Valerio Manfredi: The Ancient Curse

‘Come in!’ he called out, without looking up from his chart.

Sergeant Massaro stepped in and saluted him respectfully. ‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Good morning to you, Massaro. News?’

‘Big news, sir.’

‘What’s that?’

‘We’ve been following Reiter, as you instructed, and we’ve received the information we requested from the database at headquarters and from Trieste as well, where she was first picked up for questioning. I think we’ve got this solved, sir.’

‘If that’s the case, Massaro,’ replied Reggiani, ‘I’m recommending you for a promotion. Let’s hear.’

‘The child, Angelo that is, may have a first and last name: Eugenio Carani. That’s the name of the child who disappeared from a household where Ambra Reiter had been employed as a housekeeper. When the child’s parents reported him missing, she was tracked down near Colloredo and arrested, but there was no trace of the child. She was interrogated at length but nothing came of it. She denied knowing anything about the boy’s whereabouts. What did become evident was that she was suffering from mental illness. She was diagnosed as borderline, with a dissociative disorder. Suspected schizophrenia, even. Her medical record is very complex.’

‘And the family she was working for never noticed anything?’

‘Apparently not. They said she was moody, but nothing out of the ordinary.’

‘So?’

‘So, after a three-month stint at a psychiatric clinic in Pordenone, she was released, and that’s where we lose track of her,’ continued Massaro. ‘I’m thinking that’s when she showed up here in Volterra. Even if she had the child with her at this point, no one recognized her, no one reported her. After all, there was no warrant out for her arrest, and the boy’s disappearance wasn’t front-page news any more. She must have kept him hidden somewhere while she was in the clinic. Maybe she had an accomplice.’

‘Or maybe the child was already here with Ghirardini. He had no children of his own and they say he was obsessed with having an heir. That would explain why Angelo told Castellani that his father was in the palace,’ mused Reggiani. ‘Continue.’

‘Well, I don’t know how to say this, but I think we were this far away from finding… the animal.’

‘What are you saying? The animal’s dead.’

‘Exactly. The other night, while you were out on operations, we stopped Ms Reiter as she was pulling up at Le Macine in her van. In the back she had a big cage, with iron bars as thick as my fingers, as if inside it she were keeping-’

‘That’s not possible!’ said Reggiani softly, taken aback.

‘We asked her what she kept in the cage and she said, “My dog.” I asked her where it was and she said it was dead, and that she’d buried it. She refused to tell me where.’

‘The van and the cage,’ Reggiani said to himself, ‘that would explain the tyre tracks near the murder sites. Castellani himself mentioned the sound of an engine making him suspicious. Didn’t you insist with Reiter?’

‘Of course, but it was like talking to the wall. I sent a couple of guys out looking, but they haven’t turned up anything yet. Anyway, that lady is a real nutcase, sir. She goes on and on about spirits, reincarnation, paranormal powers. When she looks at you with those wild eyes, it’s like she’s possessed or something. Then she clams up completely, turns totally blank. Sometimes she seems perfectly normal. But her normality is even scarier than her craziness, if I may say so.’

Reggiani nodded in silence.

‘What shall we do?’ asked Massaro. ‘She’s still under close surveillance.’

‘We can’t risk her disappearing on us. She’s dangerous. We need to get her committed. Start working on the papers.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m sure that’s the best course of action. Permission to leave, sir.’

Massaro saluted and went to the door. Reggiani called out a moment before he’d closed it.

‘Massaro.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘By any chance, did you ask Ms Reiter when her… dog… died? I know it’s a silly question.’

‘No, it’s not silly at all, sir. Of course I asked her.’

‘And?’

‘She said it happened the day before yesterday, in the evening. About eight p.m. All she said was that he died very suddenly. And she had tears in her eyes.’

‘Thank you, Massaro. You can go now.’

Reggiani remained alone, mulling over those words. The day before yesterday. In the evening. Eight p.m. That would have been just about when Francesca and Angelo were down in the tunnel and Fabrizio was down under the museum with his skeleton. Crazy coincidence. But at least now he had the option of choosing not to believe in spirits. He sighed, then opened his appointment book to see what the new day would bring.

SOME TIME LATER in Siena, Fabrizio and Francesca received an invitation from NAS director Balestra to attend the press conference formally announcing the discovery of the slab of Volterra, the most complex example of Etruscan epigraphy ever found.

At nearly the same time, they received an email from Lieutenant Reggiani which said, among other things:

Our investigation into the origins of little Angelo has produced positive results. Ambra Reiter kidnapped the child from a couple in Trieste who she was working for at the time. The abduction had been commissioned by Count Ghirardini, who wanted an heir at any cost and contacted a criminal organization who arranged illegal adoptions. The child, I’m told, has been reunited with his parents. He has adapted well to his new/old family and is happy, according to the reports I’ve received. I’m enclosing a photo.

Fabrizio observed the image that pictured a fit, handsome man of about forty-five and a striking, elegantly dressed woman about ten years younger. Angelo was standing between them and smiling broadly.

The email continued:

His real name is Eugenio and he’s promised to come to visit as soon as he can, with his parents. As you may have learned, I delivered the final fragment personally to the NAS director, along with a complete report on all of the objects found in the underground hide at Le Macine. I think I can say that everything’s gone as smooth as silk. The animal that held us, and all of Volterra, in its thrall is dead. In one way or another, or in both ways, it’s dead. We’ve spoken about this on the phone and I’m sure you’ll soon come around to my way of thinking. Give me a call when you can, Marcello.

A PS followed:

Sonia has requested a transfer to the NAS offices of Florence and she hopes to be assigned to the Volterra museum. If that should fall through, I’ll ask to be transferred to regional headquarters in Bologna.

Fabrizio looked at the photo again. ‘I would have kept Angelo, if they’d let us,’ he said.

‘That would have made me happy too,’ replied Francesca. ‘He’s a very special child. So sweet, sensitive, bright.’

‘Do you have any idea of what Balestra’s translation is like?’ asked Fabrizio, turning the director’s invitation over in his hands.

‘More or less…’

‘And?’

‘From what I know, it will be a partial, hypothetical version… and no announcement of the opisthographic text will be given, at least not yet. The inscription will be hung on the wall in the museum and show only the Etruscan side. The complete translation is in the hands of a notary, who will keep it locked up in a safety deposit box for some time.’

‘For how long?’

Francesca smiled. ‘Long enough for all of us to accept a natural explanation for the events we lived through. Don’t worry. Your friend Aldo Prada won’t say anything. He won’t want people thinking he’s a crackpot.’