Viper

Jack moved on. 'You have to get a fresh sample from Valsi and see if it matches what's on file. And if they're not the same, then see if the new sample matches the DNA on the car door at the crime scene.'

Sylvia felt exasperated. 'We can't just ask Valsi for a sample. He'd laugh in our faces.'

'Sure he would. But maybe his wife would help. Him going back to prison would be a blessing for her.'

'Worth a shot.' Sylvia glanced at her watch. 'Cazzo! We're late for the briefing.'

They hurried to the Incident Room. The air was already buzzing with voices, the smell of wet clothing and freshly made coffee. Sorrentino's number two, Luella Grazzioli, was standing at the front, fastening diagrams and photographs to a giant whiteboard with coloured magnets. She had long, layered, shaggy brown hair that had once been blonde but now was dark at the roots and full of dried earth and frizzy ends. When all this was over she'd treat herself to a good cut, a fabulous manicure and enough mellow Pinot Grigio to make her lose the power of speech. But, as she put the last of the pictures on the board, she knew those moments of indulgence were still a long way off. She pointed to a grainy aerial shot marked with red crosses, showing opened graves and the spots the radar had pinpointed as most likely to contain more bones.

'Here you can see the five distinct female recovery sites that we've already opened up, including those of the first victim we discovered, Francesca Di Lauro, and the second female, recently identified as Gloria Pirandello.'

Luella paused to let everyone scan the pictures and get their bearings. 'As you can see, these female graves radiate in a semi-circle. I have teams working with your crews to complete the other half of the circle, and if you're right,' looking at Jack, 'then we're likely to find more burial sites.' Her phraseology made Jack uncomfortable but he didn't interrupt and hoped his instincts were wrong.

'If you look down from the arc – that clock face, as I know some of you now call it – you can see two more graves. These are roughly twenty metres away from those of Francesca and Gloria. On the way over I got a call from the lab and I can now confirm that these are, in fact, male graves.'

It was like a bomb had gone off. First silence as the news stunned everyone. Then an eruption of murmurings.

'Quiet!' shouted Sylvia. 'Male? You're sure they're male?'

The look on Luella's face said she was sure. 'The sex is confirmed. One hundred per cent certain.'

'And not in the circle,' said Jack, more as an observation than a question.

'No. As I said, they're about twenty metres further away.'

And the photographs on the board spelled it out. Two dark radar blobs, nowhere near the female graves, and not that near to each other either.

'What made you dig there, out of pattern?' asked Sylvia.

There was a blink of sadness in Luella's eyes. 'Sorrentino had made notes saying where he thought there could be other bodies – outside the circle. I guess he was looking at the lie of the land and working on his own instincts rather than yours. Anyway, when I swept the GPRS over it, these sites looked hot.'

'How long have the males been buried?' pressed Sylvia.

'Can't yet tell you that. Years, not months. At least as old as the females. The lab says most likely older.'

'Any ages?' asked Jack.

'Again, they're working on it. The bones were those of fully grown, fully nourished adults. We can say at least mid twenties. Probably older.'

Jack stared at the markings of where the two male graves were. They made no sense. Didn't fit his clock-face pattern at all. They weren't side by side, not aligned – just dumped, sort of randomly south of where the women had been found.

Luella continued with the lecture but Jack didn't really hear any more of it. He kept studying the seven sites, trying to work out their chronology and their relationships. As soon as the briefing finished he strode over to where Sylvia and Luella were standing.

'I know,' said Sylvia, 'you want to go straight back to the site. Me too.'

'Somehow I thought you might,' said Luella, realizing instantly that her date with that Pinot Grigio had been put back even further.

88

Capo di Posillipo, La Baia di Napoli At home, waiting with Ricardo Mazerelli for Sal to arrive with the bag from Raimondi, Fredo Finelli nervously paced his office. 'He should be here by now. He was, what? Only five to ten minutes behind you?'

'The traffic was bad. Don't worry. Whatever all of this is, we can deal with it.'

The sound of tyres crunching on gravel and the burble of guards through the intercom told them the wait was over.

'Ringrazi il Dio – thank God,' said the Don. 'As I grow older I become less patient. I like everything planned, Ricardo. Unplanned is unprofessional. Unprofessional is lethal in our business.'

He poured brandies for himself and Mazerelli, and water for Sal. House guards opened up and ushered the Luogotenente through to the office.

There were no courteous hellos; Finelli cut straight to the chase. 'Have you looked what's in the bag?'

Sal looked offended. 'No, Don Fredo. Signor Mazerelli told me not to, just to bring it straight here. That's wha-'

'Fine. Give it to me.'

Sal placed the bag on the big wooden desk. Finelli snatched it and unzipped it. It seemed to contain nothing but wet trunks and a towel. The Don grabbed the towel and felt his heart pound. There was very obviously something inside. He lifted it out and placed it on the expensive desktop. He felt short of breath as he unfolded the cheap powder-blue towel. In the middle was a soil-stained, old white plastic carrier bag. Finelli ripped it open.

An old Beretta 951 slid out on to the towel.

The Don's face registered shock. Without realizing it, he stepped back, away from the gun.

'Wait!' shouted Mazerelli. He held a finger to his lips. He looked around the outside of the bag, then the inside. He examined the side pockets, straps, logos, floor studs and lining. From his pocket he produced a slim electronic device the size of a credit card and swept it up and down the bag and then all over the gun. 'It's clean. No bugs.' Despite the electronic sweep he still took the holdall outside and placed it further down the corridor.

Don Fredo stood and stared. Twenty years ago he'd held the 9mm weapon. He hadn't seen it since. 'I told Pepe to get rid of the damned gun himself, but he insisted on using that old worm, Castellani. Said we owned his soul and was sure Castellani would dispose of it wisely.'

'Seems he did,' observed Mazerelli. 'Wisely for him.'

Finelli slugged back one of the brandies and poured himself another. 'So, we must take what this carabinieri lieutenant says seriously?'

Mazerelli nodded. 'He's made quite a demand. Two million euros, in return for all the documents, records and…' he pointed towards the Beretta, 'other memorabilia.'

Sal caught their attention. 'I can have him and the old man dead and buried by daylight tomorrow.'

'He's thought of that,' countered Mazerelli. 'This cop might be greedy; but he's no fool. He has videotaped testimony from the old man. On top of that, he very clearly knows where other weapons are.'

There was silence. Don Fredo bit at a thumbnail and tried to think.

'There's another demand too,' added Mazerelli. 'He says he wants the eviction order to be lifted on old man Castellani. He and his family are to be allowed to live at the site without any more pressure or threats.'

The Don stopped biting. 'Eviction notice? What are you talking about?'

'Presumably Bruno is intent on forcing them out,' explained the lawyer.

'Christ give me strength.' Finelli looked towards Sal. 'We really are going to have to deal with my son-in-law sooner rather than later.' He turned back to Mazerelli. 'But what about this weasel cop? What can we do about him?'