City of Devils: A Novel (40 page)

There was a pause. Everyone was staring at Machinetti whose face suddenly blanched. For a moment James felt almost sorry for him.

‘It could have happened as you say,’ Machinetti said, almost inaudibly.

‘What was that? Speak up, Machinetti,’ Tullio said, his authority growing visibly as Machinetti’s shrank.

‘It is plausible enough to believe . . . to believe he could have . . . he might have . . .’ Machinetti spluttered desperately.

‘But I didn’t,’ Lombroso said, almost gently.

‘No indeed you did not, because you were with me as I stated earlier,’ Borelli said, his hand on Lombroso’s shoulder in a show of support.

‘Come, Marshal, it is time we were going,’ Tullio said crisply. ‘We can discuss the case on the way back to your headquarters. Good afternoon.’ He paused for a second and then turned. ‘And, gentleman, please be careful. You are all potential victims now.’

‘Tullio,’ called out Lombroso. Tullio came back into the doorway and Lombroso whispered something in his ear. He nodded and left again.

There was a short pause as everyone present seemed to be taking stock of what they had witnessed in the last few moments. James was almost ashamed that he had allowed himself to become involved in what was little better than the drunken brawl of the previous night. It all seemed extraordinary and, indeed, faintly ludicrous.

Father Vincenzo, who had been watching all that had transpired with apparent interest, gave a short bow. ‘I will also take my leave of you, gentlemen,’ he said quietly, as if he himself had played no part in what had just passed. He turned towards Lombroso. ‘Before I go I will say this. We should not forget that five people have now died in tragic circumstances.’

‘Indeed, you are right to remind us, Father,’ Lombroso said.

‘And they all seem to be connected to you, Professor . . .’ he said, striding out of the room before anyone could speak.

Lombroso sank into an armchair as if he had been deflated. He looked mournfully into the distance and despite having known him for only a short time, James still recognised the signs of the melancholy that overcame him from time to time. Clearly the priest’s words had struck a chord.

Borelli went over and sat by him. Ottolenghi signalled to James to continue their work and they set about measuring the skulls. It was good to be occupied with something. The news of DeClichy’s death had cast a terrible pall over their world. Before, the murders had seemed almost remote, even though the victims had been familiar to at least some of them. But this was different. This time they had lost one of their own and it had brought the horror even closer. James could see that Ottolenghi was thinking about it but they remained in silence for a good few minutes until finally Lombroso spoke.

‘He is right. I did kill DeClichy.’

Startled by this admission, James looked over and wondered, though for no more than a split second, if he was about to make a bizarre confession, although the thought of such betrayal seemed unlikely.

‘Nonsense, Cesare, you were with me, remember?’ Borelli said.

Lombroso shook his head, violently. ‘No, you don’t understand. I did not strangle him or wield the knife that mutilated him but I might as well have done. If it were not for me he would still be alive.’ Lombroso leaned towards his friend and placed his hand on Borelli’s wrist. ‘I turned DeClichy away, again and again. He wanted to tell me something. If I had let him then perhaps he would not be dead now.’

‘That is not so, Cesare. Even if you had spoken to him you could not have saved him.’

Lombroso looked at him, frowning. ‘I disagree. I think he was trying to tell me something and died for his trouble.’

‘You think he was killed by the Pilgrim, then, as Machinetti says?’ Borelli asked. ‘Or was there a second killer, an accomplice perhaps?’

Lombroso looked into the distance. ‘I don’t know who committed the act but this much I do know: if evil acts such as these are repeated often enough then immorality becomes a habit.’

Borelli stared at Lombroso. ‘A habit? Surely these murders amount to more than that.’

Lombroso gave a wry smile. ‘You misunderstand me, Adolfo. The thing about habits is that they breed mistakes. And where there are mistakes there are clues.’

‘Has he made an error then?’ Borelli asked urgently.

Lombroso smiled enigmatically. ‘That, my old friend, is what we must find out.’

22

Because the majority of criminals lack any moral sense, they fail to understand the immorality of crime.

Lombroso, 1878 p 109

Later that afternoon, when the Madagascan skulls were finally measured and each detail carefully recorded, James and Ottolenghi were instructed to meet Lombroso downstairs in ten minutes when, he told them, they would all be embarking upon a short journey. Borelli had long since left and so it was just the three of them moving in a carriage through the encroaching November darkness to their mystery destination.

Lombroso seemed to have cheered up a little since his earlier attack of melancholia. He looked over to them and smiled. ‘I am assuming from your silence on the matter that you did not find anything of consequence by following our friend Horton last night?’

As they explained the events of the previous evening, Lombroso listened intently, nodding and grimacing according to what they told him. ‘Interesting. We have not one but two slippery characters at large last night and two murders to boot. My hunch is that this is no coincidence.’

‘You think only one of them is the Pilgrim?’ James asked.

Lombroso peered at him through his glasses. ‘Perhaps, perhaps not – well, not completely.’

James was confused but did not wish to admit it. He looked over to Ottolenghi who had a faint frown on his face. It seemed that he was not alone. He remembered something that his father had told him: that if he wanted to learn, he should never be afraid to ask questions.

‘But Machinetti said that there was a note. It must be the Pilgrim who killed DeClichy, surely.’

The carriage came to a halt. ‘Well, Murray,’ Lombroso said, ‘we may find out for certain in a few moments.’

They alighted and James saw that they were outside the city morgue. It seemed that they had come to examine poor DeClichy’s corpse.

Tullio was waiting for them at the entrance. He looked tired and it occurred to James that his constant battle with Machinetti must be taking its toll.

‘I have managed to obtain access to the body, Professor. It’s this way.’

They followed him along a tiled corridor to a small room. James noted that even after death one’s station in life was recognised. The other corpses shared their accommodation whereas DeClichy, as a gentleman, was given a room of his own, although it was far from palatial. There was little in the way of natural light and the only furniture was a table in the centre on which the body lay, discreetly covered by a sheet. An orderly stood respectfully by and, on a nod from Tullio, pulled it back to reveal DeClichy.

He looked peaceful despite the manner of his death. His glasses had been removed and James could see that the man was younger than he had at first thought. There was a certain vulnerability about him but then he had seemed, from their brief acquaintance, to be a compassionate and thoughtful man. He had cared about his work just as much as Lombroso, even if his conclusions were different. James wondered what might have been if he had survived. Perhaps he would have done great good in the world had he been permitted to continue with his work. Madame Tarnovsky had told him that DeClichy would often give money to those he studied and their families because he believed that poverty and a lack of education were the two chief causes of crime. Having seen the slums of both Turin and Edinburgh, James was inclined to think that perhaps he had a point, even if Lombroso did not agree. But the question remained: why had the Pilgrim chosen him as a victim when the others had all been criminals of one kind or another? It did not make any sense.

Lombroso had removed his coat and pushed up his sleeves. He bent over the corpse and looked more closely at DeClichy’s injuries. There was a gaping hole in his middle. It looked as if he had been operated on and, indeed, it reminded James of an illustration in one of the anatomy books he had used for his medical studies.

‘What happened to the stomach and so on?’ asked Lombroso.

Tullio looked sheepish. ‘I am afraid that by the time I arrived the body contents had been washed away on the instructions of Machinetti. He said that the cause of death was obvious and he did not want to dirty his boots on the remains.’

Ottolenghi shook his head in despair. ‘I cannot believe that he would be so stupid. There are
always
clues at the scene of the crime.’

Tullio smiled ruefully. ‘Machinetti does not believe in evidence. He investigates crimes using hunches and what he likes to call his hunting instinct.’

Lombroso tutted. ‘And I suppose his instinct told him not to allow the body to be photographed in situ, as with the first murder?’

Tullio shook his head. ‘I am afraid so, Professor. And there are no drawings either. The sketch artist was not available until later in the morning and Machinetti did not want to wait.’

‘Mmm, eager to arrest me, no doubt. And the note – do you have it?’

‘No, I regret that I don’t. I am informed that it was the same as the others but I cannot verify that.’

Lombroso sighed. ‘Well, we will just have to concentrate on what we
do
have.’ He began to examine the body, presumably to look for the carving that had been left on the other victims, when the door was flung open and Machinetti stormed in, accompanied by Giardinello and another young carabinieri officer.

‘Stand back from the corpse immediately!’ he barked.

Lombroso glared at him angrily but obeyed the order nonetheless.

‘What is this, Marshal? We have permission to be here!’ Tullio said in exasperated tones.

‘You may have permission but he doesn’t.’ He jerked his head towards Lombroso, dismissively. ‘This man is a suspect – a fact you omitted to tell the
questore
, your superior. He could be tampering with evidence.’

‘What evidence?’ Lombroso said impatiently. ‘You and your men have destroyed it all.’

Machinetti turned slowly towards the professor. ‘If you and your friends do not leave now I will have you all arrested. Explain
that
to Professor Gemelli!’

Lombroso pursed his lips angrily and snatched his coat, politely offered to him by Giardinello. It was clear that Machinetti had won the day. Lombroso stalked out and everyone followed in his wake. James brought up the rear and just as he was leaving Machinetti grabbed him by the arm.

‘Never judge a book by its cover, Murray. That’s my advice. Watch your employer. He’s not as innocent as he seems.’

James thought his comment was ironic as that was exactly what Machinetti seemed to do. ‘What do you mean?’ he said, indignantly.

A cry came from outside.

‘Murray? Where are you?’

‘Go on,’ Machinetti said. ‘He’s waiting for you!’

James looked at him with disdain and left, catching up with the others at the front entrance. Tullio was explaining himself.

‘I do apologise, Professor. I did get permission but Machinetti is right. I left out the fact that you knew DeClichy. We would never have been allowed in if I had not.’

‘That’s quite all right, Tullio. You are working in difficult circumstances, I can see that,’ Lombroso said. ‘I know Machinetti of old; he will do all he can to impede a proper investigation unless it ties in with his theory, and he is convinced that I am a murderer.’

‘What can we do?’ James asked.

Lombroso shrugged. ‘We must find the real killer or killers. Only that will satisfy Machinetti. Let us go back to the museum and discuss our findings. Science is what is needed here.’

Ottolenghi nodded his agreement. ‘Do you think that the symposium will be cancelled now, Professor?’ he asked.

‘No, it must continue,’ Lombroso said vehemently. ‘There is no doubt in my mind that it is what DeClichy would have wished.’

‘Let us hope that Professor Gemelli agrees,’ Ottolenghi murmured as Lombroso hailed a cab.

A few moments later they arrived back at the museum. Sofia was there to greet them.

‘I have heard about poor Dr DeClichy, Professor,’ she said. ‘I thought you might need me today.’

‘That is kind of you, Sofia, but isn’t it your day off?’ Lombroso said.

‘
Sì
, but I do not mind,’ she said as Lombroso patted her hand absent-mindedly. ‘You have a visitor, Professor.’

Madame Tarnovsky was seated in the laboratory. As they entered, she sprang to her feet and stood looking at Lombroso. It was obvious that she had been crying.

‘Cesare, you are back at last!’ she said in relief.

‘Madame, I am glad to see you,’ replied Lombroso, a concerned expression on his face. ‘How are you? Should you not be resting?’

‘I had to come. I could not stand my own company a moment longer. How could I sit idle when a good man has been taken from us?’

‘Indeed, Madame Tarnovsky, I quite understand. We were just about to discuss the case if you would care to join us?’