Efran is gone before Maurizio arrives. Tommaso steers his well-fed friend back towards their bragozzo, all too aware that his doubts over the abbot have now led him into a sticky web of deceit.
CHAPTER 46
Present Day Carabinieri HQ, Venice The office is stacked with pizza and beer as the team gather for an evening debrief in Carvalho's office. The atmosphere crackles like a loose cable in a thunderstorm.
Everyone wants to speak first.
They all have a new hunch – a fresh theory – a nagging doubt that they're desperate to voice.
Valentina fans out a pack of photographs of the boathouse interior. 'Look at these crafts. This is a Czeers. Carbon-fibre body. Solar-powered. Does thirty knots.'
Vito frowns. 'You mention this because…?'
'It fits. That's my point,' says Valentina. 'I'd expect a billionaire to have a solar-powered plaything.' She shuffles out some more shots. 'It also fits that he'd have this dinghy, this fishing boat and even this UFO-looking sports boat. But I don't buy this-' She drops the glossy of the sleek black gondola on the desk. 'This doesn't fit.'
'Why not?' Rocco Baldoni spins the print round so he can see it better. 'Many rich Venetians renovate gondolas and keep them for show. Some even plant flowers in them.'
'Rubbish,' snaps Valentina. 'Mario's not some hippy gardener. '
'Ahh, but he is,' protests Vito. 'A hippy is exactly what he is. That's what the whole of his island is about.'
She flaps her arms in annoyance. 'But there weren't flowers in this boat, were there?' Her voice is heavy with sarcasm. 'It was operational. Smart and seaworthy.'
'So you think… what?' asks Vito, still playing devil's advocate. 'That he uses the gondola to pass unnoticed among the masses? That he used it to sail up to Antonio's boat and rig it with explosives? Or that he uses it to kill tourists and then bring them back to Fantasy Island so he can butcher them?' He looks at her kindly and lets out a tired sigh. 'It's all a bit far-fetched, Valentina. Remember, Antonio was sent there as part of an undercover drugs job. If anything, you might find traces of narcotics inside the gondola, but I doubt it.'
Rocco interrupts: 'Given the millions of tourists in Venice, it'd be strange not to find some traces of drugs.'
Valentina snaps again at him. 'But this is not a tourist boat, stupid! It's a private craft.'
'Enough!' shouts Vito. He rubs his head and waits for peace to return to the room. Everyone's tired and stressed, he can see it in their eyes. He thinks of his wife and her illness and her fear of being on her own. He feels guilty about not being with her. 'That's it for tonight, let's wrap it up. Make sure everything that should be with the labs is with the labs, then go and get some sleep.'
Valentina doesn't seem to hear him, or notice him putting his pen in his pocket and looking for his keys. 'What about these monitors?' She deals out more stills. 'Monitors inside the boathouse. Not on the main security links. They're rigged to a surveillance system that Jack Bauer and CTU couldn't afford.'
'For God's sake, Valentina – the man's a billionaire!' Vito's sorry he's snapped as soon as he's done it. He forces himself into a calmer, more reasonable tone: 'He has to make sure he doesn't get kidnapped. If I were him, I would have cameras and monitors everywhere. In fact, I wouldn't even go to the toilet without three people coming with me. Now, go home.'
Vito walks towards the door, then turns. He's been too hard on her and he knows it. 'Valentina, there's good circumstantial evidence and actually more leads than I thought we'd get – but that's all they are: leads. A tiny quantity of drugs turned up in some hippy beds. Hash, ecstasy, amyl nitrate and speed. Nothing to send anyone to jail for, but enough to get us in there again if we want. The gondola is interesting – but only relevant if it shows any forensic links to our victims, and at the moment we have no such evidence.' He looks across at his team and realises he can't just walk out on them. They're not done. Not by a long way. Maria will just have to wait. 'Okay, we spend ten more minutes on this.' He returns to his desk. 'Tom, run through what you told me on the way back, the stuff about the Satanists.'
Tom cracks his fingers while he gathers his thoughts, a habit that used to get him a telling-off from his church housekeeper. 'Mera Teale – the tattooed lady who says she's Mario's PA – told me they had Satanists practising there. I believe her. The room I went into had certainly been used for a Black Mass.'
Vito interrupts. 'How do you prove that?'
'She said so.'
'That means nothing. How do you prove it?'
'There was black candle-wax on the skirting.'
Vito laughs. 'Oh, come on, Tom! You can't prove the presence of the Antichrist by holding up a dribble of black candle-wax. Coloured candles – even black ones – are bought by hundreds of thousands of people. We need damning scientific evidence that links people to actual crimes.'
'Science isn't everything,' says Tom sharply.
'Really?' says Vito, now sounding exasperated. 'I suppose religion is a better bet?' He picks up the phone. 'Oh, that I could get God on the line. God, the good guy, who shouldn't have let any of this damned well happen in the first place. The same God that went missing when Monica was killed, and Antonio murdered. The God who strands me here with you idiots while my crippled wife wonders where I am?' Vito can't believe he said all that, especially the last part. He must be more tired and stressed than he thought. He puts his head in his hands and slowly massages his temples, acutely aware of the stunned silence in the room.
Tom is first to speak. 'I sympathise with your anger. And your need to focus on facts. And I can certainly understand why at this moment you're questioning God. But right now, while the facts may be non-scientific they're as clear-cut as a DNA test.' He counts them off on his fingers: 'First, Monica Vidic is stabbed six hundred and sixty-six times – a very significant and symbolic number. Second, her body is moved through the canal system unnoticed – and with thousands of gondolas on the water, who would notice another one? Third, we have the Satanic defilement of the Salute and Mera Teale's admission that there are Satanists at the commune.'
'Coincidences,' says Vito, sounding drained.
'We must at least identify and question the Satanists,' says Rocco.
'Of course we must,' growls Vito. 'But not until you've got your forensic results.' He turns back to Tom. 'Finish your appraisal, you were doing well.'
Tom glances at Valentina, hopes what he's about to say won't upset her. 'Finally, Antonio Pavarotti is working undercover, investigating a drug ring operating on Mario's island, when he is killed. Why? His death must have something to do with what's going on in that mansion – a place where we know there's been Satanic activity.'
Vito stares off into space, what he calls a George Bush moment: though outwardly he looks clueless, internally he is processing information, trying to make sense of it all.
'I have a friend at the Vatican,' continues Tom. 'He's digging up information on the Etruscans and-'
'Enough!' says Vito, holding up the palm of his hand. 'No Etruscans, not tonight at least.'
Tom gives him a look of surrender: he can see Vito is exhausted.
The major glides his chair under his desk. 'Isola Mario is under surveillance tonight. Long-range and close-up. No one on the island can so much as spit into the lagoon without us taking samples. Tomorrow we chase forensics. All the reports.' He looks to Rocco, Valentina and Tom. 'Then we meet again, and you can talk all the Etruscan you want and satisfy your curiosity by finding these Satanists and seeing whether they're harmless fancy-dress merchants or the real deal. Until then, let's all get some sleep.'