‘No. It’s probably personal and not of any real value or importance. DID sufferers sometimes attach enormous significance to certain objects, just like babies do to favourite teddy bears or blankets.’
‘But she wrote about it,’ says Valentina, ‘in some weird Roman story.’
The doctor gives them a comforting smile. ‘Again, I don’t see anything unusual. The young woman we’re treating is very disturbed. She needs close attention and understanding. Did you notice her wrists, her arms?’
Federico shakes his head.
‘Drug tracks?’ asks Valentina.
‘No,’ says Verdetti. ‘Something even harder to treat. Her arms are laced with scars from self-harming; her psychological state is very disturbed.’
Valentina has seen self-harming before. Way back when she was a recruit, she arrested a teenage girl for shoplifting whose forearms were slashed to ribbons. ‘She cuts herself when she’s stressed because it gives her some strange sense of relief?’
‘That’s right. It’s symptomatic of deep-lying trauma or abuse, and by the look of it she’s been doing this for years.’
‘I’m sorry; I hope you can help her.’
‘We can, given time. Come back tomorrow. Give us twenty-four hours to continue our assessments and diagnosis. Let us make her feel safe and comfortable, and then I’ll consider giving you access, under supervision, to interview her.’
Valentina nods. She knows she doesn’t really have a choice. It’s clear that no amount of pressure is going to change Verdetti’s mind. ‘We’ll be back in the morning. G razie.’
‘ Prego.’ The doctor rises to shake hands.
‘One thing before we go,’ adds Valentina. ‘Patients with… er…’ She struggles for the clinical name she’s just been told.
‘Dissociative identity disorder.’
‘ Grazie. Patients with dissociative identity disorder, are they capable of murder?’
Verdetti’s face hardens again. ‘Undoubtedly. They’re capable of almost anything.’
14
On the drive back to Via Annia Faustina, Valentina sticks an earpiece into her iPhone and calls her boss.
He’s at home and answers as though he’s shouting out a swear word. ‘Caesario.’
‘Major, it’s Captain Morassi. I thought you might appreciate an update on the case you sent me out on.’
He lets out a tired sigh. ‘Capitano, you’ve arrested a woman in her late twenties who calls herself Cassandra, and she’s so crazy she’s already locked up in a psych ward. Lieutenant Assante says Forensics are working on some bloodstained clothes and a weapon, but there’s still no sign of a victim. Do you have anything to tell me that I don’t already know?’
Valentina is shocked that Federico has gone behind her back and spoken directly to the major. ‘We’re hoping to interview the suspect in the morning.’
‘So I understand. Anything else?’
Valentina now makes no effort to hide her annoyance. ‘Yes, sir, did you ask Assante to report directly to you? I certainly didn’t.’
There’s a brief pause. ‘For the sake of keeping this conversation short, let’s say I did. Now good evening to you, I have a far more important disagreement to finish with my wife.’
Valentina’s left listening to dial tone. She punches the steering wheel with the palm of her hand and drives off at a speed she knows she shouldn’t.
It’s eight p.m. by the time she re-enters her apartment.
It’s dark and lit by candles in the kitchen.
She smells fresh flowers long before she sees the spray of pink and cream roses in a water jug on the worktop.
‘My goodness, you’ve been busy.’
‘You’d better believe it.’ Tom is in the narrow kitchen, his back to her. ‘Give me a sec to uncork this wine, then I’ll tell you all about the spectacular piece of fish I’m cooking for you.’
She flinches. ‘I booked a table. I told you we were going out.’
He turns around and smiles. ‘Cancel it. Fish is my speciality. You won’t find better food or service anywhere in Rome.’
She can’t hide her disappointment. ‘It was tough to get a table. Very tough.’
He feels too awkward to say anything.
She scratches at the back of her neck. ‘Why is it men always believe they have the right to do whatever they want, regardless of whether it’s the opposite of what women want?’
Tom’s taken aback. ‘I’m sorry. I’d foolishly hoped the candles, flowers and wine might have rekindled some of that friendliness you expressed earlier.’
Valentina sits on the arm of the sofa, buries her head in her hand and swears softly. ‘ Porca vacca! ’
He moves towards her. ‘Those are bad words, aren’t they?’
She manages a muffled laugh. ‘Not the worst I know, but yes, they’re bad.’
He puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘I only just warmed things a little, because I didn’t know when you’d be in. I can easily turn it all off and we can go out.’
She looks at him. ‘No. I’m sorry. What a cow. I’ve had a difficult day with my boss and I just snapped.’ She glances around. ‘It’s really very nice that you went out, bought everything and did all this.’ She smiles. ‘Quite romantic.’
He smiles back. ‘I can be. Given the chance.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Certainly is.’
They trade looks, eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘Do I have time to change for dinner?’
‘Sure. Plenty.’
She heads to the bedroom.
Tom calls after her. ‘You want some help?’
She doesn’t answer.
He sits for a minute on the same sofa arm where Valentina has just perched and wonders if he’s doing the right thing. His body is tingling with the thrill of flirtation and the anticipation of what could be. At the same time a part of him wants to run.
Valentina reappears.
She’s wearing a cream silk robe.
Her dark hair falls lavishly against the porcelain whiteness of her neck. ‘Did you finally get that cork out? Or do you need a woman’s help?’
Tom gets up and heads to the abandoned bottle, his heart flipping like a pancake. He has to calm himself in order to safely use the corkscrew.
Valentina picks up a big-bowled wine glass by its stem and tilts it towards him. ‘Your lip still hurt?’
He pours a drizzle of golden Meursault into her glass. ‘No. Yours?’ Their eyes lock again.
‘Not at all.’ She moves the glass away, leans slowly forward and kisses him tenderly but fully on his bruised mouth.
Tom just about manages to put the bottle down safely.
Somehow Valentina finds a kitchen worktop to rest her glass on.
His hands undo her robe and slip inside the warm silk. Her skin is smooth and she smells of coconut.
He kisses her again and glides his fingers up to her shoulder blades, massaging them as she curls into him.
Valentina moves her hands from the back of his neck to the front of his shirt. Some buttons she manages to undo, others just snap off as she pulls the cloth open and tugs it down his thick arms.
They’re both almost breathless, mouths bleeding from the intense contact, bodies flushed with excitement.
Valentina smoothes her palms across his hard chest and feels his nipples stiffen. He’s much taller than she is. She pulls him down to her height, then all the way to the dirty kitchen floor.
Tom’s fingers find her legs and thighs. He plants rows of soft kisses across the silken pastures of her stomach and breasts.
She lets out a warm sigh of expectancy.
He slides his fingers around the arch of her back and slips off her small red La Perla briefs.
Valentina stretches like a cat as kisses trickle across her hips, then along her bikini line, and finally gather between her legs.
His hands cup her buttocks and his tongue snakes deep inside her.
She clings to him. Digs her nails into his vast back and holds on like she’s going to fall off a cliff.
And in a way she does. A vast tumble into oblivion, her head spinning and her heart pounding while a river of pent-up emotion breaks wonderfully free.