he’s never met.
He tries to tune out the modern world – the street noise, the cars and the fashionably dressed couples hurrying home arm in arm. He wants to imagine the early days of Rome, the fear of the Sabines during a time when rape and pillage were as common as breakfast and supper. It was a savage age. An era when a pantheon of gods was thought to guide every mundane act and superstition cast its shadow over everyone and everything.
Walking the pavement along the Lungotevere, he realises that if, like Claudia, he was on the run from soldiers, he’d be on much lower ground, on the eastern bank of the river, so that he couldn’t be seen from the vast open plains around.
A steep flight of stairs takes him down from road level and opens up on to a wide, potholed gravel path. To his right is Tiber Island. Straight in front of him is an isolated ancient arch in the middle of the Tiber. Behind him, the Ponte Palatino.
He begins to head towards the Fabricio, then on instinct turns and heads south. Close to the edge of the lower walk-way, he sees there’s a further drop on to a banking of rocks.
In places it’s almost sheer, and threatens a comedic slip into the fatally icy water. Gradually it becomes less treacherous, and eases out into a gentler incline that he’s able to work his way down.
Being next to the roaring black beast of the Tiber makes him nervous.
The river is astonishingly fast and dangerous.
He can easily envisage its spectral claws grabbing his ankles and sweeping him away to an unseen death.
Tom looks off into the darkness towards the Field of Mars, the place where centuries ago the most formidable army on earth trained for battle.
Lights of apartments flicker now where there were once the camp fires of soldiers.
He gets out the Maglite that Valentina gave him and shines it along the banking.
Soon he reaches the point where the Ponte Fabricio joins the Lungotevere dei Pierleoni. Out in the furious flow of the river there’s a giant scrub of land between the bank and Tiber Island. Centuries ago, before it was eroded by the relentless Tiber, it was probably connected to either the bank or the island.
Tom turns away and steps over some rocks.
He shines the torch beam in front of him to make sure he doesn’t twist an ankle and take a tumble. The ray catches something pink to his right.
Flesh.
A human face.
His heart jumps.
‘ Vaffanculo!’ A male voice shouts at him.
A hand comes up to dark, angry eyes.
Tom can see the man now.
He’s sitting on a patch of grass with his back against some rocks. His trousers are around his ankles and a woman is bent attentively over his crotch.
Tom diverts the light and walks on. He wonders whether the closeness to the murderous water adds a fetishistic frisson to the sex act he’s just fleetingly witnessed.
He starts to work his way up the banking towards the street.
There’s no grass now, just mounds of rocks, gathered as a sort of breakwater for the tide. He crosses them as you would stepping stones in a small stream, moving sideways almost as much as forward.
The bouncing Maglite picks out another couple.
No, not a couple, just a man.
A tramp sleeping off too much booze, or perhaps he’s just sheltering from the wind and the abuse on the street.
Tom plays his light over the hobo.
At first his mind tricks him.
He thinks he can see all of the guy’s outline.
But he can’t.
He can only see a leg – and part of the man’s right side and arm.
The rest of him is buried.
He’s dead.
Tom puts the torch down.
It rolls off a rock and blackness hides everything.
He feels around for the Maglite.
Re-positions it.
The beam illuminates the corpse.
He steps closer to the body.
Carefully he pulls away several boulders and stacks them so they don’t roll down into the river and lose any evidence that might be attached to them.
He still can’t see the entire corpse, but he sure can smell it.
His own body momentarily blocks the light and his hands touch something.
Something soft and broken.
The skull has been caved in.
He fingers a crawling moist mass inside the shattered cavity and jerks his hand away.
Something is still slithering over his fingers.
Maggots and crustaceans that have been feeding on the brain.
He furiously rubs his hands on his jacket and feels them turning sticky and dry.
It takes almost a full minute for him to catch his breath and calm down.
He reaches for the torch and plays the light across the exposed cadaver.
It’s bloated. Swollen. Pumped up.
Tom feels his stomach flip. He turns away and vomits.
He spits his mouth clean and tries to suck in fresh air.
He can’t help but feel ashamed at his revulsion. His thoughts should be of sympathy and respect for the stranger who died in this barren place.
The ex-priest leans over the body, joins his hands and briefly prays. ‘O Lord, let perpetual light shine upon this poor soul and may he rest in peace. Amen.’ He crosses himself and looks around.
He knows he should step away now and phone Valentina. He certainly shouldn’t touch the corpse or disturb the scene any more than he already has done.
But he can’t do that.
The curiosity is too great.
He has to see.
He turns the body over.
Even in the darkness, it’s obvious what’s happened.
There’s a gaping hole in the man’s abdomen.
He’s been stabbed to death.
37
The next hour is a blur.
Time speeds up to a frightening pace. Tom feels like he’s caught in one of those trick photographs, the only static image in the centre of a blur of dashing bodies and streaky car lights.
After Valentina briefly inspects the mutilated body, she calls Federico. He informs Central Control and actions her request for a support unit.
A taxi is called to take Louisa Verdetti home.
The entire scene is cleared of civilians and secured.
