City of Devils: A Novel (23 page)

There was yet more murmuring from the audience until finally Madame Tarnovsky could contain herself no longer. ‘Cesare, really, you cannot be serious about conducting such an experiment on these two young men, even in the name of science – it is too cruel! I will not allow it!’

Lombroso smiled politely. ‘Madame, of course as you are present perhaps we will confine ourselves to fingers and feet.’

James breathed a sigh of relief. His genitals had been reprieved!

‘We can dispense with the screens,’ directed Lombroso. As they were removed he gave some more details of the experiment. ‘After this we will conduct the same process on some inmates and compare the differences between the results. Please note that all participants are volunteers.’

James thought that Lombroso’s concept of voluntary was rather different from his. He caught Ottolenghi’s eye and he gave one of his characteristic wide grins. James suspected that he had been party to the whole thing all along and that there had never been any intention to extend the experiments to their more tender parts. It was merely a case of Lombroso entertaining the crowd.

The experiment began. The algometer, as Lombroso called it, was essentially an induction coil powered by a current. Once the electrodes were attached, the current was passed through each part and the strength of it was gradually increased. At first they felt a prickling sensation, eventually culminating in a sharp pain. Their thresholds of sensibility were then recorded by the two assistants. Ottolenghi turned out to be more sensitive than James and was announced to be the more intelligent as a result. James wasn’t sure about the final conclusion reached but he conceded his ‘defeat’ gracefully enough.

Two inmates were then brought in to undergo the same procedure. One was a short, brutish-looking chap with coarse features and a dark skin. He was, they were told, a brigand from Palermo who was serving a life sentence for a string of violent robberies in the area. He sat patiently in his seat as the electrodes were attached and, much to Lombroso’s evident satisfaction, hardly seemed to respond at all to the current, no matter how strong.

The second inmate was completely different. He was tall and refined-looking, or as refined as one could look in the baggy striped uniform of a convicted felon. James tried to apply some of Lombroso’s typologies and decided that he was an embezzler, a businessman perhaps who, down on his luck, had decided to steal from his company. He was soon disabused of this, however, and he began to have some doubts about the work of his new employer. Perhaps Lombroso was not as infallible as he claimed to be. The inmate was not an embezzler but a killer. He had once been respectable, it was true, but for reasons that could not be fathomed, not even apparently by himself, he had gone to his work as a bookkeeper one day and then, as the clock struck noon, he had taken a machete from his desk and set about his colleagues, killing all but one young post boy, whom he spared. This final act of ‘compassion’, if that is what it was, the gathering was informed, had been an error of judgment, as the boy went on to become the main prosecution witness against him. The murderer responded to the experiment in a much more extreme fashion than his fellow convict, wincing at every application. This demonstrated without a shadow of a doubt, according to Lombroso, that one’s pain threshold reflected intelligence, somewhat of a giant leap, to James’s mind and not only his, apparently. There was some muttering going on in the audience.

Lombroso, however, seemed oblivious, announcing that before the proceedings came to a close, there was one final subject to be tested. James thought for a minute that it was to be Lombroso himself. Ottolenghi had told him that the professor never fought shy of subjecting himself to the rigours of his own experiments. James was wrong, however. The door opened and in came a woman wearing a long cloak that hid her features. She seemed familiar somehow.

Lombroso held out his hand to her and he led her to the centre of the room. ‘Here we have a female subject. We will see if she reacts to the experiment in a different way to the male subjects.’

The woman stood in the centre of the room and threw back her hood. James gasped and took a step towards her. It was Sofia. She stood there, her head held up, high and proud, her long dark hair secured in a chignon. She was in a simple grey dress with a white collar – an even more demure costume than she usually wore. It made her seem more vulnerable, somehow, and her fragile beauty almost took James’s breath away. She looked haughtily around the room but did not meet his bemused stare. They had not spoken since their disagreement and he could see that she had not forgiven him. He saw Ottolenghi nod to her and she responded with a slight smile. James looked at him angrily. It seemed that he had known of her participation but had not seen fit to warn him.

Lombroso announced that ‘the subject’ was to be tested only on her finger. James was relieved at this. He did not think that he could have borne anything more. Even then he wanted to intervene but it was clear that Sofia was doing this of her own volition. He knew that he could say or do nothing but stand there and watch as she was tested, for if he tried to stop the proceedings it would be a disaster for both of them. He wondered at Lombroso and Ottolenghi’s attitude. Both seemed oblivious to the pain and discomfort of the people they experimented on. To them they were just subjects, like rats in a laboratory, barely human at all. James remembered Lombroso’s rebuke when he had suggested that some thought of criminals as being unworthy of compassion but there seemed little evidence of any compassion here.

The test was done and Sofia seemed much more susceptible to pain than any of the other subjects had been, wincing at the slightest current. Each time she did so James felt like leaping to her side to procure her release and it took a supreme power of will to stay where he was. He was curious to hear how Lombroso would describe her. He waited until she had been disconnected from the equipment before addressing them.

‘This subject was a criminal but is now completely rehabilitated and is currently in my employ.’

James was relieved at this. He had not wanted to hear anything about Sofia’s past life under these circumstances. If she wanted to tell him, he would listen, but it had to be between them.

Lombroso went on. ‘The reason for her reaction to the test is not her gender but the result of her reform. This demonstrates that some criminals can change, as I indicated in my speech at the debate.’

James glanced round as Lombroso was speaking about Sofia. Horton was leering at her in a most ungentlemanly fashion. Really, the more he saw of that man the less he liked him! For her part Sofia stood quietly, listening attentively as Lombroso spoke and nodding now and then to confirm his words. DeClichy was staring too – but not at Sofia. He was looking intently at Horton, his eyes screwed up in concentration. He seemed to have a small piece of paper in his hand and every now and again he would refer to it and look up at Horton again. Suddenly Horton glanced over at him and DeClichy hastily returned whatever it was to his pocket. James didn’t think Horton had seen as he looked away again almost immediately. Then Lombroso stopped speaking, and waited for Sofia to leave before asking for questions. The first came from Borelli.

‘You say, Cesare, that this technique could be used to collect evidence for a court case. Could you say how this might work?’

‘Ah yes, Adolfo, a good question to start us off. Well, the point is really that algometry, when applied to a person accused of a crime, can tell us about the sort of person they are and the likelihood that they are of a criminal type. This could assist a judge and jury in their assessment of the character of the accused. In simple terms – it could show us the dangers that atavism can pose. I have used similar techniques in several cases already and have successfully identified more than one offender as a result.’

‘Most interesting,’ Borelli said. ‘Could you give us an example?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ replied Lombroso. ‘There is one case which has always stayed in my mind, even though it was some years ago. It concerned a young man, I forget his name now, who was accused of the murder of his next-door neighbour, an elderly lady. She had been beaten to death in a frenzied attack with some kind of blunt instrument. I was asked to interview the suspect with a view to answering a particular question: the police wanted to know whether or not this particular young man had the capacity to kill in this way.’

He paused and stroked his beard, a faraway look in his eye.

‘What happened, Cesare?’ asked Madame Tarnovsky gently.

Lombroso smiled sadly. ‘It was a tragic case. The young man was clearly mentally disturbed. One only had to look at his posture. He sat throughout the entire interview rocking backwards and forwards with his arms locked tightly around his body.’

‘Did he say anything?’ asked Borelli, leaning forward slightly.

‘He spoke only one sentence,’ replied Lombroso, ‘though he repeated it over and over again. I will never forget it. “Nothing can harm a good man, either in life or after death.” ’

‘Socrates!’ James exclaimed.

Lombroso nodded sagely.

‘Well done, Murray. Yes, it was indeed Socrates. You can imagine my surprise that a young man from humble origins should be in a position to quote such wisdom.’

‘And did it change your view of him?’ asked Borelli.

Lombroso shook his head. ‘No, it did not.’ He paused, no doubt for dramatic effect. ‘I took one look at this young man and I knew his past and, more importantly, his future, if left to his own devices. There was no doubt in my mind that he was a criminal born and bred.’

‘How could you tell?’ Borelli asked, who appeared to be genuinely bemused at Lombroso’s conclusions. ‘You seemed somewhat hasty to conclude his guilt!’

This level of criticism from someone who claimed to be a supporter of Lombroso sounded a little odd to James. But then, after all, James himself was not a little troubled by the professor’s certainly about things, particularly his apparent willingness to condemn people on the basis of what they looked like.

‘His appearance was enough,’ Lombroso said, as if he had read James’s mind. ‘He had a cold stare, almost glassy – in fact, his eyes appeared almost filmy. His nose was hawklike and prominent, his jaw strong, his cheekbones broad. He had an abundance of dark hair but a scanty beard and thin lips. All of these are characteristics of the habitual murderer. And that is what I told the authorities. I gave evidence in court to that effect. Later the unfortunate boy’s defence lawyer told me that my testimony was so certain that he did not dare to test it!’

‘What happened to the boy?’ asked Madame Tarnovsky.

‘He was convicted, and rightly so. His sentence was a life of penal servitude. The judge said that he had little choice, for, having heard my opinion, it was clear that the young man could never be rehabilitated.’

‘So you were responsible, almost single-handedly, for his incarceration?’ murmured Borelli.

Lombroso bowed slightly as if expecting applause. ‘I was . . .’

‘He was lucky that you do not execute murderers in this country,’ said Madame Tarnovsky, shivering slightly.

Lombroso looked over to her and nodded sadly. James wondered how that would have made him feel. To be responsible for someone’s death is a heavy burden and not one that he would ever wish to carry.

‘Professor?’ It was Horton, still standing at the back. Everyone turned to look at him. He didn’t seem troubled in the slightest by their attention.

‘Yes?’ Lombroso said tersely.

‘Bringing us back to today’s demonstration – is it not possible that what you have actually measured is merely the action of the electricity on the muscles rather than levels of pain?’

Lombroso sighed. ‘I see that you have read Gemelli’s critique of my work in some depth, Horton. I believe my experiments have clearly demonstrated my point. His efforts, I might add, are rather primitive in comparison.’

There were a few more questions from the audience but they did not go on for long. The governor thanked Lombroso and brought the proceedings to an end. Ottolenghi and James started to attend to the equipment as people were leaving, but Lombroso ushered them away and beckoned the two other assistants over to deal with it so James took the opportunity to slip out of the room. He was hoping to catch Sofia before she left and make things right between them.

He saw her about to leave. He was just going to call out to her when he saw Reiner, already in his hat and coat, approach her. He hung back and watched, puzzled. What could Reiner have to say to Sofia, he wondered? Reiner whispered in her ear for a moment. She nodded, said something back, and they parted. It looked as if they had made some kind of an assignation. As Reiner left, James caught sight of a flash of colour from beneath his coat. It had been Reiner with Rosa Bruno and Sofia, that evening in La Capra!

‘Sofia!’ James called.

She turned and saw him but was clearly going to ignore him.

‘Wait, please!’

‘What is it? I am in a hurry,’ Sofia said abruptly.

‘I just wanted to see if you were all right.’

She looked puzzled. ‘Of course I am, as you can see.’

‘Sofia, you really shouldn’t let him use you like that!’

‘Really? I thought the professor had used you as a subject or is it one rule for you and another for me?’

‘That was different.’

‘Why, because you are a man, not a servant girl who cannot make up her own mind?’

‘No, yes . . . oh I don’t know!’ James ran his hand through his hair in confusion. ‘What did Reiner want?’

Sofia stood before him, her arms folded. ‘That is none of your business. I may be a servant but, contrary to what you may think, I am perfectly capable of making make my own mind up about what I do and who I speak to. I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me.
Arrivederci,
Dr Murray.’

James grabbed her hand before she could go. ‘Please, Sofia, I was just worried about you.’

She looked at down at her hand in his. Her expression softened slightly and he saw the beginnings of a smile. She muttered under her breath and shook her head. ‘Oh, James, what am I to do with you?’