way to die!’ Ottolenghi exclaimed.

James nodded. ‘The killer must have some level of expertise to move that quickly, one presumes.’

‘A butcher, perhaps, or a hunter?’ Tullio said.

‘Or perhaps a surgeon?’ James suggested. ‘I noticed that the flesh of the nose was removed rather than the whole. It would have required precision and a practised hand.’

‘Yes, but it would have been easier than slicing through the bone,’ Ottolenghi added.

‘Was he definitely killed here? After all, it’s quite open. The killer might have been seen. He took quite a risk,’ James said.

Ottolenghi looked at Tullio. ‘Murray’s right. There might be a witness or perhaps the body was moved, after all.’

James frowned. ‘That would have taken some strength. Soldati wasn’t a small man.’ He walked around the monument, looking at the ground. ‘There is no sign of marks indicating that the body had been dragged anywhere.’

They joined him as he stood back a little from the scene, all three of them trying their best to come to some conclusion.

‘Wait a minute,’ James said, glancing behind him at the wrought iron fence that ran around the monument. ‘The corpse was propped up behind these railings, as I recall.’

‘That’s right,’ Tullio said.

James climbed elegantly over the fence and began looking around. ‘At medical school in Edinburgh I was always taught to examine a patient thoroughly, not just by looking at them physically but also asking for their history. I don’t see why it should be any different here. We have already looked at the body so now we need to examine the surrounding area.’

‘I don’t believe anyone searched behind the monument,’ Ottolenghi said. ‘We were all focused on the body, at the front.’

‘Exactly!’ James said, walking round the statue to its rear. ‘Had Machinetti thought to look further afield he might have found clues as to the killer’s identity.’

Tullio looked at him with interest. ‘Have you found something?’

James held up the stub of a cigar. ‘It’s probably nothing – after all, it could have been left at any time and by anyone.’

‘Let me see,’ Tullio said.

James handed it over and the three men examined it carefully.

‘It looks relatively fresh,’ Ottolenghi said, sniffing at it gingerly.

‘Perhaps it belonged to the killer,’ James suggested.

‘It’s a possibility,’ Tullio said hesitantly. He wrapped it carefully in his handkerchief and put in his pocket

‘There’s something else.’ James bent down to look closer. ‘In the bushes here – more blood.’

‘Perhaps the killer did his mutilation there to give him some cover,’ Ottolenghi suggested.

‘It looks like it,’ James said, wiping the soil from his hands.

‘Any footprints?’ Tullio asked.

‘Yes, but they’re smudged. I don’t think we could take a cast of them,’ James replied. ‘And I can’t be sure but it looks as if there may be at least two different prints.’

‘Really! I don’t know how Machinetti managed to miss all of this,’ Ottolenghi said indignantly.

‘We
all
missed it,’ Tullio said. ‘Anyway the prints could have been made at any time – by a gardener, perhaps. None of it really takes us anywhere.’

‘But all together the three things might be significant,’ James added, trying to be optimistic.

‘We need to ask the professor,’ Tullio said. ‘He would surely be able to shed some light on this. He’s the expert in crime and criminals, after all. Any idea why he wants to leave this to Machinetti?’

Ottolenghi shrugged. ‘There’s bad blood between them. That’s why he’s reluctant to get involved. He doesn’t usually investigate. Since his last case with Machinetti he prefers to advise as to likely guilt after someone has been apprehended.’

‘I can’t say I blame him. Still, it’s a pity,’ Tullio said, scratching his head. ‘I’m not sure where to go from here, to tell you the truth.’

‘Have you questioned anyone?’ James asked, curious to know what the procedure would be here and the extent to which it would differ from that used in Edinburgh.

Tullio shook his head. ‘Machinetti found out that Soldati had no family in the city and so decided that there was no one to question. I have talked to his neighbour, though, and he said that it was likely that Soldati was at his local tavern the night it happened – La Capra. Apparently it was like a second home to him.’