Almost in unison the doors of five waiting Mercedes swung open and a legion of black-suited Camorristi stepped out. It was more than an act of respect, it was a public display of defiance. Heavily armed, their weapons were brazenly on show. No one dared challenge them.
Valsi soaked up the sight. Cameras clicked again. Another smile for the press and his public. Then he coolly walked towards the one car that stood out – a new chauffeur-driven Mercedes Maybach – the type of limousine that cost more in extras than most Neapolitans earned in a year. Only when he was a metre away did his proud and grateful father-in-law step out and embrace him.
If Don Fredo had known what was on Valsi's mind, he'd have had him shot dead before the prison gates had even shut.
2
Carnegie Hall, New York City A howling nor'easter had bowled up the coast and airdropped a thunderous delivery of snow and ice on a New York City that had complacently thought it was in for a mild winter. Rosy-cheeked kids stretched cold hands at falling flakes. Yellow Cab drivers snarled from rolled-down windows. Their cursing breath froze in the early December air as traffic hit gridlock. Winter was going to be savage.
Jack King, his wife Nancy and four-year-old son Zack had arrived at her parents' house in Greenwich Village barely two days before the biggest pre-Christmas snowfall since 1947 had shut down both JFK and Newark airports.
Nancy had closed Casa Strada, her booming hotel and restaurant business in Tuscany, for two months to enable extension work to be done. Straight after New York she'd be in Umbria, buying property to convert into a second hotel. Jack, meanwhile, was mixing business with pleasure. Pleasure being the chance to catch up with old friends and family that he and his wife had left behind when they'd emigrated to Italy. Business being a well-paid keynote speech in his capacity as a freelance psychological profiler.
He commanded the stage of Carnegie Hall as surely as any entertainer who'd trodden its famous boards. 'Given the inclement weather, I want to leave you with some chilling thoughts,' Jack told the International Serial Offender Conference. 'People are like icebergs; we only ever see ten per cent of them. The really interesting – and sometimes deadly – ninety per cent lies mysteriously hidden in the dark waters of personal secrecy.' He peered out from the stage in the Isaac Stern auditorium. Almost three thousand people, spread five tiers high, peered right back at him. 'Bergs are pieces of ice that have broken off from giant glaciers. Similarly, serial killers are people who have broken off from civilized society. Some bergs are small fry, they're maybe only a metre high. Others are massive and murderous, reaching up to a hundred and sixty-eight metres, about fifty-five storeys high.' The select audience, comprising law enforcement officers, psychologists and psychiatrists, hung on his every word. 'You mustn't let those killer bergs grow. You've got to be alert, every step of your long journey, through each investigation.' Through the stage lights he could see people scribbling, fidgeting and frowning. Some, he guessed, were recalling encounters with their own bergs.
'Serial killers, like those bergs, come in all shapes and sizes, and all of them are potentially lethal. You have to spot them early. Catch them after murder one, while they're still small fry. And remember, to do that, you have to concentrate damned hard on the ten per cent that's on view above the surface.'
Jack took a final look around. His gaze stuck for a second on the front row, where one man, thin and pale, stared up at him with black empty eyes that seemed to be hunting for his attention.
'In your investigations, please pay particular attention to these three things. Thought, Feeling and Action. Right now, right at this moment, you're all doing the same thing. You have a uniformed, shared Action. You're all just sitting and watching. That's your visible ten per cent. Your action is very much in full public view. But Thought and Feeling are complex masses that make up your private ninety per cent, and that's what we can't see; that's what you're keeping hidden. A few of you may still be feeling shocked or sickened by some of the murder-scene slides we looked at earlier. Some of you may have been bored or fascinated by them. Whatever your emotions, you've all kept those feelings hidden. Similarly, as I come to a close, I know you are almost all thinking different things. I hope many of you are thinking that your time at this conference has been worthwhile. I'm sure some of you are worrying about how you're going to get home through the snow tonight, and I'm confident that there'll be several of you who are hoping that your own dark secrets of infidelity, sexual deviation or petty theft from work will never be discovered. Well, don't bank on it, they might well be.'
Embarrassed laughter rippled through the audience. Jack let the tide settle, then finished his speech. 'Remember, everyone's an iceberg, and only ten per cent of each of us is on show. You can't spot a killer berg without looking beneath the surface. Search for that hidden ninety per cent. Find it and destroy it, before it destroys us. Thank you for your time. I wish you all a safe journey home and a peaceful and merry Christmas.'
Applause rang out. Jack mouthed several 'thank yous' left and right of stage. As he clapped back and started to head for the exit, his eyes caught again on the thin, pale-faced man staring up at him from the front row. The man with the blank, unblinking gaze. The only person in the auditorium not clapping.
3
Centro citta, Napoli The black snake of Mercedes slithered north through the rubbish-strewn side streets of Naples.
Bruno Valsi swivelled in the backseat and glanced through the rear windshield. 'We're not heading home?' He tried not to sound suspicious.
Don Fredo, sitting alongside him, smiled reassuringly and lit a Cuban cigar. 'It is your first day of freedom and we are going to honour you. I know you are anxious to be alone with your wife and son, but my daughter and grandchild will have to wait a while longer.'
Valsi relaxed a little, though the incident made him realize his vulnerability. He was unarmed and at anyone's mercy. Five years in jail had left his street instincts rusty. He made a mental note to sharpen up.
'Don Fredo, it is not necessary to honour me. To have served you as I did was honour enough.'
The sixty-four-year-old Camorra Capofamiglia raised the palm of his right hand, signifying that protest was futile. 'Bruno, you gave up many years of your life to protect me. You broke the case that the police were assembling. All their allegations of false accounting, tax evasion and corruption have been withdrawn. All of them. You made a personal sacrifice for the Family, and tonight it is time for the Family to show their gratitude.'
Valsi bowed his head in respect. 'I am moved by your generosity. I only did what any of your soldiers would have done.' His heart thumped double quick time, a physical reminder that this was a moment he had long pondered over during the endless dark nights in his cell. Would Don Fredo welcome him back as a hero? Or have him killed because he might emerge as a threat?
The Don lowered the side window and exhaled a long breath of hot cigar smoke into the chilly air. 'Do you know Positano?'
Valsi shrugged. 'Not well. All my life has been spent in Naples.'
'Then you should. It is very beautiful. Very romantic. You must take my daughter there. Legend has it that the journeying Ulysses was drawn to Positano by the sound of irresistible sirens.'