102
Capo di Posillipo, La Baia di Napoli Gina Valsi arrived at her father's home at the same time that a police search team with a warrant was arresting a security guard who'd tried to stop them getting in.
Claudio Mancini had been dispatched with Jack in tow. Other search teams were crawling all over Valsi's home in Camaldoli and Sal's apartment in Napoli Capodichino.
'What's this? What the fuck's going on?' Gina barked at them as she slammed the driver's door of the X5.
'We've got a warrant.' Mancini pulled the paperwork from inside his jacket.
Gina waved him away. 'That won't be worth wiping your ass on when my father comes.' The look on his face pulled her up.
It was true. The stuff that Sal had been saying was really true. Her knees went weak, then buckled.
'Here, let me help you.' Mancini took her arm and steadied her.
Somehow she made it to a metal seat beneath a window near the front door. She sat there in shock as the carabinieri officers filed into her father's home.
Mancini lowered himself down beside her. 'Signora Valsi, your father and his driver have been killed. Their car was destroyed in an explosion, a car bomb, about three kilometres from here. I'm very sorry.'
Gina heard him through some kind of cotton wool. She knew what he was saying and knew that it was true, but the shock was so great, she felt nothing.
He'd never be killed, her father had promised her that. Everything would be all right. Everything would be fine. He'd reassured her so many times that she'd actually believed it.
And now? Now he was gone. Bam! As quick as that.
What next? What were she and Enzo to do?
Enzo.
'My child! Where's my child?'
Gina was in the house in seconds. 'Enzo! Enzo, where are you?' She hit the stairs two at a time. 'Elena! Elena, are you there?' Where was that damned childminder?
Mancini and Jack waited patiently in the hallway.
Eventually, Gina came down, her face grey with fear. 'Where's my son?'
Jack watched her every move. Watched her eyes settle on him and work out that he was the key to everything that happened next. It had been his suggestion to take her child away, keep the boy separated from his mother. Not nice. Not compassionate. Jack knew all that. But he also knew he was going to need every ounce of leverage for what was going to come next. The cops were still all over the Don's home when Sal drove up the hillside. There was just too much heat to go all the way up to the place and see for himself what had happened. He hit the brakes and did a U-turn. Thumped the steering wheel as he straightened up. His whole world was upside down. Crazy shit was happening now. And it would get crazier. It always did after a Capo had been killed. At times like this you either watched, or you played. Sal was a player.
Next stop, Valsi's place. The skunk would have his tail up and would be hiding there. Two miles from the Don's home, Sal became aware that he was being followed. Navy-blue Fiat Strada, new model, maybe a year old, but he couldn't make the plates. Thirty minutes later as he approached Valsi's home in Camaldoli, it was still in his rear-view mirror.
A white forensic tent jutted out from the frontage of Valsi's place. Carabinieri officers chatted and smoked in front of it. One peered skyward and hoped it wouldn't rain again. The scene confused Sal. He'd expected to see Camorristi outside, not carabinieri. There'd clearly been other casualties that he didn't yet know about.
The Fiat was three cars back as Sal rolled on past and, fifty metres later, took a right. Around the corner he floored the Merc and pulled a quick left. Tyres squealed. A glance in the mirror just before he finished the turn told him the Fiat was overtaking the second car back. Someone was definitely tailing him, and he had a feeling it wasn't the cops. The Merc straightened up and the smell of rubber wafted through the air con. Sal ripped through the gears along Via Terracina, his speed jumping from 60 to 80 to 120kph. In the rear-view mirror, the Fiat was struggling but still within sight. Ospedale San Paolo flashed past on his left. He was topping 160kph as he approached the sharp left-hander into Via Cupa Vicinale Terracina. Sal swung hard right and then cut left, hoping his racing line wasn't too tight. The Merc redlined and screamed as he changed down gears. The back end kicked out – but, despite what it looked like, Sal still had full control. He sighted the traffic parked up ahead, then deliberately slammed the brakes on and prepared for the Merc to plough into a parked car.
Sal flipped the driver's door open just before the impact. Air bags ballooned. He found just enough room to slip on to the sidewalk. He kicked the door shut and rolled up tight against the parked car. Seconds later the blue Fiat slid past and slammed on its brakes.
Lying on the hard stone, Sal slipped off the safeties on both Glocks. A clunk and grind of gears announced that the Fiat was reversing back up to the Merc. Sal had never seen the occupants, but he was sure he knew who they were and what they wanted. Engine still running, they got out.
Sal lay flat and watched them from beneath the Merc.
They were both square to the passenger door. The air bags meant they couldn't see anything inside the vehicle.
Someone tugged at the passenger-door handle to open up for a better view. Within half a second he was vertical, firing through the driver's window with both Glocks.
Within two beats of their hearts he'd emptied ten rounds from his fists. He stepped quickly on to the crunched nose of the Merc.
The men were already down. Wounded and bleeding. One was dead, face down, crimson jelly in the grime and grit. The other was on his back, twitching and gargling blood. The Glock in Sal's left hand jerked again, five more rounds. The gargling stopped.
He dropped over the other side of the Merc and chugged more shots into the bodies and heads of the men on the floor.
Take no chances. Doubly sure equals doubly dead.
The bodies didn't move.
He didn't recognize the guy on his back. He rolled the other stiff to look at him. Romano Ivetta. Dead as a fucking dodo. Hoo-fucking-ray!
Sal didn't waste any more time. He holstered the Glocks. Walked over Ivetta's body to the still-running Fiat, slipped inside and drove off.
103
Stazione dei carabinieri, Castello di Cisterna The closest thing to sympathy that Gina Valsi got was a cup of tea. Even then it was cold. She'd been taken to the carabinieri headquarters on the east of the city where the Murder Squad was based.
Claudio Mancini spent an hour with her in the Interview Room, tape rolling, questions flying. He kicked off by asking about her father. Where had he been going that morning? Who'd known of his movements? The usual stuff. Then they moved on to the more exotic. His line of work, his enemies, who might have wanted him dead. Every ten minutes Gina demanded to see her son and each outburst got the same deadpan answer: she'd have to wait.
The door swung open and for the sake of the tape Mancini announced Jack King's entrance.
'Signora, may I add my own commiserations? I'm very sorry for your loss.' The profiler settled comfortably into a chair opposite her. Her eyes followed a brown folder that he placed on the table. Jack interlocked his fingers and rested his hands on top of it. 'I'm here helping the carabinieri to solve a series of murders of young women. I think you may have known some of them.'
'I don't think so.' Gina looked confused.
He opened up the folder, slid out a photograph and turned it towards her. 'This is Francesca Di Lauro. Name mean anything to you?'
Gina shook her head. 'No. Why, should it?'
Jack didn't say anything. He took out several other photographs and lined them up in a separate row. Luisa Banotti, Patricia Calvi, Donna Rizzi and Gloria Pirandello.
Gina's gaze slid over them, their dark eyes and mixed expressions looking back up from the table at her. She bit at a thumbnail then turned the picture of Francesca back towards Jack. 'I don't know her but I've seen her face. In the papers, right? On television. She's the woman they found somewhere out near Pompeii.'