Viper - Michael Morley [142]
Sal wasn’t sure what to say next. He didn’t want to panic her, but he couldn’t just say nothing.
Gina picked up on his hesitancy. ‘Sal, tell me what’s happening. What’s going on?’
He searched for a different way to say what was on his mind, but couldn’t express himself as he wanted. He knew it was brutal as soon as he said it. ‘Gina, I think your father’s dead. I think Bruno killed him, and he might now take Enzo from you.’
(Anti-Camorra Unit), Napoli
Sylvia took the backstairs from Lorenzo’s office, down to the main reception which served the various other units in the carabinieri HQ. The last person she’d expected her urgent visitor to be was Luciano Creed.
At first, she thought he’d turned up to waste her time. To complain or cause more embarrassment. But she revised her opinion as the first images from his journalistic friend’s camera card appeared on the computer screen in an office at the back of reception. ‘And this was taken when?’ she asked.
‘Less than an hour ago,’ said the woman glued to Creed’s shoulder. ‘May I politely remind you, Capitano, this is my camera, my pictures, my copyright.’
Sylvia couldn’t help but laugh. ‘My case, my cell block, my right to charge you with anything my little mind can dream up. You remember that. You’ll get your story, but not until we’re ready.’
Five minutes later Creed and Cassandra Morrietti were giving statements in another room. Sylvia went back upstairs to Jack and Lorenzo.
News had just come through that a car bomb had killed Fredo Finelli, and Carmine Cicerone had been shot dead leaving church.
‘Jesus, I only stepped out of the room for half an hour,’ said Sylvia. ‘What the hell next?’
Lorenzo filled her in. He’d been briefed by his own team and half the Anti-Camorra Unit were already out on the streets trying to make sense of it all. ‘Believe me, it’s going to get a lot worse. At least we know why that slimy bastard Bruno Valsi was here this morning with his brief. He was getting himself an alibi that no court in the world would reject.’
They were in Lorenzo’s office. A techy fired up a PC, loaded Sylvia’s pictures and got them on to the monitor.
‘Messy,’ said Lorenzo, looking at the bloody corpses of Paolo Falconi and Franco Castellani. ‘I remember you saying you thought these cousins could be your killers? They still in your frame?’
‘Unlikely,’ said Jack and Sylvia almost simultaneously.
Sylvia sat behind the computer and worked through the images. She opened shots of the crowd, then a badly out-of-focus zoom, some wide frames of a man approaching the cousins’ bodies. Probably the guy who phoned emergency services, thought Sylvia.
‘Wait!’ shouted Lorenzo. ‘That’s Salvatore Giacomo.’
Jack remembered the name from the slide show Lorenzo had given. The man had a casualness and calmness about him that was chilling.
The major tapped at the picture. ‘Giacomo has been part of the Finelli crew for close on twenty years but we’ve never been able to link him to anything more than a parking ticket.’
‘You said he was the old man’s muscle – his Luogotenente – that right?’
‘Right.’ Lorenzo looked bemused. ‘What the hell is he doing with these kids?’
‘There’s more of him a little later.’ Sylvia clicked her way through the rest of the images. ‘Here. Look, he goes right up to their bodies.’
Jack watched closely. The guy was a pro. All the signs were there. The bodyguard was focused on the gun and Franco’s body but his peripheral vision was sweeping the crowd. His jacket was loose. As he walked his hands were up around his waist, ready to grab for a concealed weapon. ‘I know all this Camorra mob are killers or potential killers,’ said the profiler ‘but what about this guy? You’ve nothing on file to prove he’s a triggerman?’
Lorenzo frowned. ‘Like I said, nothing record-wise. But he has a nickname, Sal the Snake. Word has it that he once strangled someone with a length of chain. But we never found the body, and we’ve certainly never seen him with a chain.’
‘Urban myth?’ asked Sylvia.
‘I think so. The snake