City of Devils: A Novel (10 page)

Reiner gave a short bow. ‘We have definitely met before, Herr Professor, at a symposium on psychiatry in Salzburg. We had a most stimulating discussion on the subject of phrenology.’

‘Ah yes, the science of head bumps!’ Horton said, sarcastically, making his way over to a sofa where he stretched himself out like a lizard basking in the sunshine.

Lombroso ignored him. ‘Yes, I remember. We had witnessed a demonstration by a gentleman from America. He was less than persuasive, I think.’

‘Indeed so, although I had heard that you had become more sympathetic to these ideas,’ Reiner said, sitting next to Horton, whose outstretched legs he moved with little more than a glance.

Lombroso frowned. ‘Well, I don’t know who told you that, one of my many critics, no doubt. They never seem to let facts interfere with a good story.’

‘I thought you were a keen examiner of skulls, Professor,’ Horton said with mock puzzlement.

Lombroso pursed his lips. ‘As you well know, Horton, phrenology has been largely discredited. My interest is entirely different. I find physiological investigations – anthropometry, for example – to be much better indicators of behavioural characteristics. As I have said many times before, it is a pity that Bertillon’s methods are not widely used in this country. Machinetti might actually catch some criminals!’ He turned to James. ‘You are no doubt aware, Murray, that Monsieur Bertillon advocates the measurement of body parts as the most accurate method of criminal identification.’

James nodded. ‘I have heard of his idea, though I’ve not seen its application.’

Horton snorted. ‘It seems ridiculous to me. How can you catch a criminal just by knowing the size of his ears?’

DeClichy cleared his throat politely. ‘Anthropometry has known some success in Paris, I understand. Bertillon has been responsible for the apprehension of a number of known criminals.’

‘There we have it,’ Lombroso said in delight. ‘Scientific policing in action! What do you think, Murray?’

James paused. He recalled Dr Bell’s rather forthright views on the subject of phrenology. ‘Pseudo science’ was what he had called it. And although he had been more positive about Bertillon’s techniques, he had still been somewhat sceptical.

‘I have heard that it is not without its problems,’ James said diplomatically. ‘It is a costly system and only really works if you have a proper set of records with which to compare the apprehended criminal’s measurements.’

‘There is that, of course,’ Lombroso said quickly. ‘But we should not be too quick to dismiss it. All scientific policing methods are of potential interest.’

James wondered again why Lombroso was so reluctant to get involved in the Soldati case. He was obviously interested in the application of science to the investigation of crime and this would have been an ideal opportunity to find out more.

Lombroso went on, ‘You should also know, Murray, that many of my opponents claim that I am a supporter of phrenology in order to make me seem . . .’ He hesitated, looking for the right words.

Horton readily butted in: ‘Old-fashioned? Hopelessly behind the times?’

‘One could never accuse Cesare Lombroso of that!’ protested a voice from the doorway. James turned and saw the latest of Lombroso’s guests to arrive, a dark-haired man with a long black beard and a florid complexion, every inch the ‘hail fellow well met’ type. He was thickset with a build not dissimilar to that of Lombroso. In fact, he could almost have been the professor’s younger, slightly more easygoing brother, if the broad grin on his face was anything to go by. James peered behind him to see if Sofia had returned but only the maid from earlier was there, bearing a tray of drinks that she distributed carefully before scuttling away.

‘Cesare, Cesare – how are you, my friend!’ the man boomed as he strode over to Lombroso and embraced him warmly.

‘Well, if it isn’t Borelli, “the best lawyer in Turin” – is that not what your clients call you?’ Lombroso said, beaming at him.

‘You’re too kind, Cesare!’ Borelli laughed.

‘How your clients must miss you when you are on your travels!’ Lombroso said, teasing him.

‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or that’s what I’m hoping!’ Borelli said before sitting himself down next to Lombroso. James looked over at them, perched next to each other. It was almost as if they were posing for a family photograph.

Madame Tarnovsky smiled at Borelli warmly and then looked towards Lombroso. ‘I hear, Cesare, that Father Vincenzo has continued his protests against your work. The Church was particularly troublesome in Rome. I do hope we will not be disturbed by such interference again.’

‘Who is Father Vincenzo?’ James asked. His question was met with a brief silence and he wondered if he should have kept quiet. Then he remembered that Lombroso had not formally introduced him.

Madame Tarnovsky smiled at him. ‘It is Dr Murray, is it not? Cesare told me he was hoping to have a new assistant.’

Before James could reply Lombroso butted in. ‘Please forgive me, Madame. Where are my manners?’ James noticed that his forgiveness was not sought, but then, as he was beginning to learn, that was just the way Lombroso was.

‘This is indeed my new assistant, Dr James Murray from Edinburgh, Scotland.’

‘Welcome to Turin,’ Madame Tarnovsky said, smiling at James sympathetically. ‘Now, Cesare, I think you should answer his question.’

Lombroso sighed. ‘Ah yes, Father Vincenzo . . . he and others like him are a particularly irritating band of fools and charlatans.’

‘As you are no doubt aware, Dr Murray, the Catholic church is very influential in Italy,’ said Madame Tarnovsky.

‘Hardly surprising, you may think,’ added Borelli, ‘but it goes beyond religion.’

‘Father Vincenzo believes that we are under threat from the Devil,’ Madame Tarnovsky said.

‘Preposterous!’ said Lombroso disdainfully.

Madame Tarnovsky nodded.

‘Father Vincenzo is very outspoken on the matter,’ Ottolenghi said. ‘He is known locally as Father Hell.’

Lombroso snorted. ‘After that Viennese charlatan! How apt!’

‘Does he pose a threat?’ James asked.

‘He would like to think so,’ replied Lombroso with disgust.

Ottolenghi tried to clarify. ‘He has some extremely influential friends amongst the aristocracy and even at the university itself.’

‘And the real Father Hell?’ enquired James.

‘Maximilian Hell, an astronomer from the last century renowned for his forgery of scientific data,’ added Reiner helpfully, as he flicked an imaginary crumb away from his waistcoat.

‘I’ve heard that he has been misjudged,’ murmured DeClichy, shifting uncomfortably in a rather rickety chair next to the sofa where Horton was lounging. James looked at him. His suit was ill-fitting and looked shabby enough to be second-hand. James was sympathetic. He knew how it felt to be short of funds, and he himself was wearing one of his only two suits.

‘Well,
our
Father Hell is just a nuisance who should be ignored,’ declared Madame Tarnovsky, firmly.

‘What is his interest in criminal anthropology?’ James asked.

‘Professor, you should explain to Dr Murray. He is new to all of this,’ Madame Tarnovsky said.

Lombroso sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose you should know of them, Murray, in case they disrupt us again. This city has a large and rather excitable population of religious maniacs, all of whom seem to think that I have something against God. Father Vincenzo, for example, believes that the city is under threat from Beelzebub himself and that, through my work, I am personally assisting him to open the gates of Hell.’

‘Which are reputed to be located here,’ added Ottolenghi. ‘Indeed, Turin is said to be the city of the Devil.’

James raised his eyebrows. This was an unexpected piece of information, although it did explain, to some extent, Sofia’s comment. ‘But what has this to do with the professor’s work?’ he asked.

‘The Church disapproves of science and scientists,’ Borelli said, ‘and the professor here seems to particularly upset them.’

‘Well, if we’re all born bad, what’s the point of the Devil, or God for that matter?’ laughed Horton, offering Borelli a cigar. James watched Horton select one for himself from his silver case and discard the red and gold band of paper round its base, carelessly throwing it aside as if he was in his own home.

Lombroso looked to the heavens again. ‘As I have told you many times, Horton, only some are born criminals.’

Horton waved a hand, languorously. ‘Save it for the debate, Professor. No doubt DeClichy here will give you a run for your money. Maybe Father Vincenzo and his friends will turn up and you can let them know in person.’

‘Do you think he will be there?’ Madame Tarnovsky asked.

Lombroso nodded morosely. ‘The university insisted that it was open to all who wished to buy a ticket. It’s not inconceivable that he’ll turn up at both the debate and the reception too. I know that the Marchesa will have invited him.’ He turned to James. ‘I have not yet informed you, Murray . . . the debate is followed by an evening reception hosted by the Marchesa Vittoria di Carignano. You are invited as my guest.’

‘Ah yes, how is the Marchesa?’ Madame Tarnovsky asked.

‘She is very well, as far as I know,’ Lombroso replied.

‘I hear she only has eyes for Father Vincenzo these days,’ Horton said, with a hint of mischief – or was it malevolence, James wondered.

Madame Tarnovsky tutted. ‘Really, Dr Horton, I’m sure she is intelligent enough to see through him.’

‘No, Horton is right,’ Lombroso said ruefully. ‘The priest always seems to be at her side these days and she has little time left for science.’

‘Still, if she has agreed to host the reception, she must still care a little,’ Borelli said. ‘We must make every effort to rekindle her interest. After all, she’s the most influential woman in Piedmont, is she not? To lose her patronage would be a disaster.’

Lombroso nodded. ‘Indeed it would.’

‘You’re very quiet, Herr Dr DeClichy. Any views on Father Vincenzo?’ Reiner asked.

DeClichy shifted about on his chair again. ‘I remember the priest from the Congress in Rome, of course. He was difficult to forget, as were the exhibits you so helpfully provided, Professor.’

‘Ah yes, the exhibits,’ Madame Tarnovsky said. She turned to James. ‘They were deemed to be so disturbing in nature that women and children were not admitted. I thought for a while that I was going to have to be smuggled in disguised as one of Cesare’s assistants!’

‘Such things do not apply to scientists, whatever their sex,’ Lombroso said.

Madame Tarnovsky smiled and patted his hand. ‘Not all would agree, but I am grateful for your view.’

‘There were all manner of curiosities,’ Reiner recalled. ‘I still remember those skulls . . . oh yes, and Giona La Gala. His presence remained with me for many months.’

‘I have not heard of him. Which university does he come from?’ asked James. Everyone laughed and he coloured slightly.

Lombroso smiled at him. ‘Giona La Gala was a particularly murderous brigand. His remains were displayed by doctors from the prison in Genoa.’

‘Everything from his death mask to his brain, tattoos and gallstones were there!’ exclaimed Borelli. He turned to Lombroso. ‘Still, it was your skulls and photographs that stole the show, Cesare, much to the disdain of your critics!’

‘So tell us, DeClichy, how is your research progressing these days? What new discoveries have you made about crime in Lyon this year?’ Lombroso asked in mocking tones. ‘Do men become thieves because their mothers were cruel to them? Are murderers merely reacting to their lack of education? Do rapists commit their crimes because they are hungry?’

His lips curled in disdain as he spoke. Some of the ideas he proposed sounded entirely plausible to James but he didn’t like to say so with Lombroso in his current mood. He was learning more of his character by the minute and, although he was clearly impatient with those who did not share his views, James still admired him. Such certainty in one’s own opinions seemed to him to be a quality worth emulating.

DeClichy pursed his fleshy lips before answering. ‘It is perhaps more likely as a theory than being born to crime as one is born to be musical.’

Madame Tarnovsky interceded. ‘Well now, Dr DeClichy, if I may say so, you are being a little hasty. If musical genius can be innate, then why cannot criminality?’

Lombroso beamed at Madame Tarnovsky. ‘Exactly so, I could not have put it better myself.’

Horton yawned openly. Lombroso looked at him severely. ‘I do apologise if we are boring you, Dr Horton.’

‘You’re not, Professor, although I’ve heard it all before. I was merely hoping for something a little more original this year.’

James started to wonder what it was exactly that Horton did believe in as he seemed to be so disdainful about everything.

‘Dr Horton, remember you are a guest!’ Madame Tarnovsky said.

‘Don’t worry, I am used to such ignorance,’ Lombroso said. ‘I am more interested by what Horton means by original.’

Horton stopped laughing and stared at him. ‘Well, for example, I’ve have not heard anyone say a thing about what we should do with these born criminals once we’ve identified them. Are we just to allow them to continue to breed and spread their criminal genes, as if their existence didn’t matter?’

‘Dr Horton! I thought that you agreed with me that there is no such thing as the born criminal!’ piped up DeClichy, his rickety chair rocking dangerously as he moved.

‘Perhaps, but I’m just playing devil’s advocate – oh, no sorry – that’s the professor’s role. How’s the family, by the way, Professor?’ Horton grinned archly. ‘Will they be joining us this evening?’

Lombroso glowered at him. ‘They left for the country this morning, as it happens.’

‘That’s a shame. Still, it’s probably for the best, given the circumstances,’ declared Horton, winking at Lombroso who gave him a withering look in return.

‘What circumstances?’ asked Borelli. ‘Has something happened, Cesare?’

Lombroso shook his head, briskly. ‘It’s nothing. I just needed solitude while the symposium is taking place.’