Spider

'Enough now,' said Jack, keen not to start such a debate. 'You're beginning to sound like my old grandmother.'

'That's no bad thing from what I remember. You liked her, didn't you?'

'Adored her,' corrected Jack, fondly remembering the old woman. 'She was a Bible-bashing nutcase, but I loved her to bits.'

'Anyway, Saint Quiricus is the patron saint of family happiness. And that, allegedly, is where our town got its name.'

'You love it here, don't you?' Jack asked, as a prelude to the conversation he'd been avoiding for as long as possible.

She wiped more hair from her face. 'I do. Don't you?'

He half turned away from her and gazed across the heat-hazed countryside. 'I know this will sound crazy, but I'm not, I'm not happy.' Jack waved his hand across the valley. 'All this is beautiful, but it's not helping me. In fact, even out here on this incredible mountain top, I feel trapped.'

'Trapped?' queried Nancy, conscious that her husband was feeling awkward and was avoiding looking directly at her.

'You said Tuscany would help me recover,' he turned back to her, 'but what you really meant was that it would help you. All this, it's what you wanted, what you needed.'

'That's unfair!' she snapped. 'When you came out of hospital, you were completely wiped out, you were finished with it all, Jack.'

He shook his head and bit down on his lip. 'No, Nancy, you were finished with it. I was sick. I should have stayed in New York. I should have taken some time off, got myself strong again, and then gone back to work and finished the job.'

'Huh!' she exclaimed, and wheeled away from him.

He took a quick pace forward and grabbed her by the arm. 'Listen to me.'

She was startled that he'd been so rough.

He took his hand away. 'I love you. I love you and our little boy to bits, but this exile, this remoteness that's being enforced on me, it's killing me.'

Nancy was stung by the remark, and felt her eyes filling up.

'I'm a policeman, I chase bad guys and lock them up,' he went on, 'that's what I am, and that's what I do. It's all I've ever done, and it's all I know how to do. Bringing me all the way out here, and having me do nothing but help you move chairs and clean plates, isn't helping me, Nancy, it's making me sick.'

'Oh, Jack, how can you say that? You were so ill in New York that you could barely walk when I took you home from the hospital. Look at you now, you're fitter and healthier-looking than ever.'

Jack slapped his stomach and managed a half-smile. 'Physically, you're right. Tuscany helped build my strength. But mentally, well…'

She frowned at him. 'Well, what?'

'Mentally, it's destroying me. I feel useless, weak, impotent and…' he struggled for words, then added, 'cowardly.'

'Oh, honey.' Nancy wrapped her arms around him and for half a second she thought she felt him try to pull away. She stood with her head against his chest, just as she'd done the first night they'd gone out together. She didn't want him to get involved in criminal work again, but she didn't want to see him like this either. Nancy felt him squeeze her tight and kiss the top of her head. Finally, she broke from his arms and looked up at him. 'You're probably right. I did need to come here. I needed to have a life as far away from murder and morgues as possible. And I needed to have you as well. Not you for only two hours a night, slipping into bed next to me at two a.m. and then slipping out again before daybreak, but a full-time you.'

'I'm sorry,' he began.

Nancy cut him off. 'Shush, let me finish. You scared me so much when you collapsed. I can't imagine – I don't want to imagine – bringing Zack up on my own because you've worked yourself to death. Is that so selfish?'

'No, no it's not,' he conceded, knowing she had him on the back foot.

'I want to grow old with you, be it here, or be it anywhere else in the world. I just want us to live a long and happy life together.' She looked around, just as Jack had done moments ago. 'You're right. I do love it here, and I hope you'll learn to love it too. But more than anything I love you.' She forced a smile for him. 'I understand that you have to get involved again. I guess deep down I always knew you would. Unfinished business and all that.' She let out a sigh, then took his hand. 'But promise me that you're going to be careful.'

'I promise,' he said, just as he had done a hundred times before.

'And you've got to keep going to that psychiatrist. You'll do that?'

'I will.'

'Then do it. Do whatever you have to.' Nancy tried to smile again, but this time she couldn't, and the tears came.

Jack wrapped his arms around her and held her. From the top of Amiata they looked out towards the place where they'd built their new home and privately both wondered what the future held for them. Nancy turned to her husband and kissed him passionately.

38

Rome There were two important facts that Massimo Albonetti had not yet shared with Jack King. The first was that the severed head of Cristina Barbuggiani had not been recovered at sea, like the other body parts, but had been boxed up by her killer and delivered to their headquarters in Rome, seemingly by a courier company in Milan. The second was even more shocking.

Both omissions were on Massimo's mind and were making him short-tempered as he passed out cold drinks and continued briefing his team for Jack's arrival.

'Roberto has completed the victimology report and had it translated,' said Orsetta, popping the tab on a can of Cola Lite.

'Va bene,' said Massimo, glad to be distracted from his thoughts. 'And what does it tell us, Roberto? Why did this man pick out Cristina Barbuggiani? What made her the unlucky one?'

'More than anything, she seemed simply to be in the wrong place at the wrong time -' began the young researcher.

'Bullshit!' exploded Massimo, his hand again sheltering Cristina's photograph from his more 'colourful' language. 'Che cazzo stai dicendo!'

'In English, Direttore,' said Orsetta, with a smile.

Massimo glared at her and turned back to the researcher. 'Roberto, do not even think of telling that to Jack King. BRK is not an opportunist; he's not a common, spur-of-the-moment criminal. This man chose Cristina. He picked her out of the crowd. When Jack King asks you that question, do not shame this unit by telling him she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.' Massimo turned to Orsetta, holding Cristina's picture between his thumb and forefinger. 'Find me a lookalike. Go to the film casting agencies and find me an actress who looks like our Cristina and can behave like Cristina did.'

'I will fix it,' said Orsetta.

'And, Orsetta,' continued Massimo. 'What about Patologia, what did they have to say about the limbs?'

'The limbs, or the head?' she asked, opening her notebook.

'The limbs first,' answered Massimo, still not sure how he was going to break the news of the head to Jack. 'They were dumped in various places in the sea, while, as we know, the head was sent here. So, I guess he got rid of the body parts first, and hung on to the girl's head until the last moment?'

'Most likely,' said Orsetta, flicking to the relevant page of notes. 'As you request, I will start with the limbs first. Dismemberment and then dispersal of the body parts in sea water made setting the time of death very difficult. The labs said it was also made harder by the fact that they had no body fluids to test…'

'Madonna porca!' swore Massimo. 'How easy do these so-called scientists want their lives? How about we pass a law that all killers have to tag the bodies with the exact time of death before they dispose of them? Orsetta, save me from the excuses. Just tell me the facts that can help us.'

Orsetta, well used to his emotional flare-ups, continued unshaken. 'Decomposition was pretty uniform across the body parts, give or take a few hours. All the flesh had begun softening and liquefying. He'd tied the severed limbs in the plastic bags before dumping them at sea, so they went through a fairly normal putrefaction cycle. There had been discoloration, marbling and some blistering.'