‘Worse. The Fratellis had twin daughters. Anna’s sister, Cloelia, died at the Policlinico the same day. They both had fatal lung defects.’
Valentina is intrigued by the awful coincidence. ‘The same place our Anna died.’
Tom crosses himself. ‘Sounds like systematic paedophilia. There was a case in California where a paedophile ring scoured the death columns in local newspapers for child fatalities. They’d immediately apply for birth certificates for the dead kids because they knew that records systems seldom work properly and almost never proactively cross-check with each other.’
‘In Italy it is even worse,’ adds Valentina. ‘Try moving cities and you quickly discover what a mess the authorities are in.’
Federico doesn’t quite understand. ‘What do these kind of gangs want the children’s documentation for?’
Valentina explains. ‘They abduct babies and very young children with the idea of abusing them throughout their childhood and teenage years. They keep them imprisoned and hidden until they are completely brainwashed into accepting that they’re part of the abuser’s so-called family.’
‘It would explain Anna’s multiple personalities,’ adds Tom. ‘Louisa said that her multiple alters are most likely a response to years of abuse.’
‘Christ!’ Federico can’t help but think about his own young daughter. ‘They’re not just stealing their identities, they’re stealing their lives.’
85
The man Louisa remembers from her apartment block is standing outside her cell, holding a flaming torch between his face and hers.
Through the glare she can see that he’s no longer dressed in the mundane blue jeans, jumper and short wool coat she last saw him in.
He’s clad from head to toe in a long, heavy cloak of purple, like the off-the-shoulder himation the ancient Greeks used to wear.
Louisa hopes this is all some crazy dream, an odd brain trip that will finish any second and then she’ll wake up, shower and promise herself never to eat cheese again late at night.
The man tilts his head and studies her eyes. ‘How do you feel?’
She’s not quite sure how to answer.
Angry? Frightened? Furious?
They’re all perfectly good ways to sum up her feelings, but she guesses he’s not really concerned with her emotions. ‘Sore. My throat hurts. My head aches.’
He smiles sympathetically. ‘That’s the chloroform. The effects will pass quickly – as I’m sure you know.’ He looks over his shoulder to someone out of view. ‘Get her water and some white willow bark to take away the pain.’
Louisa hears the muffled noise of retreating footsteps. She can’t see, but it sounds like the floor is made of dirt and grit and isn’t paved in any kind of way. Her senses are returning, and beyond the smell of the torch she detects the iron tang of dampness and the chatter of other voices.
‘Why are you doing this to me?’
The man in the cloak frowns a little. ‘The patient you refer to as Anna – Anna Fratelli – we need you to secure her release from incarceration in your hospital.’
‘Anna is-’ Louisa bites her tongue. She realises there’s no advantage to telling them what has happened – on the contrary, if they know she’s dead, it will merely demonstrate her own lack of value to them and put her life in danger. ‘Anna is very sick,’ she adds. ‘She’s both physically and mentally ill. Moving her from expert medical care isn’t advisable.’
‘I didn’t ask for a diagnosis,’ says the man. ‘Her release is all we want.’
Louisa tries to establish more of a rapport with him. ‘I don’t remember seeing you at the hospital. You didn’t visit. At least not as far as I can remember. Are you a friend?’
‘I am a friend, a very close one, but visiting is not what I do.’
Louisa thinks better of asking him to explain exactly what it is that he does do.
On the wall to his left, a skeletal shadow grows long, then crawls up the ceiling of her cell as a woman appears in the flickering torchlight.
Her face has been made a ghostly white by some strange thick make-up, but Louisa still recognises her from the apartment block. Like the man she was with, she’s now dressed differently. She’s wearing a flowing green cloak that is similar to his but is split on the right side and fastened over both shoulders rather than just one.
She passes a metal goblet of water and a handful of dry, powdery tablets through the bars to Louisa. ‘Take two of the willow bark now and two a little later if your head still aches.’
Louisa has never had time for alternative medicine, but swallows the pills anyway. The fact that they’re looking after her is a good sign.
At least for now.
‘Why do you want to get Anna out of hospital? What are you going to do with her?’
‘She is a prophetess,’ says the woman. ‘One of our sisters-’
The man silences her with a look that could blister skin. He turns back to Louisa. ‘It is not your concern. Trouble yourself only with how to extricate Anna from the fortress and falsehood in which she is held.’
Louisa takes another sip of the water. ‘I need to think. You can’t simply walk into one of the world’s biggest hospitals and steal a patient.’
‘Then think. And do it quickly. Your life depends upon it.’
86
Federico parks his rust-bucket car in Via Dell Babuino.
While he and Valentina sit and talk in the warmth of the car, Tom bangs shut the back door and braves a soft shower as he walks to Louisa Verdetti’s home.
He turns up the collar of his new coat and cuts through Via Dell’Orto di Napoli into Via Margutta. His gaze bounces off elite lines of art galleries and restaurants, and he makes a mental note to return with Valentina.
He finds Louisa’s address behind a large iron security gate, which, not surprisingly in Italy, has been propped open solely for convenience.
The courtyard is breathtaking.
A long and deeply gravelled drive opens up to reveal a quadrangle of ancient, ivy-clad houses that are amongst the most expensive in the city. Some have been turned into select offices for high-earning local professionals and the rest are rented out to cash-rich foreigners.
Tom walks past terracotta fountains and abundant flower beds before he finds Louisa’s block.
Behind a clear-windowed oak door he sees a red-faced, middle-aged man bawling out two maids.
Tom raps on the door pane.
The man breaks from his thundery attack, puts on a sunny smile and opens up for him.
‘ Si? ’
Tom is hit by a backdraught of alcohol fumes. ‘I’m looking for Louisa Verdetti.’ He steps in from the rain without being asked.
‘And you are?’
‘Tom. I’m her friend from America.’
‘Wait.’ The man points to the two maids. ‘You wait too. I haven’t finished with you.’ He picks up a phone and hits some numbers.
Tom smiles sympathetically at the two women, who are now talking to each other in what he thinks is either Polish or Russian.
The man puts the receiver down. ‘She is not there. You want to leave a message?’
Tom searches for a pen in his pocket and picks up a yellow Post-it pad off the small desk. ‘Sure. Do you have any idea where she is?’
‘ Ospedale.’
‘No, she’s not at work.’ Tom writes down his name and cell number.
‘Not working, being treated. She has some problem with her ankle, I think.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Some neighbours just called by to see if she was all right. They saw her earlier being helped into a car by a man and a woman.’
Alarm bells ring with Tom. ‘Why?’
The man seems puzzled. ‘Because she couldn’t walk properly. They were concerned and went out to help. The driver waved them off and said everything was okay and not to worry. It seems she had twisted her ankle and fainted and they were taking her straight to the hospital.’