Viper - Michael Morley [90]
‘Buon giorno! ’ shouted Sylvia, as he completed the last bit of the climb after the carabinieri car had dropped him. ‘Sorrentino, the big guy over there, was called by his team. They’ve found more fragments of bone. As I said on the phone, they’re sure it’s another body.’
Jack looked across the site as they walked together. The unearthed graves of Francesca Di Lauro, the still unidentified second victim and now the third and newest victim were all so close together that there was a danger of the scenes being cross-contaminated. Access planks and grid lines only went so far in protecting multiple-victim scenes, and Jack could see workers struggling not to step into each other’s territory. Sorrentino was now on his knees in the third site, sifting soil, shouting and pointing at people.
‘Let me introduce you to him.’ Sylvia wiped strands of wind-blown hair from off her face. ‘His English is good and lately he’s been behaving himself.’
‘No leaks to the press?’
‘None. Maybe the Great Lion is tamed.’
‘Good.’ Jack noticed she was missing her trusted sidekick. ‘Where’s Pietro?’
‘He’s still interviewing Antonio Castellani. He might join us out here if he finishes in time.’
‘Any news on the grandson – Franco?’
‘No. We’ve still got cars out searching. He has no wheels, so he can’t be far.’
‘And his cousin?’
‘Paolo. There’s news on him. Forensics don’t put him at the pit. Or near the car in which Rosa and Filippo were killed, or in contact with the underwear or trophies we found. We’ll take DNA for further comparison tests, hold him until nightfall, then have someone re-interview him before we let him go.’
They gingerly made their way along the last narrow plank to the newest site.
‘Bernardo, this is Jack King, an American psychological profiler who is helping us with our case.’
Jack held out his hand but Sorrentino didn’t take it immediately. His brain had to absorb the fact that there was someone around who might, just might, be more interesting than himself. ‘Bernardo Sorrentino, Professore Sorrentino.’ He stressed his title as he finally took the profiler’s hand.
Jack nodded at the hunched figures toiling in the dirt. ‘Looks like a major job. You got any pattern yet?’
Sorrentino unveiled his most patronizing of looks. ‘Aah, I wish it was that easy. This is not a structural burial. There are no rooms, no underground chambers, and no buildings of any kind that can provide us with the type of design that would make discovery easy.’
‘Rough time frame?’
‘Francesca we dated around five years. The second is more like six. And I’d say the third is the same – maybe even a little older.’
Jack’s mind wandered to the killer. How had he carried the victims’ remains here? Sacks, bags, buckets? What had he used to get his bearings? A compass or just strong memories? Why had he buried them apart – was it by accident, or out of respect? Did he have some twisted, fractured but still prevailing sense of decency deep inside him? Or did he want them to have separate graves for other reasons?
Sylvia and Sorrentino were talking Italian now. She was asking whether the new bones would yield DNA and Sorrentino was hopeful. She was pushing him for dates on when it would be done – when she could expect results. As he wandered away, Jack smiled at the hard time she was giving Sorrentino. He liked women with ambition, dedication and determination. Liked them professionally, liked them personally.
The profiler stopped and banged a heel into the ground. The earth was as stony as hell. The killer wouldn’t have been able to dig exactly where he liked, so he would have had to have chosen softer ground. He eyed the bushes, the brambles, the patches of overgrown grass and the trees, the circle of pines and cypresses that stretched