'Just some water, please. I'm trying to fight the caffeine.'
'Me too,' said Massimo, 'but the caffeine is always winning.' He pressed his desk intercom. 'Claudia, two double espressos and some water, please.'
Jack shot him a disapproving glance.
Massimo shrugged his shoulders. 'If you don't want it when it comes, then I will have yours as well.'
Jack took the seat and leant on the desk. 'Benedetta and the kids good? Did they get away on holiday okay?'
'Yes, fine, thank you,' said Massimo. 'Though there was another terrorist scare at the airport and the children were disappointed at not being able to take certain toys on the plane. No toy guns, no water pistols – how does a young child cope these days without them?'
'Air travel will never be the same again,' said Jack. 'Pretty soon you're going to have to empty your body fluids, then zip yourself up in a clear plastic bag before they'll let you board. The boys and girls in the anti-terrorist units certainly have their work cut out for them.'
'si,' said Massimo, smiling. 'I thank God every night that I managed to avoid being drafted into that particular war.'
The small talk had come to an end, so Jack asked the question that had been preying on his mind ever since they'd last spoken. 'So, Mass, are you going to tell me what you couldn't tell me on the phone?'
The Italian sat back and his old chair creaked so loudly it sounded as though the joints might break. The question was far from unexpected, and the answer was simple, but he still hesitated to break the news. 'Jack, you know how much I respect you and treasure our friendship, so forgive me for this. Before I tell you everything, I have to look you in the eye, man to man, friend to friend, and ask you: are you really all right now? Are you really strong enough mentally and physically to face up to what we are asking of you?'
It was the same question that Orsetta had alluded to, and one which Jack had been repeatedly asking himself over the last few days. 'I am,' he said forcefully, though deep down he still had his doubts. 'From what you've said, your murder, if it is not a copycat killing, may be the work of a man who killed at least sixteen young women in America. Now, I've tracked this bastard for close on half a decade, and the effort and strain damned near killed me. But I'll tell you this, Mass, watching him kill again and again, and being unable to try to stop him, well, that would be the worst thing in the world for me. For the sake of my own sanity, I have to be involved in this with you. I must, one more time, try to do everything I possibly can to get this guy off the streets.'
'Bravo, my friend,' said Massimo, relieved that he'd got the answer he'd been hoping for. 'I'm very proud that you have decided to work with us.'
'Okay, cut the gushy stuff,' said Jack light-heartedly. 'What is it you haven't been telling me?'
Massimo leant forward on his elbows and let Jack read the serious look on his face. This wasn't going to be easy. 'The report I sent you mentioned that Cristina's body had been dismembered, but some things were left out.'
Jack said nothing; his eyes asked the question for him.
'Cristina had been decapitated. He dismembered her body and severed her head. After he disposed of the other parts, he sent her head to our offices, here in Rome.'
There were a dozen questions Jack wanted to ask, but he started with the most obvious one. 'Why wasn't this in the confidential briefing notes? If I remember correctly, they'd gone to your Prime Minister's office.'
Massimo smiled. 'There is nothing confidential in Italian politics, especiallyin the Prime Minister's office. Send something confidential to the highest level and you merely push up the price at which an aide or civil servant will sell the document to the press.'
Massimo opened a long drawer that ran the full width of his desk. 'There's something more,' he said, determined to address all the outstanding issues with Jack as quickly as possible. He pulled out a thin file marked 'Barbuggiani/Confidential'. He handed it across the desk, adding, 'This is a copy of a note found inside the mouth of Cristina Barbuggiani. Forensics have the original.'
'Inside her skull?' checked Jack.
Massimo nodded. Jack slowly opened the file, his mind trying to put the various angles together. A pattern was clearly starting to emerge in both the US and Italian cases and he suspected he was about to see more links and similarities. Jack looked down at the photocopy. It was of a handwritten note. Black felt-tip ink, in capitals on plain white paper. The message was short, but devastating:
BUON GIORNO ITALIAN POLICE!
A cold wave of emotion seeped down Jack's shoulders and spine, his eyes locked on the three letters that had ruined his life.
The Black River Killer.
Jack read the note again and noticed that the three letters came up twice. It was almost as though the writer was trying too hard to convince the police that it was his handiwork.
'Are you okay, Jack?' asked Massimo.
'I've been better,' he said, rubbing a hand across his forehead. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe it was the sick humour – a heads-up – or maybe once more he was just grasping for a reason, any reason, to convince himself that this wasn't proof that BRK was killing again. He took a long breath and cleared his head. 'I spoke to my old office in New York and it turns out that the corpse of an early BRK victim had been exhumed and the skull posted there, care of yours truly.'
Massimo screwed up his face. He felt for Jack. All this was a lot of pressure to pour on the guy at once. 'I saw a Bureau note on this, and heard some details had leaked to the press, but nothing was said about it being addressed to you.'
'Well, it was. Howie Baumguard, my old number two, is convinced it's BRK.'
'The Bureau note said nothing of that,' remarked Massimo.
'Same confidentiality problem as your Prime Minister's office,' said Jack, forcing a smile. 'Put that kind of information on the closed wires and it's sure to get out in the open.'
Massimo was wondering whether it was really possible for BRK to be almost simultaneously active in both Italy and the USA. 'Do you think this Black River Killer really is responsible for the incident back in America?'
Jack let out the breath he'd been holding. 'I really don't know. The issue is clouded now because of what you've just told me.'
Massimo scratched at a patch of stubble just below his left ear. 'Two decapitations. Two heads, both mailed by the killer…'
Jack cut him off. 'BRK has a thing about left hands, not heads. But you're right; it seems too much of a coincidence to believe that two separate killers send dead women's heads to law enforcement organizations at roughly the same time.'
'I agree,' said Massimo, 'and I really hope I'm wrong. I would much rather believe we're dealing with a first-time psycho, than entertain the thought that your infamous serial killer has decided to make Italy his new playground.'
Jack searched his mind for the name of the Italian victim, and felt bad that it didn't come. 'Cristina Bar- Bar -'
Massimo helped him. 'Barbuggiani.'
'Barbuggiani,' continued Jack. 'How was her head delivered to you?'
Massimo raised his eyes in exasperation. 'Not yet fully clear. Our goods bay took possession of a cardboard box. It was passed to the mail room and then one of the clerks, a young woman, opened it.'
'What can your bay tell us?'