‘Classic overkill.’
She considers the phrase. ‘Perhaps.’
Valentina points to the cadaver. ‘So he’s lying face down when he’s hit with this rock, then more are piled on top of him. That doesn’t make sense, because when the body was found, it was face up.’
‘ Fermare! You’re jumping to conclusions.’
Valentina holds up her hands. ‘ Mi dispiace.’
‘It’s okay. Most good detectives jump to conclusions.’ She puts her gloved fingers to the corpse’s face. ‘The dust and grit engrained in the skin wasn’t from the river area. I’ve sent samples off for environmental analysis but honestly, I’ve examined enough bodies from the Tiber to categorise those samples without a microscope. Your man was killed somewhere else, somewhere more urban. It was post-mortem that the body was brought to the river and buried beneath rocks under the bridge.’
Valentina is wondering why. She can imagine someone disposing of the body in the river, but not going to all the risk and trouble of getting it there and then burying it beside the water.
Possibilities come to mind: maybe the killers were disturbed; maybe one or more of them fled and the one left behind simply couldn’t move the corpse any further.
Schiavone removes the head block and adjusts the corpse’s shoulders so it is flat again. ‘Now the abdominal injuries. At first I thought these were self-inflicted – hara-kiri or some other form of seppuku – but after X-rays and closer examination, I’m convinced that’s not the case.’
Valentina stares at the wide cavity. ‘Don’t fatal stab wounds usually look more frenzied? These appear controlled.’
‘Good point. I didn’t say the injuries weren’t ritualistic; I can’t be certain. But I am sure that they’re not self-inflicted.’ The ME walks around so that she’s standing opposite and close to Valentina. She holds out her left hand. ‘Imagine a very strong and sharp knife, short sword or bayonet in this hand.’
Valentina nods.
‘The attacker held the weapon with the blade vertical.’ She puts her index finger against Valentina’s stomach. ‘There are a number of slash marks, but the fatal incision is on the victim’s right side.’ She presses until she feels bone. ‘The blade was driven in here, twice I think, and nicked the last rib.’ She draws her finger across to the other side of Valentina’s body. ‘A deep cut was then made horizontally straight across the thoracic diaphragm to the left side of the victim.’ She presses again, this time on the bottom of the other side of Valentina’s rib cage, causing her to wheeze a little. ‘You exhaled because I’m pressing on your diaphragm. You get a slight blow here and we say you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. You get knifed here and it’s going to be fatal.’
‘What exactly is the diaphragm?’
‘I’m glad you asked. I like officers who ask. The diaphragm is a sheet of internal muscle that extends all the way across the bottom of the rib cage and separates the thoracic cavity – the area containing your lungs and heart, et cetera – from the abdominal cavity – the area that includes the stomach, liver, kidneys and such like. You still with me?’
Valentina looks down at Schiavone’s finger still stuck painfully just beneath her rib cage. ‘Thankfully, I am.’
‘Bene.’ Nonna makes a downward slice with her finger. ‘This second movement of the blade precipitated a shift in the way the attacker held the weapon. The grip needed to be adjusted to get enough force to cut from the thorax to the pelvic brim.’ Once more she presses hard against Valentina. ‘En route, this movement sliced through the spleen and part of the duodenum.’ She moves a little closer and then draws her finger up at an angle towards Valentina’s diaphragm. ‘This final movement completed the dis-embowelment. It came through the outer part of the duodenum and through both the gall bladder and liver. Another ten centimetres and the killer would have carved out a completed triangle.’ She removes her finger and looks at the corpse. ‘As it was, only a flap of skin held the last of the cut flesh together.’
A triangle?
Valentina wonders if the shape is a coincidence.
She’s heard so much about damned triangles, she’s now seeing them everywhere. ‘Is this kind of cutting significant or famous in any way?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Is it a medical procedure? Maybe an old way of doing autopsies?’
Nonna shakes her head. ‘No. Not to my knowledge.’ She thinks for a second or two. ‘I really can’t recall any medical procedures that resemble this.’
Valentina looks at the dead man and tries to picture his final moments.
Instinctively the ME follows the detective’s train of thought. ‘As you just saw from our crude re-enactment, this kind of homicide is very personal. It has to be done at close quarters in order to be so precise. Had I really been attacking you, you would have been going crazy – wriggling, curling up, falling to the ground, fighting for your life – and I would have been hacking at you with the knife and creating wounds elsewhere. There’s no forensic evidence to suggest that anything like that happened.’
‘So the victim was restrained?’
‘Not necessarily.’
Valentina looks confused.
‘He was dead. Or at least very close to death. And judging from the marks of the knife against the bone, I think it fair to say that he was on his back when most of the cutting was done.’
Valentina’s cell phone rings.
There’s a strange number on the display.
Whoever it is, they’ll have to wait.
‘Have you seen anything like this before, Professoressa?’
Nonna half laughs. ‘Of course. Ritually disembowelled eunuchs are turning up all the time here in Rome! Fitting them in around those other plentiful cases of severed hands found in church porticos is a real drain on the unit.’
‘Stupid question. Sorry! I was just hoping you might have something more to add.’
Nonna starts to move things away for her next case. ‘I’m afraid not. I really wish I had some old case notes or a similar experience I could recall to help you, but I don’t.’
‘ Grazie. You’ve helped a lot.’ Valentina walks round and picks up the report the ME left on the drawers for her.
‘A little advice.’
Valentina stops in the doorway.
Filomena Schiavone points to the body. ‘Whoever did this is extraordinarily dangerous, Captain. Be careful – really careful. The only way I ever want to see you back in here is standing up and asking questions.’
51
On her return to base, Valentina checks her missed phone message.
It’s from Tom. Made from a hospital pay phone.
There’s been an accident, a fire at her apartment, and he’s fine but the apartment is not. It’s gutted.
So is she. Apparently she’s homeless.
But he’s safe, that’s the main thing.
She’ll call the hospital and arrange to pick him up just as soon as she’s dealt with a more pressing matter.
Cafe Luigi is just around the corner from headquarters. Lots of cops go there for an espresso before work or a beer at the end of the day.
Some probably even go for a beer before the start of their shift.
It’s here that she’s told Lieutenant Federico Assante to meet her.
He’s sitting in the corner.
His hands are wrapped around a mug of black tea.
Valentina unbuttons her short dark wool coat, hangs it over the back of the cheap chair and sits down. Assante looks miserable and worried.
Good.
He’s every right to feel that way.
She peels off her black leather gloves. ‘Twenty minutes from now, I’m due to be with Human Resources, reviewing a list of lieutenants who can be freed up to help me.’ She stares sternly into his eyes. ‘I don’t want to make that appointment. I want to give you a second chance and have you help me solve this case. Is that something you want?’
He looks surprised. ‘In the office you said-’