Viper - Michael Morley [120]
‘I think Franco’s a red herring,’ said Jack.
‘What exactly does that mean?’ queried Sylvia. ‘I mean, I know what it means – a sort of false clue – but why the mention of fish, red or otherwise?’
Jack laughed. ‘It’s an old expression. It means something that’s drawing our attention away from what we should be looking at. Herrings are not naturally red but they turn red when they’re smoked.’
Sylvia cocked her head in acknowledgement of his explanation.
‘I think DNA has smoked Franco Castellani guilty of murder, but he isn’t.’
‘I’m not so sure. What about his trace evidence being all over the pit, all over the car, and Rosa’s underwear being in his bunk?’
‘Exactly,’ stressed Jack.
‘Exactly? ’
‘The panties are the real clue. Franco’s a sick kid. His disease has alienated him from society, and especially from women. Like all young men he has urges – probably very strong ones – for female contact…’
‘And maybe huge hatred and resentment towards those women for rejecting him and his urges?’
‘Maybe. But let me finish. You and I probably both resent a lot of people for a lot of things, but we don’t go around killing them.’
Sylvia jumped in again. ‘But – and these are your own words – the two most crucial pieces of evidence we have are the panties, and the DNA on the car door at the spot where the killer stood when he talked to Rosa before he shot her.’
‘They are crucial. But I’m starting to believe they’re not connected.’
‘Meaning?’
‘They’re contra-indicators. Stolen panties point to a different kind of individual than someone who taunts a victim seconds before he blows her head off with a nine millimetre.’
Sylvia still wasn’t done. ‘But you’re guessing that the killer did that. You don’t know that for sure.’
Jack’s head fizzed with images. Gun raised, girl cowering in the back, boyfriend already dead. ‘Believe me, Sylvia, I’m not guessing. I’m sure. Our killer spoke to Rosa before he shot her. That DNA is our killer’s and that killer’s not Franco Castellani.’
She knew where he was heading. ‘And it’s not Bruno Valsi’s either. The labs say that. They’ve run comparisons on all known offenders and it’s not your boy. I specifically asked about Valsi, and his profile is different.’
Jack stared off into space. Could he be wrong? Could the DNA comparison be wrong? Then he remembered his conversation with Pisano. ‘What if it’s not Valsi’s DNA on file?’
Sylvia frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Lorenzo said the Camorra once sprang Valsi from a gun rap by having the weapon disappear from the evidence store. What if they got to his DNA profile and switched it?’
Sylvia’s stomach flipped. ‘You mean the Camorra paid off someone in the Records Office?’
Jack raised a brow. ‘Maybe not only Valsi’s. Could be that the Camorra do a routine switch on all their top boys. Once their DNA is on file, they pay a mole to switch it. Would be a nice earner for someone.’
Sylvia couldn’t bear thinking about it. And if the Camorra had done that with DNA, then they’d have done it with fingerprints too. And blood samples. If the whole of the Records Office had been corrupted, then law and order in Naples was about to fall apart.
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