Michael Morley - Viper

Up front, Tonino Farina and Dino Pennestri were roaring so loudly that Pennestri had to pull over so he didn't crash the car.

'Happy birthday, Sal.' Valsi leaned over and embraced him. In the brief clinch, he smelled the older man's fear. A victory in itself. 'It's a point-thirty calibre, a little more unusual and special than the forty-five. The grip is made of white pearl and you'll see the barrel and trigger are bejewelled. Go to a dealer, you won't get change out of three thousand euros.'

'Grazie mille. It is bellissimo.' Sal checked the chamber. He was glad to find it empty.

'It's a gift from my wife and me,' said Valsi. 'She gave me a card to give you too.'

Sal watched as he slid a beige envelope out of the inside of his folded jacket. The envelope and the card were the type that only a woman would buy. Thick, expensive card. A simple artistic picture of a beautiful Fall sunset on the front and no printed message inside, so she could write her own. In a beautiful hand she had written quite simply: Happy Birthday 'Uncle Sal', may your own Fall and Winter be the most beautiful seasons of your life. Love and best wishes, Gina x.

Valsi could see that for the first time his wife had signed only her own name. He was just the delivery boy. Fucking bitch. 'I'm not one for sentiment,' he explained with disdain, 'but I am one for pleasure. So, my very old friend, we're taking you to Bar Luca for a celebratory lunch.' He produced a thick wad of fifty-euro bills from his pants pocket. 'Today, I'm gonna pay for all the champagne you can drink. All the food you can eat. And all the whores you can fuck. That is, presuming you can still drink and fuck at your age.'

'I don't drink,' said the Snake.

'Then you can watch us. We'll celebrate for you!' Valsi slapped his shoulder.

Farina and Pennestri broke up again. Sal made an effort to smile. Deep down he was thinking about how dangerously close he'd come to killing Valsi when the snot-nosed little punk had pulled the piece on him.

Stazione dei carabinieri, Castello di Cisterna Sorrentino's minor splash in the newspapers provided the murder squad with a surprising opportunity. Somehow the story was attracting growing national interest. Maybe the nation had a heart after all. Anyway, Sylvia Tomms saw it as a clear chance to keep the case in the public eye and maybe flush out more information. Perhaps, even, the killer himself. With this in mind she scheduled a press conference for the end of the day and hoped to persuade Francesca's parents to attend and make a public statement.

The inquiry was gathering pace and she needed a brief pause to gather her thoughts. She skipped lunch and took a short walk into the small town of Castello di Cisterna. Missing women, a burned corpse, a dead foetus, no witnesses, an untrustworthy ego-bloated scientist and a murder squad that was exhausted before it had even started.

It was like trying to catch cats.

Once she got an investigative focus on one or two aspects, the others escaped her attention and started causing problems.

Was she out of her depth? There were certainly male colleagues who hoped she was. But she didn't think so. This plainly wasn't going to be the run of the mill inquiry everyone had first thought. Better than that, it was going to be a real challenge. A test of wits as well as techniques. She could raise her game. She was good at not being frightened. Good at facing up to big problems and nibbling away at them until she found bite-sized solutions. And she had Jack. He seemed smart enough to come up with a break for them. Experienced enough to pull her through the unfamiliar quicksands of what she feared may well turn into a serial murder inquiry. Her bosses had scoffed when she'd asked for the profiler, but she knew he'd be of value.

It was raining again by the time she walked the last half-mile back to the barracks, but she was so focused she didn't even notice. By early afternoon she had the inquiry team fired up again and locked into the drudgery of sifting statements and checking information. Patience and precision were Sylvia's key tools. Never rush. Never miss anything. Jack arrived for the three p.m. briefing and afterwards retreated to a spare office to make his daily call home. No matter where he was, or what he was doing, Jack always broke from events to phone home and speak to his wife and son. Last year's ordeal with the Black River Killer had been a stark personal reminder of how precious his family was, and how much the young boy needed regular contact with his father.

'How you doing, big guy? You been having fun with Gramps and Grandma?'

Zack's voice was full of excitement. 'Guess what? Gramps took me to play baseball. He says Santa might bring me a real pitcher's glove and real bat for Christmas. D'you think he will, Daddy? Do you?'

Jack told him there was a real good chance that Santa would do that. He flexed his left hand as they talked and felt an ache run from the palm to the elbow. Nerve damage that still hadn't healed properly. Another souvenir from his hunt for the Black River Killer. A twinge that always returned whenever he was tired and stretched. 'Has Mommy been good, or has she been spending money again?'

'She's been spending. And she and Grandma have been drinking wine too.'

Jack laughed and thanked his small snitch for the inside info before asking for the phone to be given back to his mom.

'So, how are you holding up?' asked Nancy. 'You sound tired.'

You sound tired. His wife's diplomatic way of delicately reminding him of the burn-out that had once almost killed him.

'I'm okay, honey; just things are a bit more complicated than I thought.'

'They always are, Jack,' she replied tersely. 'You going to make it back sometime soon?'

He flinched. 'Not so soon. I'm sorry. I think I'm going to have to be here a few more days yet.'

Silence fell. Then she drew a deep breath and let fly. 'Jack, you said four days tops. Please don't mess us all around on this. I've got Christmas coming up, your son is bursting to see you, and my mom and dad were expecting to share a little time with you as well.'

The telling-off lasted several more minutes before he invented a white lie that there was a car downstairs waiting for him and he had to go. 'Love you, sweetheart. Kiss Zack for me.'

'I will. We love you too.' She meant it, but her voice was strained, not only with annoyance and disapproval but also with worry.

Jack tried to banish the loneliness creeping up on him. Zack had sounded so beautiful. So young. So pure. Pure.

The word cannoned around inside him. He'd become so obsessed with Vesuvius and Hercules and the geography of the place, he'd forgotten the deep importance of fire. It made things pure. In religious rites, pagan rites and all magical rites since time began, fire was always a way of cleansing impurity.

But what impurity?

What had the women done?

What was their crime against the killer?

Bar Luca, Napoli They ate steaks and salads for Sal's birthday lunch. From a distance it looked like they were all having a ball. But everyone around the table knew that soon – maybe sooner than even they thought – either Salvatore Giacomo would kill Bruno Valsi, or vice versa.

As far as Pennestri and Farina were concerned, they would try to avoid picking sides right up until the very last moment. Fredo Finelli was their ultimate boss and for now it was far too early to bank on the ballsy young Bruno being able to topple the Don. If anything, they would bet against it. But the two men had been Camorristi long enough to know you should never say never.

Bar Luca was a basement haunt in the city centre. Recently refurbished, it pumped out ice-cold air conditioning and the kind of atmosphere that made every minute feel like a Friday night. Sitting at a dark wood table, not far from a pole around which a half-naked girl posed and pouted, they'd finished their food and the drink was flowing.