Michael Morley - Viper

'I don't know about the taunting, but he was certainly right about the DNA.' Marianna ran a finger down the columns and paragraphs. 'We found genomic DNA on the window and door frame in dried saliva spittle. It was fresh enough to obtain a good amplified profile.'

'And?'

Marianna read Sylvia's mind. 'It's not Franco Castellani's DNA. And so far, our databases have drawn a blank on any match with a convicted offender.'

Sylvia scraped her fingers through her hair. That cut was certainly long overdue. 'So Franco was in that car – beyond a doubt?'

'Beyond a shadow of a doubt.'

'But someone else was also at the car. Someone who stood exactly where the profiler said the killer must have stood, precisely at the point from where the fatal gunshot was fired?'

Marianna nodded. 'Spot on. Exactly the same point. I'd say whoever left the geno is your man.'

'And that DNA doesn't match any convicted felons?'

'Not one.'

'Not even Bruno Valsi – you're sure of that?'

Marianna pressed her lips into a thin smile. 'We're sure of it. Lorenzo Pisano asked the same question. We've double-checked. It's not a match.'

Sylvia sat in silence and tried to unpick the tangle of clues and knockbacks. Forensics didn't seem to be able to put any of her prime suspects at the right scene with the right evidence. Franco Castellani had one gun – his grandfather's Glock – but not two. She'd have to check whether the old man had forgotten there had been two. Franco was undoubtedly connected to all the murders at the pit, but not to Sorrentino. Two killers? Could there really be two killers? Franco and Valsi? An impossible pairing? Nothing was impossible, but this was very close. Then again, there seemed absolutely no forensic evidence to link Valsi to anything. 'Can we get a cross-check between all our DNA samples and the Tortoricci woman?'

Marianna shook her head. 'Again, already done.'

'Lorenzo?' That man always seemed to be a step ahead of her.

'Aha. There's no match there either. To be truthful, the trace evidence from the Tortoricci kill was incredibly poor quality and seemed to come from dozens of different sources, no doubt going back years. We found some hair and flaked skin particles, but it's going to take us centuries to clean it up, replicate it and check the databases.'

Sylvia needed space and time to work it all out. A cold, impossible thought hit her.

Creed.

They had no DNA sample on Creed. He had been their only other suspect. Had they been wrong to write him off?

She rubbed her tired face with both hands. She was grasping at straws and she knew it. 'God, Marianna, I really need a break here. You think I'm hunting one killer with two guns? Or two killers with two separate but similar guns who work together? Or two completely separate killers with almost identical weapons? Or – most likely option of all – do you think I'm just going stark raving mad?'

Marianna laughed. 'No doubt about it – last on your list – you are going mad.' She tapped a big stack of files in front of her. 'Now, I need you to take your madness away. I've got my own piling up in front of me.'

Fuorigrotta, Napoli Gina Valsi's friend Tatiana had been right – the answer to all her problems was to find another man. Not an affair, though. What she wanted was a permanent new man in her life. She prayed to God that her father would kill her vicious bastard of a husband as quickly as possible. She'd grieve for a while. Be supportive towards Enzo. But then she'd start again. Slim down, shape up. Find herself someone who was sensitive. The kind of guy who couldn't kill a spider in a bathtub, but would pick it up and put it out of the window. A guy like that could change your life.

Her love for Bruno was dead. Finally gone. It was a relief.

She felt as if someone she knew were suffering from a fatal cancer. It would be merciful for them to die quickly. Get it over with.

Gina was still mentally rebuilding as she parked her silver BMW X5 outside her factory. She employed more than a hundred macchiniste who ran up counterfeit designer garments and made more than a million euros a year for the Family. Some of the clothing even got exported to her father's friends in Russia, Spain and France. The rest went straight into the shops her Family owned in Naples, Milan and Rome.

'Signora Valsi,' shouted a voice from a pace or two behind her.

Gina turned and saw two men. One was small and thin with geeky glasses, the other tall and clearly not Italian. His clothes, his face, everything about him told her straight away that he was a foreigner – probably British or American.

'Signora, I'm Lorenzo Pisano from the carabinieri. This is Jack King, an American colleague of mine.' Lorenzo held out his wallet ID. 'We'd like to talk to you about your husband.'

Gina was no stranger to men with badges or warrants in their hands and she knew immediately that something wasn't right. Why hadn't they called at her home, her father's home or contacted her through Mazerelli?

'Gina, this is an off-the-record chat,' said Jack, reading her silence. 'It'll take twenty minutes of your time and then we'll be gone.'

Gina bagged her car keys and high-heeled past them. 'Guys, if you don't have any paperwork that says I have to see you, then I don't see you.' They were pushing their luck and she knew it.

'Your husband, Bruno, I'm betting that you're sorry he ever came out of prison?' Jack knew he had to hook her quickly. 'We don't want you to testify or give evidence against him in any way. I just need you to tell me what he's like as a person, what he's capable of.'

Gina screwed up her face in disgust. 'My husband's an animal – a pig – but at least he's not a filthy carabinieri pig like you two.'

Jack could see beyond the words. They barely hid her fear. He stepped forward a pace and blocked her. 'I'm not carabinieri. And neither of us is a pig. We're trying to protect people. Just doing our best to stop women like you getting hurt.' He'd touched a sensitive point. 'You know what I mean, don't you, Gina? He's hurt you in the past – hurt others – hasn't he?'

She moved away from him. He made her edgy. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Where did you meet him, Gina? What was your first date?'

'What?' The question threw her. But it did everything it was designed to. It stopped her panicking, stopped her walking away. 'You want to know what? Where I first dated him?'

Jack smiled at her. 'Yep, that's all. Where and when did he ask you out?'

She relaxed a little. Hands on hips, Gucci bag over shoulder. She slipped back in time. 'He worked for my father. Drove me home from a nightclub after the birthday party of a friend. Asked me if I'd like to go out sometime, and I said yes. Simple as that.'

'Why did you agree to the date?'

'You kidding? Take a look at Bruno, there's not a woman in Naples who would say no to him. What is this? The carabinieri runs some marriage guidance service now?'

'Please, Signora Valsi,' pleaded Lorenzo.

She jerked her shoulders. 'He was a good-looking guy, I was a young girl and wanted a boyfriend. Goes on all the time. You guys should get out more; this kind of thing wouldn't be such a mystery to you.'

Jack took the cheek out of her voice. 'He once stabbed the father of a girl he was dating in the testicles, did you know that?'

Gina didn't answer. Nor, noted Jack, did she look shocked or repulsed.

Lorenzo finished off the story. 'And when the girl dumped him, he and his gang attacked her. They held her down and mutilated her.' He put a hand between his legs. 'Just to teach her a lesson.'

'These are sick lies you're making up. If they were true then Bruno would have been arrested. Listen, I'm very busy and have to go.' Gina turned away from them and headed towards the factory entrance.