Michael Morley - The Venice conspiracy

Valentina takes the file off him and opens it. 'We don't normally let civilians see things like this, but we need you to look.' She turns it around and places it in front of Tom. 'You're right: it's not pleasant. I'm sorry for that. But right now, none of us in this room can afford pleasantries. Like it or not, we're all caught up in this young girl's death.'

Tom glances down. It's not what he expected. No gory post-mortem photographs. Instead, what he sees is a computerised sketch of Monica's body. Arrowed, listed, numbered and described are each and every wound inflicted by the killer. Tom turns it around and pushes it back. 'I'm sorry. I still don't understand. Is this supposed to mean something to me?'

Valentina stands and walks around the table. She perches on the edge of it alongside Tom. Close enough to feel some electricity from being in his personal space. 'When you first met me and Major Carvalho, you said something that stuck in our minds. You said, and I quote, "You're dealing with the devil's work." Do you remember?'

He glances down at the sketch on the table. 'Yes, I remember.'

'Well, maybe you were correct.' Valentina pulls the ME's report close to him. 'In the bottom corner you'll see the total number of wounds inflicted upon Monica. The ME has checked them; my boss has checked them; even Rocco here has checked them. There were six hundred and sixty-six, Signor Shaman. Six Six Six. We suspect that number means even more to you than it does to us.'

A tray of coffee signals the end of hostilities. Tom toys with a double espresso then downs it like a shot of vodka. His eyes are still glued to the expansive sketch of the teenager's six hundred and sixty-six wounds. Lieutenant Valentina Morassi waits until he's wiped his mouth. 'Father, we asked you to help because you have spiritual knowledge and because in finding Monica's body you're already part of the enquiry. That gives you a unique insight. It also means we don't have to risk telling other people about what we're doing. Even church circles have mouths that can't keep secrets.'

'Sorry to pull you up, but I'm no longer a Father. Just Tom. Plain Tom Shaman.'

'Scusi,' says the lieutenant, holding up her hands. 'Tom, where do we begin? What is the meaning of the six hundred and sixty-six wounds?'

'Okay,' says Tom, putting down the empty cup. 'Then we go back to Book of Revelation. Chapter thirteen, verses seventeen to eighteen. There are many translations and they all differ by a word or two, but in the main it's understood to go like this: "This mark is the name of the beast or the number of its name. Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for the number is that of a man; and his number is six hundred and sixty-six."'

Valentina looks confused. 'What does that mean? Are we looking for some killer – or killers – tattooed with six-six-six? '

'You might be, but I would have thought that unlikely. I don't believe your killer is from the crazed lunatic end of the Satanic spectrum. To inflict so precise a number of wounds and then to leave the body on public display seems indicative of someone who plans things very well – and that will most probably include meticulously hiding his Satanic beliefs.'

Valentina's impressed. 'We call them organised offenders. I suspect now you're just plain Tom Shaman you might make a good psychological profiler.'

'I'll try to take that as a compliment,' says Tom. 'Six-six-six is a highly significant number to Satanists,' he adds. 'By inflicting exactly that number of wounds, someone with Satanic beliefs is making an offering, a sacrifice. I think you can also say that they want you to notice what they've done. So you should see it as a declaration, a show of their power and statement of intent.'

The answer's more than Valentina expected. 'It's certainly true that there are more cases of Satanic killings than ever before. That's not just here in Italy, it's the same across Europe and America too.'

Tom nods. It's not news to him. 'There's been a rise in Satanic activity for the last decade. Some of it is just cranks seeking sexual thrills or publicity for their newly formed rock band. Some of it, like the attack on this poor girl, is more sinister.'

Rocco looks surprised. 'The church has been aware of the rise in these crimes?'

'The Vatican follows this kind of news as closely as the FBI tracks terrorist incidents. Many exorcists maintain that disciples of Satan are building towards something, deliberately increasing coven activity and pushing the boundaries of their ceremonies and sacrifices.'

Valentina spoons sugar into her nearly cold espresso. 'I pulled up a case from Yaroslavl in Russia, about three hundred miles from Moscow. Two teenage girls were stabbed six hundred and sixty-six times and had their hearts cut out. The killers poured their blood over the body of another teenager they were initiating into their cult.'

Tom nods. 'I remember those killings. The following day the gang killed another two youngsters and then hid their remains in graves marked by upside-down crucifixes. They set fires, too, didn't they?'

'They did,' confirms Valentina. 'We've only got outline intel at the moment, the Russians are sending us more details. But, yes, there was a sacrificial fire, and apparently some of the victims' hair was burned on it.'

'It follows. And cannibalism, right?'

'Right again. They drank some of the blood and roasted slivers of flesh on the fire.'

'You think your case and that one are connected?'

Valentina shakes her head. 'They made arrests in Russia, so there can't be a direct connection. There may be a copycat element. In Italy there have been other cases too. A Satanic cult was unearthed in Milan after the ritualistic killings of a young rock singer and two women.'

Tom nods. 'Very often you'll find modern Satanic rituals involve three killings. It's their way of defiling the Holy Trinity – three corpses to mock the Father, Son and Holy Ghost and to show Christians that Jesus is powerless in his endless struggle against Satan.'

Valentina does her best to hide her fear that Monica Vidic may just be the start of such a sequence. 'Tom, I apologise for ruining your trip to Venice and your new romance. We'll get you back to the hotel as soon as possible. Would you do us one more favour?'

'I'll try.'

'It's a big favour. My major would like to fix a meeting – a sort of brainstorming session with you and the medical examiner, Professore Montesano.' She lets a beat go by. 'At the morgue.'

Tom doesn't flinch but his reaction gives away the fact that it's an appointment he'd prefer not to keep. 'And if I do that, then you're done with me? Finished, completely?'

Valentina looks to Rocco, then back to Tom. 'Completely.' She hopes her face doesn't give away her deception. Now is not the place to mention what else the killer had done to Monica's body.

Atmanta Two heavy, S-shaped iron hooks hang over the top of one of the city walls.

They're rusty from being there so long. Ugly brown deposits stain the honey-coloured stone.

No one ever asks what they're for.

Everyone knows.

They know, because when they're in use, the entire community lives in fear.

The hooks belong to Larth. He hangs things from them. Living things.

Once, he hung a villager's dog by its hind legs. The animal had been stupid enough to run at him barking. Larth had almost broken its neck with his bare hands, but that wasn't enough. He strung the mutt up from the hooks and made its owner and his six-year-old son sit beneath it until the dog died in the baking sun. The animal had taken more than a day to give up its last yelp. Larth had warned the owner that if he so much as touched it, let alone comforted it or gave it water, then he'd be strung up as well. When the hound was dead, he made the child cut it down and bury it outside the walls.