There's silence in the room. They're all looking at Monica. The only sounds are the low hum of the refrigeration system and the crackle of flies dying on electrical insect grids dotted around the room.
Major Carvalho peels off his latex gloves. 'Tom, I know Valentina told you that this meeting would be the last thing we asked of you…' His face finishes the sentence for him.
Tom knows what's coming. 'But it isn't.'
The major smiles gently. 'No, it isn't. We need your help. Both on the religious aspect of this investigation and anything you can unearth from Etruscan times that might be of use.'
'For how long?'
'Not long. A week. Maybe two?'
'I'm not sure I can be of much use.'
'Sadly, I think you will be.' He looks to the gurney. 'She needs you to help us, and I need you to help us.'
Tom nods his consent.
The major shakes his hand, then turns to Montesano as he makes to depart: 'Professore, molte grazie.' He takes a final glance at the corpse. 'Grazie, Monica. Dio la benedica.'
CHAPTER 26
Riva San Biagio, Venice Vito Carvalho takes a call on his cell phone as he's leaving the morgue. He insists no one else is informed, especially not Valentina.
Inspection crews are already dredging the choppy waters of the lagoon for the remains of Antonio's old family boat as Vito arrives. What follows is a succession of shocks. As experienced as he is, Carvalho struggles to take it all in. Death is bearable, providing it's not personal. Antonio was his protege. He was proud of him. At times he thought of him as a son.
The major sits on the quay and processes the information. Antonio is dead. An explosion on his boat. As yet, no one knows what caused it. Yes, they're sure about the ID. Yes, he can see the body for himself. No, no one has told Pavarotti's family. Valentina? No, no one's told her either, or at least they're not supposed to have. It will leak, though. Soon, very soon.
Vito's still in a trance as he follows a young officer to a white tent where the corpse is laid out.
It's Antonio. No mistake.
He says nothing, just nods his confirmation and swallows hard. Such a loss. Such a horrible, awful loss.
Vito crosses himself and walks away. He heads from the quayside, thinking that it will take them all day and probably most of tomorrow to recover the engine block, electrics and anything else that might give a clue to what happened. Fires at sea are rare, explosions rarer still. Yet to Vito, there seems no obvious reason why the young officer should have died in anything other than an accident.
He takes it upon himself to break the news to Antonio's parents. He doesn't want strangers doing it. Doesn't want anyone but him handling what he knows is going to be the worst moment of their lives.
As experienced as he is, Vito still pauses outside their apartment door and takes a long slow breath.
The TV is playing. Vito hears a man shout as he presses the bell. Through a frosted-glass pane he sees a woman's shape heading his way.
Antonio's mother opens the door and keeps hold of it with her left hand as she looks to see who it is. Any other time he'd tell her to fit a safety chain.
'Signora Pavarotti?'
'Si?' She looks worried. She can sense that something is wrong.
'My name is Vito Carvalho, Major Carvalho.' He holds up his Carabinieri ID. For a second Vito sees the relief as she thinks perhaps it's not the call she feared, the one she's always been afraid of. Then her brow furrows as she reads the look on his face, an expression that says it all.
Camila Pavarotti's knees buckle.
Vito catches her before she hits the floor. She's heavier than he thought. 'Aiuto! Signor! Aiutarmi!'
Angelo Pavarotti is there in a flash.
Vito sees he's shocked at finding a strange man bent double holding his collapsed wife. He flashes the ID that's still in his hand and explains who he is.
They manoeuvre Camila into the living room and on to a settee.
The major sits opposite and watches patiently while Angelo gets water for his wife then kneels alongside her as she comes round. She sips tentatively.
She's groggy and pale.
Vito looks away while her husband wipes her mouth. Photographs of Antonio are everywhere. Gap-toothed ones of him in his first school clothes. Wild-haired ones of him as a teenager. Handsome ones in his Carabinieri uniform. The major looks back to the settee and they're both staring at him.
The time has come.
'Your son, Antonio… I am sorry – he is dead. There's been an accident. The motor boat he was piloting across the lagoon exploded. We don't yet know what caused it.'
The boy's father looks bemused. It's unbelievable. Ridiculous. His face bears a pained smile, as if it is surely a mistake. 'This can't be. Are you certain it is our boy? Antonio Pavarotti. He-'
'Quite sure, signor. I identified his body myself.'
The two parents look at each other.
Disbelief gives way to shock.
'I'm very sorry. Very sorry indeed.' Carvalho knows he has to draw a firm line in the sand, establish the dreadful truth and stop their world from spinning. 'Antonio was a good man. A wonderful officer and much loved by his colleagues.'
Angelo nods bravely. The major's fine words should count for something, maybe even make him feel proud. But right now, they make no impact.
'Some of my colleagues will come to you, tomorrow. They will make arrangements for you to see his body, if you like.' Carvalho watches the agony on their faces. 'Some investigators will come too. They will want to talk to you about Antonio, his movements, who he was seeing, and of course the boat.'
Camila grips Angelo's hand and her face crumples again. 'Valentina? How is she?'
Carvalho grimaces. 'She doesn't know yet. No one has told her. I came straight from the scene and you are the first people to be informed.'
'You will tell her? Tell her personally?' It's more of a plea than a question.
Carvalho fastens his coat. 'Of course. I'll see her as soon as I get back.'
They both start to get up.
'No, please. I can show myself out.' He waits a second while they sit back down. 'Again, I'm so very sorry for your loss.'
They nod at him and fold themselves together. An embrace they never wanted.
Vito places a card with his contact numbers on the small table in front of them and drifts from the room like a dark fog.
CAPITOLO XX
666 BC
Atmanta Tetia is cutting herbs in front of the hut when he arrives. She watches as The Punisher dismounts from his great white stallion and strides her way. A shiver trickles down her spine like ice melting on a cave wall.
She hadn't thought it would be so soon.
It's only a day since she saw Pesna.
Larth holds the reins confidently and pats the animal's head. 'I have come to take you to Mamarce, the silversmith.'
'Now is not a good time.' Tetia motions to her hut. 'I have a sick husband to attend.'
'Now is the time. I have come and you must go.' The look on his face warns her there is no room to argue.
Tetia nods. 'I need to tell him. Make arrangements for him to be looked after.'
Larth slants his head towards a trough. 'You have until I have watered the horse. No longer.'
Tetia hurries away.
Finding Teucer sleeping, she kneels and puts the palm of a hand to his face. 'Husband.' Her voice is gentle to begin with, then firmer: 'Teucer, can you hear me, my sweetness?' His skin feels warm and unshaven as she strokes it.
His lips finally move and for a split second his eyelids open. There is only a milky deadness where once there had been a spark that set her senses ablaze.
It breaks her heart to see him like this. 'Teucer, can you hear me?'