alabaster maiden, then said, ‘Let me see if I can guess what you’re thinking. The Phersu was the husband of this lovely lady, who continued to believe in his innocence even after the ordeal. She would have been forbidden to have herself buried in this cursed place but she wanted her image to soothe the spirit of her husband, unjustly accused for all of eternity.’
Francesca gave him a slight smile. ‘You think that’s impossible?’
‘No, not at all. I wouldn’t know how else to explain the presence of a female cenotaph in a place like this.’
Francesca knew that Fabrizio would have liked to prolong the conversation, but she excused herself. ‘I’m sorry I can’t join you for dinner tonight. I have to go and see my parents in Siena. My mother’s not well.’
‘That’s OK. We’ll see each other tomorrow or the next day. I don’t feel like eating anyway. I’ll just drink a glass of milk and go to bed.’
‘Well, bye then.’
‘Goodbye, Francesca.’
The girl got into her car, started it up and pulled away. Fabrizio waited for the dust to clear on the trail before leaving as well. He could see the spread of the Suzuki’s headlights about a kilometre up ahead and could still hear the sound of the engine. He decided to put on some Mozart, hoping to calm his frayed nerves. Just as he was about to turn on to the main road he thought he could hear the howl again, but no, it was a siren. He breathed a sigh of relief.
But not for long. It was the carabinieri and they were looking for him.
‘Sergeant Massaro,’ said the officer, getting out of the Land Rover and extending his hand. ‘Thank God we found you, Dr Castellani.’
‘Why, what’s wrong?’
‘Another one’s been found, ten minutes ago.’
‘Another what?’
‘Another body, ripped apart by that animal. Most of his face is missing. It won’t be easy to identify him. Guy named Farneti found the corpse as he was coming home from his cheese factory. We’re combing the area, lieutenant’s orders.’
Fabrizio lifted his eyes to the sky and saw a helicopter’s searchlights scanning the area between the Rovaio woods and the eroded Gaggera hillside.
‘Listen, have you seen Inspector Dionisi?’
‘Yes, driving in the direction of Colle Val d’Elsa.’
‘Thank goodness.’
‘You didn’t see or hear anything out in the fields?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘Well, that’s good. But I think the lieutenant will want to talk to you tomorrow morning anyway. Where will you be?’
‘At the museum. After nine o’clock, I’ll surely be at the museum.’
Massaro gave a little salute, got back into the Land Rover and drove off at top speed. Fabrizio headed straight home. He was utterly exhausted, but very agitated at the same time. The idea of another mangled body had totally unnerved him. He couldn’t help but connect what he’d seen in the coffin with the violence that had just occurred in some lonely corner of the Volterra countryside.
He took out his phone and dialled Francesca’s mobile number.
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m near Colle, almost at the motorway. Why?’
‘Thank God you’re all right.’
‘Why?’
‘They found another one, quarter of an hour ago.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Another corpse, maimed like the first one. Massaro told me he’s missing his face, or his head – I don’t remember.’
There was no answer from Francesca.
‘Can you hear me?’
‘Yes, I can,’ replied the girl. ‘I’m appalled.’
The call was cut off; she had likely moved out of range. But Fabrizio felt a little better. Francesca was at least thirty kilometres from the scene of the killing. His first thought was to call the carabinieri and ask whether the body had been identified. He was ready to swear that it would be another of the three robbers who had opened the Rovaio tomb, but he realized how stupid that sounded. He was ashamed at how foolish the idea seemed, and how incongruous it would look for an archaeologist to be raving about Etruscan curses.
Finally he arrived home. He dissolved some instant decaf in a cup of milk and sat down to work at his computer. He put on some music, started up a graphics program and began uploading the photos he’d taken of the statue of the boy in room twenty of the museum. He integrated the X-rays with the three-dimensional images generated by the program and began to rotate the figure in space, trying to make sense of the strange shape he’d noticed inside the bronze.
It was after midnight when he became convinced that the shadow he’d seen in the X-rays represented the outline of a knife. The blade of a knife that had penetrated deep into the boy’s body!
He shook his head repeatedly, as if trying to banish an idea that had started to eat away at him, then got up, walked around the room and went to the refrigerator to fetch a glass of water, trying to set his thoughts straight. He’d arrived only three days ago but it felt like he’d been sucked into another world. He was losing control over his emotions and he realized that his usual manner of rationally approaching a find or a research topic was being shot to hell with this crazy whirlwind of events. His anxiety was growing and his sense of reality felt distorted.
He went back to the computer screen to watch the image of the boy that continued to rotate in the virtual space generated by the machine as if he were floating in a timeless limbo.
What could this mean? What was that intrusion doing inside the statue and how could no one have noticed it before now? How had it been inserted, and why? Was there a reason why? Could it be a clue, or a message? If so, who was the message from, the artist or the person who had commissioned it? Unfortunately, as far as he was aware, nothing was known about where the statue came from, or in what context it had been found. His only option was to ask Balestra for permission to perform a metallographic probe, if he wanted to get to the bottom of the question and publish an article with sound documentation. Hopefully the director would be grateful to him for his work on the Rovaio tomb and would allow him to go ahead with the analysis. Just a few milligrams of material would be sufficient to let him know if he was right. He decided he’d ask for authorization explicitly the next day.
There was still one thing left to do. He connected the digital camera he’d used to take the shots of the bone fragments from the tomb, copied two or three of the photos into a file and attached it to an email to Sonia Vitali, along with an explanation.
Hi, Sonia
I’m in Volterra, where the regional NAS director has put me in charge of excavating a third- or fourth-century Etruscan tomb. I’ve just finished and – get ready for this – I have reason to believe it’s the grave of a Phersu! Along with the human bones I found the skeleton of an animal – a wolf, or a dog, I’m guessing – of enormous proportions. Offhand I’d say about a metre ten tall at the withers and more than two metres long from snout to tail. The fangs are six or seven centimetres long. I’m attaching some pictures so you can have a look and would ask you please not to mention this to anyone. If you’re interested in a closer examination, I don’t think Balestra would object to you studying the skeleton and publishing it. I’ll leave you my phone numbers. Let me know what you think.
Fabrizio
He felt calmer now and was about to get up and go to bed when the phone started ringing. In the deep silence of the night, the insistent trilling sounded ominous to him and alarming. An unpleasant sensation of solitude and insecurity surged through him. Logically, it could be Francesca or Massaro or maybe someone from Finanza headquarters, but Fabrizio had a gut feeling it was somebody else. He picked up the receiver and a voice he’d already heard said, ‘Don’t disturb the child’s peace. Get out, if you know what’s good for you.’
‘Listen,’ started Fabrizio, talking as quickly as he could. ‘You’re not scaring me. I…’
