God's Spy (5 page)

FINAL EXAM
:
VICTIMOLOGY

Student:
DICANTI, Paola
Date:
19 July 1999
Grade:
A+

Question:
Describe in 100 words or less the importance of time in the creation of a criminal profile, using the Rosper method. Make a personal evaluation connecting the variables with the perpetrator’s level of experience. You have two minutes from the time you turn the page.

Answer:
The perpetrator has given himself the time necessary to:
a) kill the victim
b) interact with the body
c) remove any traces of himself from the victim and dispose of the body

Comment:
According to my deductions, variable a) is defined by the perpetrator’s fantasies, variable b) helps to reveal his hidden motivations, while c) defines his capacity for analysis and improvisation. In conclusion, if the perpetrator dedicates more time to

a) he has a moderate level of experience (3 crimes) b) he is an expert (4 crimes or more)
c) he is a beginner (this is his first or second murder).

<>

Tuesday,5 April 2005, 10.32 p.m.

‘Let’s see. What do we have?’
‘Two cardinals murdered in the most horrific way imaginable.’ Dicanti and Pontiero were eating sandwiches and drinking coffee

in the laboratory’s conference room. For all its modernity, it was a grey and depressing space. The only colour came from the hundreds of crime-scene photos spread out in front of them on an enormous table, with four plastic bags full of evidence piled up at one end. At that moment it was all they had. They were waiting for Dante to bring them whatever was left from the first murder scene.

‘All right, Pontiero. Let’s start with Robayra. What do we know about him?’

‘He lived and worked in Buenos Aires. Arrived on an Aerolineas Argentinas flight on Sunday morning, with an open ticket he’d bought several weeks before. He didn’t reserve his flight until one o’clock on Saturday afternoon. With the time difference, I guess that was around the time the Holy Father died.’

‘A return ticket?’
‘Just one way.’
‘Strange . . . Either the cardinal didn’t plan ahead or he was coming to the Conclave with high hopes. Maurizio, you know I’m not particularly religious. What had you heard about Robayra’s chances of becoming Pope?’

‘Not much. I read something about him a week ago, I think in La Stampa. They thought he was well positioned, but not one of the favourites. In any case, you know what the Italian media are like: they only pay court to our cardinals. Portini I have read about, however, and plenty too.’

Pontiero was a family man and impeccably honest. He was, as far as Paola knew, a good husband and father who went to mass each Sunday without fail; and his invitations to Dicanti to accompany the family were just as reliable, forcing her to come up with one excuse after another. Some excuses were good, some bad, but none of them really held up. Pontiero knew that in Dicanti’s heart of hearts faith didn’t play a large part; it had died along with her father, ten years before.

‘Something bothers me, Maurizio. We need to know what sort of frustration connects this killer to the cardinals. If he detests what the cardinals stand for, if he’s a seminarist who isn’t playing with a full deck, or he just hates their little red hats.’

‘Their cappellos cardenalicios.’
‘Thank you for clearing that up. I suspect there’s something that links the victims together, more than just their hats. Basically, we’re not going to get very far unless we can talk to a real source – someone who speaks with authority. It’s Dante’s job to open doors for us, so he needs to give us access to someone high up in the Curia. And when I say high up, I mean very high up.’
‘Won’t be easy.’
‘We’ll see. But for now, let’s focus on what we know. For starters, Robayra didn’t die in the church.’
‘There wasn’t much blood, so he must have been killed somewhere else.’
‘Clearly the killer had the cardinal in his power for quite a while, in a secluded place that no one else knew about, somewhere he could take his time interacting with the body. We know that he had to gain his victim’s trust somehow, so that the victim would go with him of his own free will. From there, he moved the body to Santa Maria in Traspontina, obviously for a reason.’
‘What about the church?’
‘I spoke with the parish priest. It was locked up tight when he went to sleep. Remember, he had to open it for the police when they arrived. But there’s a second door, a tiny one, that leads out on to the Via dei Corridori. That’s probably how the murderer got in. Have we checked it out?’
‘The lock was intact; it was new and wouldn’t give. But even if the door was swinging on its hinges, I don’t see how the killer could have got in.’
‘Because . . .?’
‘Do you have any idea how many people were standing by the main door, on Via della Conciliazione? And on the street behind, even more. Jesus! The whole place is crammed with people here for the funeral. They’re in every street, blocking the traffic. Don’t tell me that our killer walked in with a body in his arms in full view of the entire world.’
Paola thought for a few seconds. Even if the tide of humanity had served as wonderful camouflage for the killer, how would he have entered the church without forcing the door?
‘Pontiero, let’s make it a priority to find out how he got into the building. Tomorrow we’ll talk to the friar. What was his name?’
‘Francesco Toma, a Carmelite.’
Pontiero nodded slowly as he jotted down notes.
‘Yes, him. Then, we have all the macabre details: the message on the floor, the severed hands resting on the canvas . . . and these bags here. Go ahead.’
Pontiero started reading the list while Inspector Dicanti filled out the evidence report with a ballpoint pen. An ultramodern office, yet they were still using relics from the twentieth century like these antiquated forms.
‘Item number one: a priest’s stole. Embroidered cloth, rectangular, worn by Catholic priests during the sacrament of confession. Found hanging from the dead man’s mouth, soaked in blood. Blood type is the same as that of the victim. DNA analysis in progress.’
This was the brownish object they hadn’t been able to make out in the half-light of the church. The DNA analysis would take at least two days, even though the UACV had one of the world’s most advanced laboratories at its disposal. Dicanti always creased up with laughter whenever she watched the American show CSI on television. If only evidence could be processed that quickly.
‘Item number two. White canvas. Origin unknown. Material, cotton. Presence of blood, minimal. The severed hands of the victim were found sitting on top of it. The blood type is that of the victim. DNA analysis in progress.’
‘One thing: Robayra is written with “ay”, not an “i”?’ Dicanti hesitated.
‘With “ay”, I’m fairly sure.‘
‘Good. Keep going, Maurizio.‘
‘Item number three: a crumpled piece of paper, approximately one and a quarter inches square. Found in the left eye socket of the victim. The type of paper, its composition, weight, and percentage of chlorine are all being investigated. Written on the paper, by hand, using a ballpoint pen, are the letters:

‘MT 6,’ Dicanti said. ‘An address?’
‘The paper was found covered with blood and crushed into a ball. It’s clearly a message from the killer. The absence of the victim’s eyes could be not so much a punishment as a sign . . . as if he were telling us where to look.’
‘Or that we’re blind.’
‘A killer who likes to play games. The first of his kind to show up in Italy. That’s why I think Troi wanted you to be in charge, Paola. Not your usual detective, but someone who can think creatively.’
Dicanti reflected on Pontiero’s words. If it were true, then the risks doubled. The profile of a game-player typically corresponded to an extremely intelligent person, someone who was usually much more difficult to catch, as long as they didn’t trip up. Sooner or later they all tripped up, but in the meantime they filled the morgue with bodies.
‘OK, let’s think for a minute. What streets do we know with those initials?’
‘Viale del Muro Torto.’
‘No, it runs through a park and it doesn’t have street numbers, Maurizio.’
‘In that case Monte Tarpeo is out too. It’s the street that crosses the Palazzo dei Conservatori gardens.’
‘And Monte Testaccio?’
‘By Parco Testaccio . . . That might be it.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Dicanti picked up the phone and dialled a number in the police department. ‘Documentation? Ah, Silvio, hello. Take a look for me and see if there’s a number 6 on Monte Testaccio. And could you bring a map of the city streets to the conference room? Thanks.’
While they waited, Pontiero continued with the list of evidence.
‘And the last, for now: item number four: crumpled paper, one and a quarter inch square. Found in the victim’s right eye socket, in identical condition to that of item number three. The kind of paper, its composition, weight and percentage of chlorine are being investigated. Written on the paper, by hand, using a ballpoint pen, the word:

‘ Undeviginti.’
‘It’s fucking hieroglyphics.’ Dicanti was exasperated. ‘I just hope it’s not the continuation of a message that he left on the first victim, because that first part went up in smoke.’
‘I guess we have to resign ourselves to what we have, for now.’
‘Stupendous, Pontiero. Why don’t you tell me what undeviginti means, so I can resign myself to that?’
‘Your Latin’s a little rusty, Dicanti. It means nineteen.’
‘Damn it, that’s right! I was always failing at school. And the arrow?’
At that moment one of the assistants from Documentation entered the room with the street map of Rome.
‘Here you are, ispettore. I looked for the street you asked me about: number 6 Monte Testaccio doesn’t exist. That street only has fourteen distinct residences.’
‘Thanks, Silvio. Do me a favour: would you stay here with Pontiero and me and help us go through all the streets in Rome that begin with MT. It’s a shot in the dark, but I have a hunch.’
‘Let’s hope you’re a better psychologist than fortune-teller, Dottoressa Dicanti. You’d do better to look in the Bible.’
Three heads spun round to the entrance of the conference room. In the doorway stood a priest dressed in dog collar and suit. He was tall and thin, a wiry frame, and noticeably bald. He seemed to be about fifty but was well preserved, and he had strong, hard features that testified to having seen many dawns in a harsh climate. Dicanti’s first thought was that he looked more like a soldier than a priest.
‘Who are you and what do you want? This is a restricted area. Please leave immediately,’ said Pontiero.
‘I am Father Anthony Fowler and I’m here to give you a hand.’ His Italian was grammatically correct but slightly sing-song and hesitant.
‘This is part of the police department and you’ve entered without authorisation. If you want to help us, find a church and pray for our souls.’
Pontiero started to walk towards the new arrival, determined to make him leave whether he wanted to or not. Dicanti had already turned back to the photographs when Fowler spoke again.
‘It’s from the Bible – the New Testament, to be precise.’
‘What?’ Pontiero was surprised.
Dicanti raised her head and looked at Fowler. ‘Would you mind explaining yourself?’
‘MT 6. The Gospel according to Matthew, chapter sixteen. Did he leave another note?’
Pontiero looked upset. ‘Paola, you’re not really going to pay any attention to this guy . . .’
‘We’re all ears.’
Fowler stepped into the conference room. He carried a black overcoat draped on his arm, which he laid over a chair.
‘As everyone knows, the Christian New Testament is made up of four principal books, one for each of the Evangelists: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. In Christian bibliographies, the book of Matthew is abbreviated as MT and the number that follows represents the chapter. The next two numbers indicate a citation in that chapter, between two verses.’
‘The killer left this.’
Paola placed item number four, wrapped in plastic, in front of him. The priest studied it closely. He gave no indication that he recognised it, nor did the blood upset him. He simply examined it thoroughly and then said:
‘Nineteen. How appropriate.’
Pontiero was about to boil over. ‘Are you going to tell us what you know now, or are you going to make us wait around, padre?’
‘Et tibi dabo claves regni coelorum,’ Fowler recited. ‘Et quodcumque ligaveris super terram, erit legatum et in coelis; et quodcumque solveris super terram, erit solutum et in coelis. “And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” Matthew sixteen, verse nineteen. That is to say, the words with which Jesus confirmed Peter as the leader of the apostles, and awarded him and his successors power over the whole of Christendom.’
‘Holy Mother of God!’ Dicanti exclaimed.
‘Considering what is about to take place in this city, ladies and gentlemen, I think that you ought to be worried. Very worried.’
‘Shit, some crazy vagabond slits the throat of a priest and you’re ready to sound the alarm. It doesn’t sound all that scary to me, Father Fowler,’ said Pontiero.
‘No, my friend. The killer isn’t just some crazy vagabond. He’s a cruel man, methodical and intelligent, and he’s extremely disturbed. Take my word for it.’
‘Really? Seems like you know a great deal about his motives, padre.’ Pontiero was mocking their visitor.
The priest fixed Dicanti with a steady gaze. ‘I know much more than that, gentlemen. I know who he is.’