Michael Morley - Viper

Mazerelli couldn't look them in the eye. He'd sat in the restaurant a thousand times with Don Fredo. All the memories were now worthless. Blown away by a murderous bad-mannered oaf. 'Ciao,' he managed sadly, as the old doorbell clanged on the way out.

Though it was grey outside, verging on fog and rain again, Valsi slipped his shades on as they walked through the Piazza Nazionale and back to the Lexus. 'Now, take me to the Don's tailor. By the time I've been fitted for a new suit, the bloodshed will be over. Then you and I can talk of the future.' Capaccio Scalo, La Baia di Napoli Salvatore Giacomo sat frozen in his car, his cellphone on his lap. Giotto Fiorentino had just told him the Don was dead. The Cicerone clan was clearly on the rampage. Giotto had been in the process of adding that the Don's driver, Armando, was also dead, when the sound of a door breaking and automatic gunfire completed the story. He was dead as well.

Sal sat and figured things out. Valsi would be in the thick of it. Stirring up bad blood. Serving his own purposes.

He should have killed the young piece of shit, instead of Donatello. If only he'd trusted his instincts instead of doing as the Don had instructed him. But that's what Sal did. He followed orders. Always did as he was told. And now loyalty to the Family was going to get him killed.

Well, not if he could help it. Certainly not without taking some of the bastards down with him.

What about Gina? What about Enzo? Valsi wouldn't hurt his kid, not the boy. But he wasn't sure about Gina. He'd seen him with women, seen the violence, seen the brutality in his fists and in his heart.

The Don would want her protected. Keep an eye on her, Sal. Look after her like she was your own daughter. That's what the Don had asked him to do in the past. And he had done it. Best he could.

Now there was only one way to truly protect her. And it didn't involve running, or hiding. It involved what Sal did best.

Killing.

Stazione dei carabinieri, Castello di Cisterna The case conference continued at a slow, methodical pace. Nothing was to be missed. Every link scrupulously examined. A mistake now could prove fatal.

Sylvia was growing tired and short-tempered. 'I asked for checks on Celia Brabantia, the former manager of the Finelli sex centre. Is she dead or alive?'

Claudio Mancini hesitated. 'Alive. We think.'

'You think?' queried Sylvia. 'Alive is when you breathe, dead is when you don't. Which is it, Claudio?'

'One of the women said she'd quit and moved home to Sansepolcro. She gave us a number and we spoke to a woman who said she was her, but we haven't yet had a chance to physically ID her, so we think she is alive but can't be certain.'

'Okay, we get the picture, thanks.' Sylvia rubbed at her hair and paced while she thought. 'Susanna, update us on the body count and body IDs. Where do we stand? Who's linked to whom?'

Susanna Martinelli was a tall, thin confident woman in her late twenties with long black curly hair that shook from side to side as she walked to the front. She picked up the projector control and began with the slides of the dead cousins, Paolo Falconi and Franco Castellani. 'Their deaths now seem like a single planned suicide by the elder cousin, Franco, a heroin user, that went wrong and ended in a double tragedy. Onlookers say the younger cousin, Paolo, tried to stop him and was accidentally killed.'

Sylvia stepped across the conversation. 'We've been considering these two as suspects in our murder cases. It could be that Franco Castellani had planned to kill himself out of shame or guilt and he bungled the suicide and shot Paolo Falconi as well.'

Susanna continued her narrative. 'I've been asked to put up these slides as well.' She clicked on to several images of the cousins' bodies being examined by a well-built, middle-aged man in a grey suit.

'Salvatore Giacomo, aka Sal the Snake,' explained Lorenzo from the shadows of the room. 'Fredo Finelli's personal muscle. We want to know why he was there. What's his connection with the cousins? Had he been told to threaten them, abduct them or even kill them? We have information – which, unfortunately, I can't go into at this moment – that suggests there was bad blood between Sal's boss, Fredo Finelli, and their grandfather, Antonio Castellani. Was Sal following the cousins on Finelli's instructions?'

Jack's eyes were glued to the frame of Giacomo. This was a man who had slipped under their radar for most of the inquiry. No criminal record. Yet he was a career criminal who was certainly smart and efficient. He ticked a lot of boxes on Jack's profile. 'Lorenzo, is this Sal a local? Was he born and bred around here?'

Pisano didn't need any notes to help him. He knew the background on the Finelli Family as well as he knew the history of his own family. 'Giacomo is Neapolitan. As local as they come. Born and bred in Herculaneum. Lives alone in a one-bed in Napoli Capodichino. He's been there since we've been keeping tracks on him.'

Jack mentally reran the profile he'd drawn up. White male, knows how to control violence, probably aged thirties to fifties, single or divorced, born locally, has good local knowledge, holds driving licence, comfortable with a gun, perhaps a career criminal, a Camorrista with a history of violence. But what the hell was Giacomo's connection to Valsi? The two men seemed more enemies than friends. Sal the Snake was unlikely to kill on Valsi's orders. And there was no way Jack could imagine the two sharing some joint sexual pleasure in sadistically murdering women.

The slide show moved on. They reran the start of the sequence where Sal first appeared on the scene. He walked coolly into frame, checked the cousins' bodies for signs of life and then disappeared again. 'Can you flick through all those shots of him again, please? Maybe magnify by two and jog them back and forth?'

Susanna did as Jack asked. The quality dipped as the picture doubled in size. Sal moved in a near comical, jerky slow motion around the bodies, checking for pulses, wiping his hands.

'Okay, you can stop there.' Jack turned sideways to Professoressa Marianna Della Fratte. 'Ballistics say the same ammo was used in the murders of Rosa Novello, Filippo Valdrano, Kristen Petrov and Bernardo Sorrentino. Two different sites, the same ammo, correct?'

Marianna nodded. 'Yes, correct. Jacketed Hollow Point. And before you ask,' she glanced at Sylvia, 'yes, I'm absolutely certain that there were two separate guns. Both Glocks, both the same calibre, but the barrel markings and firing-pin impressions were entirely different. We double-checked.'

Jack held up a hand. 'Okay, can we run those last few slides again, please? I just want to see something, maybe it ties in with what the Professoressa just told us.'

Susanna repeated the shuffle and Jack moved close to the projector screen. Bright light caught his face and cast a giant shadow of his head on the screen before he backed off. 'As you can see, Sal is right-handed. Look here, when he checks Franco's neck for a pulse.' The slide moved on. 'Now, when he stoops to move Franco to check on Paolo – see the flash of leather strapping? That's because he's wearing a shoulder holster under his right arm. Not his left arm. This is so he can pull a gun left-handed. Probably means it's a twin holster rig and this is his back-up gun. Only rednecks and real pros carry two weapons. And as you don't have too many rednecks out here, we can assume this guy is a pro and knows how to use them both. Most likely – very likely – this guy's carrying twin handguns.'

'Ten minutes' break everyone,' shouted Sylvia. Jack didn't have to say what he was thinking. Everyone was on the same wavelength. Find Sal the Snake. Find out if his guns are Glocks and whether the bullets match the murders.