City of Devils: A Novel (34 page)

‘Perhaps he suspects Gemelli of the murders,’ Ottolenghi suggested.

‘I think that is doubtful,’ Lombroso said dolefully, having unexpectedly overheard them. ‘Gemelli is occasionally unpleasant, sometimes he is even foolish, but I do not think he possesses the capacity for murder.’

‘Still, he has an excellent motive. He commits the murders and then implicates you. A plan worthy of Machiavelli himself,’ Borelli interjected, a sarcastic note in his voice. ‘I do not think you should dismiss the possibility quite so readily, Cesare.’

Lombroso shrugged his shoulders and peered down at Gemelli and Horton who appeared to have run out of conversation and were sitting in silence, their heads turned away from each other. ‘I know he dislikes me but I cannot think that he would take it so far as to take the lives of others, just to get back at me.’

Borelli shook his head. ‘Ah, Cesare, you know as well as I that one can never be certain about the motives of men.’

Lombroso waved his hand dismissively. ‘I hardly think that any academic would commit multiple murders just to discredit another.’

Borelli smiled to himself as Lombroso turned pointedly towards the stage and the performance that was about to start again. It was clear he did not wish to discuss the matter further and they settled down in their seats for the remainder of
Otello.
It was somehow fitting that they were watching a story of jealousy and its potentially murderous consequences unfold before them. Could Gemelli have become so resentful of Lombroso’s success that it had driven him to discredit the man through murder? It seemed unlikely, and yet so much about this affair was perplexing that James could not completely rule it out as a possibility.

After the performance drew to a close they made their way to the Palazzo Carignano for a late supper. They were served champagne as they waited to go in. The conversation was mostly centred on the city of Turin and its history; a subject which seemed to fascinate Horton in particular. When Lombroso started to describe the tunnels that ran under the city and their part in the siege of Turin he became particularly animated, asking a number of questions about the network and where they began and ended. Even Borelli’s eyes widened slightly as Lombroso told them of the tunnels that were reputed to run between the palazzos of the various dukes of Savoy, which were wide enough to take a carriage. It was when Lombroso mentioned the presence of Satanists in the city, however, that everyone became truly attentive. He wove his stories well and related them in a theatrical style that was particularly entertaining. It was clear that he was enjoying himself immensely.

‘Do you know,’ Lombroso said, with a touch of what sounded like glee in his voice, ‘that once, not that long ago, there were monks in an abbey outside the city who were actually excommunicated for the corruption of young girls in the name of the Devil! And to this day there are those who insist that . . .’ he paused for the maximum dramatic effect and a sideways glance at Father Vincenzo, ‘the spirits of the girls can be seen dancing with the Devil on All Hallows’ Eve and the ancient Celtic feast of Beltane, an excellent time to summon demons, I believe.’

Father Vincenzo nodded. ‘I know that you are teasing me, Professor, but you make a point in God’s favour without even realising it.’

‘How so, Father? Do enlighten us,’ Lombroso said, sarcastically.

Father Vincenzo gave him the faintest of smiles. ‘You see, Professor, how God punishes those who transgress. We must not sup with the Devil for we will suffer the consequences.’

‘And that is what I am doing, is it, Father? Supping with the Devil?’ Lombroso asked, a slight sneer playing about his lips.

‘You and your brethren.’

James wondered if he meant scientists or Lombroso’s Jewish kinsmen. Were anti-Semitic sympathies as rife here as they were at home?

‘Do go on, Father. Tell us more,’ Lombroso said. There was a harshness to his tone that James had not heard before.

‘Your work is nothing more than a dangerous game and I fear that we have already seen the results, for your activities do not bring misfortune to you alone. Have we not already suffered a great shaking of the earth to signify God’s divine displeasure?’

Lombroso laughed. ‘The earthquake in March! I really do not think that even I can be blamed for that!’

Father Vincenzo shook his head sadly and put an avuncular hand onto Lombroso’s shoulder. ‘But, Professor, can you not see what is so clear?’ His voice became hushed and all gathered round to listen. ‘If you do the Devil’s work we are all at risk from the vengeance of God. Who knows how many more shall die as the result of your sacrilege and blasphemy?’

There was a brief silence as Lombroso seemed to be considering his reply. James wondered exactly how the professor would greet the priest’s accusation. As luck would have it he was interrupted by a footman summoning them into dinner. James thought he saw just a hint of relief in Lombroso’s eyes.

‘Never underestimate the power of the Church in Italy, my friend!’ Ottolenghi said quietly.

‘So I see,’ James replied as they went into the dining room. He looked at the large table, covered in crisp white linen. On it were crystal glasses sparkling in the candlelight like raindrops on a spider’s web. All was opulence and grandeur, a far cry from Sofia’s table, but despite the promise of the fancy cuisine to come, James knew where he would rather be.

As James made his way over to his place, he was accosted by Horton, who grabbed his upper arm and pulled him to one side.

‘I understand that you have been making enquiries about me?’

James looked at him. ‘I don’t know who told you that, but you are mistaken. I have absolutely no interest in you.’

Horton gave him a thin smile. ‘That’s good to hear, Murray. I don’t take kindly to snoopers.’

‘What are you saying?’ James asked.

Horton smiled again. ‘Nothing, my dear Murray, I am merely voicing my concern. Snooping can be a dangerous occupation. We wouldn’t want anything untoward to happen to you now, would we?’

With that he walked away to take his place as if their conversation had been the most natural thing in the world. James pushed his hand through his hair nervously. He wasn’t used to being threatened and it could only mean one thing: Horton had seen him in the library. But what was it that he Was so anxious to keep secret?

Before he could think about the matter any further he was waylaid by Ottolenghi who ushered him to his seat. One thing was for sure, James thought as he looked around him, the next hour or two would not be dull. He saw Gemelli pause briefly to whisper into Father Vincenzo’s ear, all the while staring at Lombroso. The priest nodded and smiled. The Marchesa, seated naturally at the head, looked on, frowning slightly. Lombroso himself was apparently oblivious to all of this. He was sitting next to Madame Tarnovsky and was beaming at her as she talked. James wondered if the professor’s wife would have attended, had she not left the city. What would she have made of all of this? He realised how little he knew of Lombroso’s personal life. Had he really sent his family away to rid himself of the distraction during the symposium or was it because he was afraid for them after Soldati’s murder and the veiled threat in the tribute note?

‘You seem very pensive,’ Ottolenghi, who was sitting next to him, said.

‘I was just wondering about what Father Vincenzo was saying earlier, about the earthquake.’

‘We had one earlier this year. We get them from time to time. The damage here was not too great although elsewhere they were not so lucky. I think it’s bad form for the priest to mention it but he’s a law unto himself these days, given the exalted company he’s keeping.’

The meal began. DeClichy was seated at the far end of the table, a result, James suspected, of Lombroso’s machinations earlier on. He had swapped places with Madame Tarnovsky in order to ensure that he would not be sitting with the Frenchman. As each splendid course followed another and the wine flowed, the conversation seemed to do likewise, almost as if it had a life of its own.

The Marchesa presided with Father Vincenzo yet again at her side. His bright eyes were darting around the room and it was clear that he was watching everyone intently. He was a powerful man and his malign influence seemed to be all-consuming. He was clearly intent on discrediting Lombroso and his work – but how far might he go in that regard? It was hard to tell. The man was a priest but how many of them had turned to murder to achieve their ends; a fair few throughout history, he knew. But was Vincenzo likely to go that far? James simply couldn’t say. He was a newcomer and was still finding his way around the intrigues and relationships of the society in which he was moving. Even Ottolenghi seemed unsure and he had been there much longer.

Lombroso was engaged in conversation with Horton as Borelli looked on. It was apparent that despite his misgivings as to Horton’s character the professor still found him interesting, perhaps even intriguing. Their discussion was a little like indulging in a game of chess. Each would make a move that would then be countered by the other. They were talking about Lombroso’s favourite topic, the concept of the born criminal.

‘Some say that the idea of inherited criminality is somewhat far-fetched, Professor. What do you say to the argument that external factors play a part?’ Horton asked. For some reason he gave the impression that he was rather on edge.

‘Indeed so. I do not claim that every criminal has been born that way. However, my research has indicated that some certainly have had the misfortune to be so fated.’

‘Fate!’ Reiner declared, his pale eyes flicking from side to side. ‘I do not believe in such a thing. One creates one’s own destiny.’

The conversation seemed to have hit a nerve. Lombroso turned to Reiner with interest, apparently surprised by his interjection.

‘Perhaps, for most people, that is true, but not in every case,’ he said. ‘There are significant numbers of criminals who are brought into the world with criminality as their destiny, unformed and unasked for, but there nonetheless.’

‘Professor, you would have us believe that these people can be identified by their physical characteristics.’

Lombroso nodded. ‘Yes, Reiner, I would. I was not aware that you were so familiar with my work.’

‘I have read much of it and I have found it most fascinating. What kind of characteristics would you say were the most common to be found in the criminal?’

‘That depends on the crime for which they have a propensity. It can be quite marked, such as prominent ears or something more subtle, such as a cranial malformation.’

James watched his fellow guests carefully in order to gauge their reactions. Assuming he had been right to make the connection between Lombroso’s observations and the mutilations of the three victims, then this could be an opportunity to catch the killer out. After all, the culprit had to be someone who was familiar with Lombroso’s work and in particular the notes he and Ottolenghi had made for the new edition of
Criminal Man
that had gone missing in the burglary. Unfortunately the subject was changed and the opportunity was lost.

Borelli leaned forwards. ‘Cesare, you speak of physical characteristics but what of motive? Surely that can be as telling in the identification of a criminal?’

Lombroso shook his head. ‘A person who is born to crime does not need motive. If you read my work you will see that I do not dwell for long on passion or impulse crimes.’

‘Why is that?’ Reiner asked. ‘Because I agree with Borelli. Surely it is as important to know why as much as who, in relation to criminality?’

Borelli nodded forcefully. ‘A criminal’s culpability, and therefore his punishment, can be measured by his motive. Take the drama we have just witnessed in
Otello,
for example. The murder of Desdemona was motivated by jealousy due to the poisonous contributions of Iago. Without them, Otello would never have killed her, so his culpability must surely be measured in relation to the circumstances.’

Lombroso frowned. ‘No, no, no, gentlemen! One is not comparing like with like. We are talking here of two distinct criminal types – one with a full-blooded and nervous temperament, such as Otello, and the common criminal who is more devious and thoughtful, such as Iago. Otello displays an exaggerated sensitivity and quite excessive affections, such as those one finds in a savage. He is a wonderful example of atavism. Shakespeare clearly understood the concept when he made the central character a Moor.’

Wouldn’t that mean that all men, and women for that matter, who killed out of passion were savages? James wondered.

Borelli grinned. ‘I am not sure that Shakespeare was an early follower of criminal anthropology, Cesare!’

‘Perhaps not, but you see the point that I am making,’ said Lombroso, a note of exasperation in his voice.

‘I do,’ said Borelli, ‘but jealousy is not the only passion. What of others such as ambition or greed?’

‘Again they are different,’ replied Lombroso. ‘The passions that feed crimes of impulse are not gradual things that come from within over time and can be controlled. On the contrary, they are explosive in nature and unforeseen.’

‘What of revenge?’ asked Borelli. ‘That is one of the most common motives for violence.’

‘Revenge is one of the chief motives among common criminals, along with lust and alcoholic rage, ignoble and primitive passions,’ replied Lombroso dismissively.

‘But a crime of revenge is committed in order to achieve the righting of wrongs,’ said Borelli slowly. ‘How can you say that it is not noble?’

Lombroso paused and thought for a minute. He looked into the distance as if the answer to the question might lie behind one of the brocade curtains that lined the room. ‘Because as a motive it is weak, like those who claim it,’ he said decisively.

Borelli raised his eyebrows and James thought that he might challenge the professor but before he could do so Horton evidently saw the opportunity for some mischief and seized it.

‘And what of Pilgrim, Professor? I hear you are intimately acquainted with him! What is
his
motive?’ he said, archly.