The Hand of Christ (44 page)

The steps were far apart.

The man was running.

On the window’s sill and on the ground below he noticed a few droplets of blood. The killer was injured.

Reaching to his shoulder mounted radio he depressed a button and spoke, “I am in pursuit of the killer; he is heading west behind Bar Tomas.”

Inside of the bar, his partner heard this and pulled a cell phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial. When the other end was answered he stated simply, “Detective, I believe we have another one. He is still close by. My partner is in pursuit.”

Outside the Polizia followed the wet footsteps with his pistol drawn. All of the sudden the footsteps seemed to stop as if the running man had just vanished into the air. If only the Polizia had dissected this thought further, he might have had a chance.

Instead, he was confused.

Stopping, he looked around.

He was tense with fear.

He sensed that something was wrong, but his confusion interfered with his senses. Looking down at the footprints once more he could see a trickle of blood next to them. He leaned down to get a closer look at the red spots.

As he squatted to inspect the blood, another spot of blood suddenly appeared.

The brain is an interesting organ, extremely powerful with respect to many matters, but sometimes inept when confronted with an unexpected or never before experienced occurrence. If only his brain would have told him that the dripping blood was coming from overhead he might have realized that that the assassin had jumped to grab onto the overhead hanging balcony.

Unfortunately, this rational explanation for the disappearing footsteps and growing congregation of blood might have afforded him a small chance at survival if only it had come quicker.

The killer was hanging from the balcony like a spider sitting idle on a ceiling. Looking down at the Polizia who knelt toward the ground he dropped deftly behind him.

The young Polizia heard the man fall in at his back, but was still frozen as the thick arms wrapped around his neck. The snapping of his neck had been quick, but noticeably more difficult to the assassin than had been the neck of the Ayatollah’s wife.

The Polizia slumped to the earth as the signals from his brain telling his lungs to breath and his heart to beat were stopped by the newly severed spinal chord.

Picking up the dead man’s pistol and grabbing his radio, the assassin shoved them both into his jacket pocket. The assassin vanished from the scene and headed for the Mosque of Rome.

He would not be able to reconnoiter St. Peter’s Square.

Chapter Forty-Four

Headquarters

Roma Polizia

The headquarters of the Carabinieri normally operated under a strict atmosphere of discipline and structure, for the moment that has changed. A palpable tension permeated the air and was just short of becoming overbearing. Phones rang relentlessly and multiple conversations were being had as men shouted over one another. They had lost one of their own, the killer was still at large and it would seem that not one thing could be done about it.

Detective Dante was standing at the office door of the Commandante’s office and tried desperately to not appear defeated. In front of him, the head of the Roman branch of the Vigili Urbani, Commissario Alberto Tommasso, and the Commandante of the Carabinieri, Allesandro Romero, were attempting to discuss the strategy, any strategy, to find their villain. Their discussions had the undertones of frustration; Dante could sense that the conversation needed more guidance.

The Commissario was grasping for answers and asked, “Commandante, what are your thoughts? Do you think these killings were contracted by Cosa Nostra?”

“
I cannot be quite sure. The killings carry some of the trademarks of the Sicilians, but the chosen victims do not make any sense for Cosa Nostra. The latest victim died so violently as if the killer had been sending a message; but to whom, and saying what?”

Dante slowly closed the door and turned to the two men. He reached out and put a soft hand on the shoulder of the Commissario and said, “Commissario, Commandante, please excuse my interruption, but I am quite certain that these killings have nothing to do with the Mafia.”

The Commissario wasn’t quite so sure yet.

The head of the Carabinieri saw the look of displeasure on the Commissario’s face, but would grant some latitude, “Please, Dante,” the Commandante had known his head detective for a long time and respected his opinion, “right now we should entertain all possibilities. Please, tell us why you think this.”

“
Sir, I believe that we have a serial killer in Rome. I think that the man is becoming somewhat disorganized as his rage grows and will kill again, and soon.”

Throwing his hands wide, the Commissario squealed out, “A serial killer? Here, in Rome, what kind of nonsense is this?”

Patience,
Dante told himself, “Yes, Commissario. Here, in Rome.”

The Commandante was also a bit perplexed by Dante's supposition and offered a calmer approach with his disbelief. “I find this difficult to believe, Dante. This man is an efficient killer, killing in broad daylight. I always thought that serial killers looked for the weak, and their crimes were typically sexual in nature.”

“
Yes, you are correct, Commandante; your points are certainly valid.”

“
Well then, what makes you so certain that this man is such a beast?”

“
There are certain signatures and methods of operation by the classic serial killer; to this point I cannot argue. However, not all serial killers necessarily commit sex crimes as a means to satisfy their rage. Gentlemen, I think the perpetrator of these crimes is not only a rage-filled killer that is serial in nature, but I believe that he is also well trained. The method that he killed each man bears the hallmarks of the rage and expertise that I speak of.”

The Commandante was shocked, “A well trained serial killer? What exactly does that mean, Dante?”

“
Sir, the young boy at the Hotel Bramante was tortured, but each wound that was inflicted upon him was very clean and very meticulous; the breaks in his legs and arms were in the perfect spots and each was broken from one blow, an extremely difficult thing to do. His hyoid was crushed with precision, leaving very little bruising. In my experience, most, if not all, strangulations leave large marks around most of the neck of the victim. To strangle someone is a difficult endeavor, but this was not true with ours; the killer easily crushed the hyoid to asphyxiate the first victim and with little bruising. The old man had the same marks. The Persian at Bar Tomas had his larynx nearly ripped out by hand; no untrained man could have done this. But it was the killing of our man,” Dante paused as the emotion of losing one of his own rose up in him choking him slightly.

The two police-heads sensed the same feeling. The Commissario offered his empathy, “He was a friend to all of us, Dante, and will be missed. Now, please continue with what you think.”

“
Sir, he didn’t have to kill our man. When the killer escaped through the window of the bar he could have kept running, but something in him made him stop. A sociopath would have continued to flee the scene of the crime; his first instinct would have been to protect himself, but not this man. From what we can tell, he jumped up and grabbed a balcony in the alley way and waited for our officer.”

Detective Dante’s voice turned lower, he peered carefully at each man ensuring that they understood his next set of statements, “After chasing the killer for a short distance, the officer stopped and knelt down to inspect the killer’s footprints and some spots of blood. This was a trap. When the moment was right the killer fell in behind him and snapped his neck as if it were a small twig. Only someone with specialized training would act this way, could kill this way. He was efficient; this killing was not like the others, it was not from his rage or to satisfy some urge, he killed out of a need to protect himself. He didn’t take his time or torture the officer, he was quick and professional.”

The Commissario cringed at the thought of this.

“
Gentlemen,” Dante continued, “this man is more than dangerous. I believe that he is very strong, adept, but is losing his grip on control. You both may remember that I spent some time with the American FBI and trained with their experts in behavioral sciences.”

It was the last comment that raised the brow of the Commandante; Detective Dante was renowned throughout Italy for his expertise in solving homicides, especially the more difficult ones. He leaned back on his desk and waited for the detective to continue. The Commissario stared on, hungry for more information.

“
Commandante, a moment ago you offered a presumption that serial killings were typically sexual in nature.”

“
Yes, that is right, Dante; is that not true?”

“
Yes, it is true; the vast majority of killings that the FBI labels as serial are usually related to something sexual.”

“
Usually?” The Commissario was a man always focused on the details and avoided, if not detested, using phrases that are non-committal, “Detective, are they or are they not sexual in nature?”

Dante could sense the Commissario’s escalating impatience and got to the point, “Serial killings go to the darkest core of the human being who is capable of such monstrosities."

“
And that core is our sexuality, no?”

“
Yes, it is, but not in the overt sense. Most people think of sexuality and sensuality together when they think of the act of sex. They think of something that is both physical and intimate between two people, they think of lovemaking. But it is much more that just that, it transcends intimacy; the physical act of sex is the single most controlling thing that one person can do to another. It is the one way that any one man, that every man, can truly dominate another human being no matter how small or insignificant that man’s life is.”

The Commandante was thinking out loud, “This is why almost all serial killers are men.”

“
That is correct; men are raised to be the more dominant of the two sexes, it is a causation that is both social and innate. Serial killers have somehow manifested their need to dominate into the vilest and most sadistic acts that one can imagine, into murder.”

“
But, Detective,” the Commissario’s frustration was growing, he wanted answers, not a lesson on sexuality, “how can you say that this man is such a person when he has not raped anyone or done anything sexual?”

This man has clearly not been paying attention
, thought Dante.

He continued with a measured calm, “Commissario, your question is critical to understand my point. We must stop thinking of just the act of sex as the driver, but of what sex is – it is an act of complete physical and emotional domination. In its most pure form, when a man is conjoined physically with another being, he has that person at their most vulnerable of states. That person is at their weakest, it is at that point that they are completely dominated, the point that they have given into complete submission: physically and emotionally."

Dante paused for a moment to ensure that he had their attention, and continued, "This is what serial killers want to do; they want dominate their victims as completely as possible; they want to own them, to control them, to deface them. They want to rob that person of any identity, absorbing it, which is the ultimate goal. These types of people cannot have normal relationships and are filled with an indescribable and usually hidden rage that ultimately spirals out of control.”

“
I see," said the Commissario, "I am beginning to understand your point. Our killer was destroying who these men were. Dante, if this man is losing control; when he loses control, what will happen?”

“
Either his death, being caught – which I don't think will happen with our killer – or, in some cases, they simply reach the apex of their rage and blend back in with society never killing again.”

The head of the Carabinieri jumped to his feet, “The apex of their rage? Do you think this man will continue?”

Detective Dante paused briefly.

“
Please, detective, if you could answer the question: do you think this man will continue?” The question was repeated by a voice that didn’t belong to any of the three men that had been in the room.

Had the three policemen paid more attention they might have noticed that standing in the doorway was a young handsome priest; at his side was Colonel Miguel Camini.

None of the three men needed an introduction; all of Rome knew the faces of the personal assistant to the Pope and the head of the Swiss Guard.

The police officers stared at the officials from the Vatican and bowed their heads; Detective Dante did not. Instead, he was the first to step forward, “Welcome, Monsignor, how may we assist the Church?”

“
Will he continue to kill, Detective?”

Dante's response was cold if not insolent: “Yes, he will. He is not done.”

Geoffrey was an intuitive man and could see that the detective was troubled and asked, “You wish that I were not here, detective? You think that this is not a matter for the Church?”

Of all the men in the room, Detective Dante was the least religious among them, and in Rome this was something that could not be hidden. He served Rome and its people and felt that far too often the Church stuck its nose in places that it didn’t belong.