City of Devils: A Novel (30 page)

‘Sofia,’ he said softly.

‘You wish to tell me more?’

James nodded. ‘I feel ready, if you are willing to listen.’

Sofia raised her head to him. ‘I am here.’

He looked into her eyes, took a deep breath and began again.

‘Just after I qualified as a doctor I worked with my father for a time at an asylum in Edinburgh. It meant so much to me, being able to follow in his footsteps, and I wanted to specialise in brain diseases and mental conditions, as he did. It was the most wonderful time of my life, or so I thought.’ He paused.

‘Go on James,’ Sofia said gently.

‘Then I discovered that he had started to conduct experiments on some of his patients. But these were . . . were not always necessary . . .’

‘Are you sure?’ Sofia asked. ‘Could it not have been that your judgment differed? He was more experienced than you, was he not?’

‘For a while that is what I told myself but then something happened that made me change my mind. There was a young man called Richard who was brought in by a relative. He had begun to attack members of his family for no apparent reason and they were no longer able to control him. Most of the time he just seemed sad, unless, that is, he was painting. He used to create the most beautiful illustrations of what he called his fantasy world. I think he may have been a genius of a kind.’

‘Ah yes, I have known someone like this, a man who did violent things but was gentle and clever too,’ Sofia said. ‘I have heard the professor speak of such people too. He said that a recovery is possible in some cases.’

‘My father did not agree. He performed a procedure on Richard’s brain. He called it a lobotomy. It is a new idea, purely experimental. He had no right to use it!’ James could feel his old anger returning as he remembered.

‘What happened?’ Sofia asked.

‘Richard never uttered another word and certainly did not paint again. He retreated into some kind of inner world. He would have been better off dead.’

For the first time in many months James allowed a dreadful memory to re-enter his mind – the first time he saw Richard after his so-called treatment. He had stared blankly into the distance, his mouth slack. James had tried to put a paintbrush in his hand but he had dropped it to the floor. And then Richard had started to laugh. James shivered as he remembered the sound, empty and uncontrolled, the sound of a madman. Sofia squeezed his hand and he continued.

‘It was then I discovered that my father had performed . . . other operations. He was quite open about it and did not see anything wrong with his experiments. He was
proud
of them. He took me round the asylum showing off his handiwork, talking about each patient as if they were things not people.’

Sofia stroked his hair in an effort to comfort him.

‘You have not heard the worst of it,’ he said. ‘We argued violently. I told him that I hated what he had become and that I would tell the authorities and put a stop to his work. I told him that I wished he was dead and, God help me, at that moment, I wanted to kill him. If he had not walked away . . .’

‘But he did, James,’ Sofia said.

James sighed raggedly. ‘Yes, he did, but I might as well have killed him. From that moment he went into a decline. He began to drink heavily and went missing for days on end. Then one night, during one of his absences, we received a visit from the police. My father had killed someone in a drunken brawl. He ended up in his own asylum and he is still there to this day, a pathetic shell, an abomination, a perversion of the man he used to be. To all intents and purposes he is dead. He is dead and I killed him . . .’

‘You did not, James,’ Sofia protested.

‘I wanted him dead and he knew it. He knew I would take his life’s work away. He could not live without it and I knew that but I threatened it anyway. I might as well have stabbed him myself. What he has now could not be called life.’ James looked into Sofia’s eyes. ‘My greatest fear is that I have inherited his gene for immorality and violence, that I’m a born criminal, no better than whoever has committed these terrible murders here in Turin. That’s why I came here. I had to find out. I thought the professor would be able to tell me, but now . . .’

He pulled away from Sofia and sat with his head in his hands as if shielding himself from his thoughts. She knelt at his feet. ‘James,
caro
.’ She took his hands in hers and kissed them. ‘Wanting someone dead is not the same as killing them. If it was then I would have been guilty a thousand times over.’

‘But what if I have inherited his violence? The professor seems to think it entirely possible for a man to be born with such characteristics.’

Sofia shrugged. ‘I am just a servant and I know nothing of science but I do know people and I know criminals – and you are not one of them, born or otherwise.’

James shook his head. ‘I wish I could believe that, but, Sofia, if only you knew what is in my head sometimes.’

‘But that is it,
caro.
It is in your thoughts only and not your deeds. You are a good man, James. I have known plenty who are not, so I am . . . what is it that the professor is always saying?’ She stood up and puffed out her chest as Lombroso often did. ‘I am an expert in crime!’

James laughed at this, despite himself. ‘And what does this expert say?’

Sofia pulled him to his feet and looked into his eyes. ‘I say that you are no criminal. In your heart there is only love. Your father was – is – broken but you are whole. I am sure if you were to ask the professor, he would agree.’

‘I will, just to be sure, when all this is over.’

Sofia nodded. ‘You do what you must do, but I know he will say the same as I have, just with fancier words.’

James held her in his arms and kissed her with a passion that came from deep within, released by his confession to her. He knew then that whatever happened in the future for the two of them, he had known love and that meant everything to him. It was no longer merely physical desire that they shared but a meeting of minds. Sofia may have had a turbulent and dark past but she had an inner light that shone more brightly from her than any other woman he had known.

Eventually she broke away from him, laughing.
‘Caro
, you must eat. You need to keep your strength up.’ She pulled him over to the table again. They did not discuss further what they had shared. It spoke for itself. Instead, they sat and ate and James told her of the day’s events, leaving out Tullio’s mention of her own contacts.

‘So the old man thinks he is being challenged. Well, it wouldn’t surprise me.’

‘Why not?’ James asked, sipping at the wine she had poured for him. It was good. Not as smooth as Paolo’s Barolo but still tasty. It reminded him a little of bramble jelly – fruity and sweet but with a slightly acidic aftertaste.

‘People either love or hate him. There is no middle way.’

‘How so?’

‘When he is working he does not notice people, their emotions, their lives. All he can see is the shape of their skulls, the size of their feet or whatever he happens to be measuring. Everything else is irrelevant.’

‘He is a scientist. For such a man the pursuit of knowledge is all encompassing,’ James responded, surprised at both her eloquence and her apparent understanding of the professor’s work which revealed that she did not seem to have a great deal of respect for him.

‘Perhaps, but surely such little regard for those around you would serve only to cloud a man’s judgment?’

James looked into her dark eyes, shining intensely with passion. At their centre there was something harder that told the story of her past and perhaps of her present. There was something he had to know. He breathed deeply and took her hand. ‘Sofia, my love, I have to ask you this . . .’

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. ‘What is it,
caro
?’

‘Would you ever sell yourself again?’

She snatched her hand away and stood up, her hands placed defiantly on her hips. ‘What kind of a question is that to ask? I will not answer it! It is not your business. I am free to do as I choose.’

‘But surely you have enough to live? You would not need to . . .’ His voice tailed off as he saw Sofia’s expression.

She did not reply but just stared at him. Her silence seemed to go on forever. Finally she sighed heavily. ‘I have other things to pay for.’ She sat down again and stared into his eyes. ‘Do not ask me any more,’ she said firmly.

‘I have a little money. I can take care of you and whatever else it is you need to pay for.’ James could not bear the thought of her with anyone but him.

She smiled and shook her head sadly. ‘What if you tire of me and go away, back to
Scozia
? What then?’

‘I will never leave you. I . . . I love you.’

Sofia gave an amused smile and he was immediately angry with himself. He had wanted to tell her how he felt gently in a romantic moment, not blurt it out in the middle of an argument.

‘Perhaps you do, perhaps you don’t. It is of little consequence.’

He could not believe what he had heard. ‘Little consequence! Is that how you see me? After all we have just shared?’

She came towards him and put her hand up as if to stroke his cheek but he pushed her away.

She spoke softly, ‘
Caro
, you do not understand. I have to be practical. I cannot allow myself the luxury of love.’

Finally James understood what it was she was trying to tell him. He had been so consumed by his own feelings towards her that he had assumed that she would return them immediately. For Sofia, though, there were different considerations. He took her in his arms again. ‘Then you will have to allow me to love for us both for now until . . .’

She nodded and whispered in his ear, ‘Until . . .’

Then, as they kissed, she led him slowly into her bedroom where they made love with a passion and tenderness that all but consumed him. And whatever she might say, this was the beginning of something important for both of them. He had shared more in that one evening with her than he had ever done with anyone and he hoped with all his being that it might have been the same for her.

Some hours later he lay in bed with Sofia sleeping quietly in his arms. He looked up through her tiny window at the crescent of a new moon and allowed himself to dream of their future. He would become an eminent criminal anthropologist and Sofia would be his wife, helping him with his work and bringing her beauty and wit to his table as they entertained fellow scientists. Lucy would love her. Everyone would love her. How could they not? Except, of course, in his heart he knew that such a scene could never be played out in reality. Sofia was a servant and, in society’s eyes, one with a criminal past. They had no future outside these four walls. But still, he was here with her and he would have to make do with that.

Sofia sighed and smiled in her sleep and James looked down at her, his heart full of joy, enraptured. He was the happiest he had been for a long time, since his father’s death, in fact. It was if he had finally awoken from a nightmare that had played itself over and over again in his mind. But still the memory remained and he had to be sure that all vestige of his fear was gone before he could be at peace. The murders must be solved and Lombroso consulted. He started to go over the facts in his mind – three men murdered, all known to Lombroso, all mutilated in different ways, apparently reflecting his work, all left with a tribute note and a Satanic sign carved into the shoulder. James had no doubt that the professor was right about it being some kind of challenge. But the nature of that challenge and the reason for it was still a puzzle, despite what Lombroso thought, and one they needed desperately to solve before any real progress could be made in the investigation. And there was still the question of Rosa Bruno and Reiner. With all that they had shared it had not seemed appropriate to ask Sofia about them but he knew that sooner or later he would have to broach the subject with her.

Eventually he began to doze and dream a little – of bodies and Satanists and Madagascan skulls. It seemed little more than a few moments later that he was awakened by the sun shining through the window into his eyes. Sofia was not there. He got up from the bed and went into the other room. She was making coffee in her tiny kitchen. The smell of it was glorious – rich and aromatic. Fresh pastries were on the table. She had even provided the morning’s newspaper. James felt a tug at his heart. She had so little but was doing her best to look after him. He embraced her, losing himself in the sweet, slightly musky scent of her hair.

She told him to sit at the table and brought the coffee over as he opened the newspaper and saw the main headline.

WORLD EXCLUSIVE BY BALDOVINO.
LOMBROSO MURDERS: KILLER CONTACTS THE
PEOPLE’S VOICE!

Shocked, he read the article quickly. ‘It’s all there, everything, even the notes!’ he exclaimed. ‘How did the paper get hold of all of this? According to Tullio, Machinetti was supposed to be keeping the news about the notes quiet.’

‘Huh! Machinetti hates the professor. He will have told the reporter on purpose!’ Sofia said, angrily.

James got up from the table. ‘I must go to the professor. He may not know. I need to warn him.’

‘Of course,’ Sofia agreed.

He kissed her goodbye reluctantly and left, grabbing the newspaper and his coat as he ran through the door and down the stairs.

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