Jon Tracy - The Rome Prophecy

Except today.

A bottle of rough red given to the doctor last Christmas is uncorked and half consumed in Louisa’s office before either of them can really talk.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Valentina, back on the sofa where her ill-conceived plan was outlined. ‘I feel really bad about her attacking you like that.’

Louisa bolts down the vinegary wine and tops up her glass. ‘My fault. I knew better than you that she could have a violent mood swing.’ She touches her neck. ‘I think I’ll have to wear a scarf for a few days, or else there’ll be jokes about me dating vampires.’

Valentina laughs. She likes the clinician and wishes she could make amends. ‘I owe you one. Any time I can do anything for you, don’t hesitate to ask.’

Louisa holds up her hand. ‘No need. I know you have a tough job. We can’t always help, but when we can, we’re usually very willing to do so.’

‘ Grazie.’ Valentina wonders whether Cassandra, or Suzanna – or whoever she really is – would have killed Louisa if she hadn’t stepped in. She concludes that she probably would. ‘Can I ask you to do me a final favour? Nothing risky this time.’

Louisa is wary. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Cassandra shouted out some words in Latin and Italian. I’ve made a note of them. If she says anything else, could you write it down and maybe call me?’

‘Sure. I can do that.’

Valentina scribbles her private cell phone and home numbers on a business card and hands it over. She notices Louisa’s fingers are shaking. ‘Can you take the rest of the day off?’

The clinician smiles. ‘No. Can you?’

‘Maybe.’ Valentina glances at her watch. Almost three p.m. She knows she should go back to the office, but she has no intention of doing so. Forty-eight hours. That’s all Caesario gave her, and the clock is already ticking faster than she’d like. ‘I have to go.’ She drags herself from the comfort of her seat. ‘Call me if you want. Even if you just feel the need to chat.’

Louisa nods and watches the policewoman leave. She puts her hand to her throat and tries not to cry. She got it wrong. Badly wrong. Maybe Valducci was right. Maybe she is guilty of jumping to conclusions, looking for a rare disorder when there isn’t one. Perhaps the woman who had her hands around her throat is just a wild psychotic killer after all.

Tom’s surprised to see her.

Pleasantly surprised.

But then the look on Valentina’s face gives away the fact that she’s not come home early for recreational purposes.

‘Are you all right?’ He puts down the book he’s reading and gets up from the sofa to go to her.

‘Depends on your definition of all right.’ Valentina is already at the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. ‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’ She pours a glass, drinks and tops it up before putting the bottle back in the fridge. ‘If I don’t drink water as soon as I come in, then I eat like a horse.’ She slips out of her coat and goes to hang it up.

Tom can see she’s tense. Strung tighter than a new guitar. He lets her pace for a second and then opens his arms. ‘Hey, come here.’

Valentina folds herself into his embrace. Puts her face against him and silently enjoys the closeness. She’s spent so long coping with problems on her own, it’s strange to have someone around to share them with. More than strange. A little awkward. She kisses his cheek and slowly pulls away. ‘Can we talk for a minute?’

They sit alongside each other on the sofa and she takes his hand.

‘I thought I had everything locked down. Processes in place. Situation under control. Truth is, this whole damned thing isn’t making sense, and I’m starting to see shadows.’

‘Maybe talking through it will help you see some light.’

She pulls her legs up and sits facing him at the end of the sofa. ‘I went to the hospital today to see the woman we’d arrested, and she went insane. She was speaking as though she came from centuries ago and shouting weird things. Then she went crazy and nearly killed Louisa.’

‘Louisa?’

‘Verdetti, the woman in charge of the clinic. She had her by her throat and was choking the life out of her.’

‘Is she okay?’

‘Just about. Very shaken, though.’

‘I can imagine.’ Tom tries to picture the incident. ‘Was the attacker right-handed or left-handed?’

Valentina demonstrates. ‘Left-handed.’

‘I remember that you said that whoever carried out the dismemberment at the church was left-handed. Is this the same person?’

Valentina lets out a sigh. ‘That’s one of the confusing things. The blood on our suspect’s clothes doesn’t match the severed hand found at the church.’

‘Weird.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Can you put the suspect at the church?’

‘Not yet. There are no CCTV cameras around there. Canvassing of locals has come up blank. Forensics are still going over fingerprints and trace evidence to see if there’s anything to prove she was anywhere near the Bocca della Verita.’

Tom shuffles round on the sofa so he’s directly facing her. ‘What was she saying today? You said she was talking strangely.’

‘It was unbelievable. She became this totally different person.’ Valentina clicks her fingers. ‘Snap! Suddenly she was this Cassandra figure, talking as though she was back in old Roman times.’

‘And what did she say?’

She pauses to remember. ‘Nothing hugely significant. She behaved like she was a very powerful woman with a big house and lots of money.’ She laughs. ‘Cheeky bitch called me a whore!’

Tom smiles and rubs a foot that has now trespassed on to his lap. ‘If only she knew what a virtuous life you lived.’

She gives him a playful kick. ‘I was very fine and celibate until you led me astray.’

He can see mischief in her eyes. ‘What else?’

She screws up her face. ‘ Domina! Dominus! Templum! Libera nos a malo!’

‘Mistress. Master. Temple. Deliver us from evil.’

‘She said it a couple of times. Like it was a mantra.’

‘Somewhat cryptic.’

‘Louisa said that was the case with Cassandra women.’ He frowns at her.

‘It’s a psychological condition. Some kind of problem where women dissociate and start blurting out words or messages that no one else can understand.’

‘And that’s your problem. You’ve got to understand, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yeah. Suffragio. Le anime nel purgatorio. Suffragio! I know what it means. Suffrage. The souls in Purgatory.’

‘That isn’t Latin, it’s just Italian.’

She scowls at him. ‘I know that.’

Tom becomes thoughtful. Drifts away into a world of internal focus. Tries to clear the white noise and pick out the key words. Mistress. Master. Temple. Suffrage. Souls. Purgatory. He feels like he’s grasping at straws. ‘The Latin she did use is stilted. All I can think of is that maybe it’s a reference to some ancient gods who share a temple. Does that mean anything?’

He takes the puzzled look on her face to be a no.

‘The last part might be easier. Isn’t there a temple or special church dedicated to souls or suffrage?’

She laughs. ‘Absolutely. About a thousand of them.’

‘No, seriously. I’m sure I recall – from my previous job – somewhere specific, a chiesa run by a special mission.’

She unfolds herself and walks across the room. ‘My Latin is about as poor as my regular church attendance. All I can remember is Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus.’

Tom laughs. ‘Never tickle a sleeping dragon?’

‘That’s it! Straight out of Harry Potter – a Hogwarts motto, I think.’ From a shelf she collects a handful of tourist leaflets and guide books. ‘These came free with the apartment.’ She drops a pile on his lap ‘Every place of interest in Rome is covered in there. You search those and I’ll look through these.’