Michael Morley - Viper

'A little,' said Jack. 'I left a message on Pietro's phone. Howie showed Creed's mug around some diners and bars. Seems he kept pretty much to himself, but it appears he may have visited a street girl.'

'Any ID on her?'

'Afraid not. It also seems he was logged on to our Virtual Academy. He named someone in the carabinieri for accreditation.'

Sylvia frowned. She knew enough about the VA to understand it had restricted access. 'You know the name of who vouched for him?'

'Nope, but it was probably faked.'

'The more things develop, the less I like Creed.' Sylvia fought more hair from her face and vowed to get it cut. 'Still not sure he stands up as a serious suspect for serial murder, though.'

'You're right to feel that way. But I think Creed is partly a monster of your own making.'

'How do you mean?' She sounded surprised.

'Given all the details on these missing girls, and what we've recently discovered, then maybe someone should get a roasting for ignoring Creed's earlier claims that the cases warranted looking at.'

'I've asked about that. It's not quite the way Creed told you. Seems he did inform several people about the links, but he refused to share all his data unless he was given a full-time job. He was holding info back in order to serve his own ends.'

'That would figure.'

Despite Sorrentino's remark about enough photographs and records having been done, Sylvia still called a crime-scene snapper to take more shots. He arrived wet and cold. She directed him to the new dig. Kristoff Sibilski, a soil analysis expert from the carabinieri's science labs, and Luella Grazzioli, Sorrentino's new Number Two, had rolled up and were now at work as well. Their expert fingers dug in the wet mud and grit. They pulled out stones, filled buckets, sifted soil through metal meshes and removed twigs and glass. Finally, they tagged and bagged samples that meant nothing to either Jack or Sylvia but seemed attractive to Sorrentino. 'Trowel!' he shouted to Luella, akin to the way a surgeon calls for a scalpel.

She slapped it into the palm of Sorrentino's rubber-gloved hand and within seconds he was back on his knees, operating at close quarters, making incisive cuts at precision speed.

Jack watched the rain pour over his long, matted black hair and found himself admiring the man's passion and skill.

Without speaking, Sorrentino delicately lifted something from the earth. He rose slowly to his feet, one hand cupped beneath the trowel, and turned to face them.

Everyone stared at what he held.

'Bone,' he said decisively. 'Human bone.'

In a patch two metres west of the last grave, in a near perfect arc, they'd found Victim Number Four.

Parco Nazionale del Vesuvio A fourth victim.

Was it a setback or a breakthrough? Sylvia rang her superiors from the site and they were in no doubt – it was una catastrofe, un disastro, una tragedia – and they told her so in ways that made it seem as though it was her fault. News about a serial killer was not good for tourism. Not good for the city's image. And certainly not good for votes. Sorrentino, meanwhile – well, he was as happy as a pig in shit. He could barely wait to get back to his laboratory and get the newly discovered bones under his microscope.

Sylvia made several calls as she drove away from Vesuvius. She spoke to Pietro, who said he'd drawn a blank with old man Castellani and was going home early because he thought he had the start of flu. Then she spoke to another of her lieutenants who'd re-interviewed Paolo Falconi and had also come up with nothing new. How she needed a break! She ordered Paolo's release and asked for surveillance to be put on him, in case he contacted Franco.

Jack had gone back to the hotel to change his soaked clothes. She'd promised to ring him after her trip to the labs to see how the forensic evidence was progressing.

The carabinieri's Raggruppamento Investigazioni Scientifiche was housed in a building that Sylvia thought belonged more in Rome than in Naples. The grand five-storey terraced building was salmon pink with dark-green shutters. Potted rose trees stood sentry either side of a lavish slab of marble doorstep.

On the third floor she pushed open the doors to the lab of Marianna Della Fratte and found her old friend, white-coated and hunched over a stack of paperwork. Marianna was thirty-five, single and had the smart and easy sense of humour that made Sylvia wish they both had enough free time to become even closer than they were.

'Can you search your stack and see if you've got a one-pager that solves my case so I can go on a long, long holiday?'

Marianna took off her stylish black square-framed reading glasses and smiled. 'Ciao, Sylvia. I would if I could. But I'm pretty sure if that was possible, I'd have sent it already. How are you?'

'Sto bene. I'd be better if I could have two weeks on a beach – with George Clooney to bring me drinks, rub on some lotion and be my sex slave.'

'Clooney's booked. Brad Pitt and Matt Damon might still be free. You want me to ring for you?' She picked up a phone and waited for the command.

'Nah, it's George or nothing.'

'Then I'll order caffe instead. Why don't you take a seat?' Marianna dialled for a lab secretary to bring some. 'I do have some tests back for you. No holiday with a hunk but we got DNA from the Jane Doe burned and shot in the pit. Mother of Christ, what kind of monster are you hunting this time?'

Sylvia shrugged. 'Your guess is as good as mine. Whatever happened to the days when we thought weird and kinky just meant a strangling with a fishnet stocking?'

'Long gone. The profile has just been sent over to your team. It was quite good, so I'm sure you'll get an ID from it.'

'Anything on the car and other bodies?'

'Rosa Novello and Filippo Valdrano?'

'The very same.'

Marianna shuffled files and found the notes. 'We've discovered a lot of loose hair and trace samples inside the car and we're eliminating the two victims and members of the family. His mother and father used the car as well, so it's quite a compromised site. We've singled out some very distinct samples – arm hair, we believe. It was found on a rubber door buffer. It looks like it may have been scraped off by someone leaning to get into the back of the car.'

Sylvia's hopes rose. 'It's not Filippo's?'

Marianna smiled. 'Definitely not. And before you ask, no, we haven't yet had time to compare it with the other DNA samples you had brought in.'

Sylvia had ordered all Franco Castellani's belongings to be confiscated and sent for testing. 'When will you be able to tell me if there are matches?'

'Forty-eight hours – earlier, if I can.'

Sylvia rested her head on one hand and tried to rub the tiredness from her eyes. She always seemed to be waiting for things to happen, things she couldn't speed up, couldn't control.

'Sorry, Syl. That really is as fast as we can get them to you.'

'Sure. I know. Thanks.' She hauled herself out of her chair, mainly because she feared that if she stayed there much longer she'd simply fall asleep.

'I'm going to skip the caffe and hit the sack. Hope you don't mind?'

'Of course not. But before you go, I want to mention something else to you.'

'Go ahead.'

Marianna searched a scaffold of desk trays. Some papers were in folders, some were in plastic covers, others were marked with yellow Post-it notes and covered in black pen scribblings. 'A carabinieri desk sergeant in Scampia had a human tongue thrown at him by a young child.'

'Yuuck! Che scivo! ' Sylvia screwed up her face. 'They ran out of stones and bottles in Scampia?'

'This gets worse. We've just completed tests for the division. The tongue was cut from the body of a woman called Alberta Tortoricci – that name mean anything to you?'