Flowers over the Inferno, page 19
But nothing happened.
-52-
Can I still do this job?
It’s not physical effort I’m worried about. I’m used to dragging this body—this old grumbling friend—around with me, I’m used to dealing with its complaints even when they make me grit my teeth in pain.
It’s not my swollen feet I’m ashamed of, or how my hands lose their grip sometimes, or how my eyes go blurry until I can’t distinguish the words on a page.
It’s the idea of my mind fading away that keeps me up at night: what am I, if not my thoughts, my memories, my dreams, my hopes for the future? What am I without these feelings, without my dignity?
Here I go again, spoiling these pages with troubles that aren’t worth the ink they’re scribbled in.
Anyway: where was I? (I’ve been asking myself this question too often these days . . . )
Item 19 on the agenda: security measures for the feast of Saint Nicholas in Travenì. It’s the night of the Krampus. Who knows whether our own Devil will show his face. I’m ready. I’m waiting for him.
Travenì had shed her mourning clothes and spruced herself up for the occasion: the streets were decorated with silver lamps shaped like snowflakes, and strings of fairy lights stretched from building to building along the main road. Windows and balconies were adorned with Christmas decorations, and a candle burned behind every pane, as tradition dictated. An enormous fir tree that smelled of resin had been put up in the main square; at dusk, it had come to life with thousands of lights, a shining comet at its tip.
The fires were kindled. The stalls began to light up and spread the scent of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts. The chatter became more animated, fuelled by a sip or two of alcohol and the arrival of the first tourists. A loudspeaker intoned Christmas carols. The pub and various small restaurants radiated a smell of hot, fragrant food. The streets soon filled up with a peaceful throng.
Teresa noted that the mayor’s fears had been unfounded. What had happened instead was what she had feared: the horrors the village had recently experienced had attracted rather than repelled people. There was something more to the spectacle in Travenì that night, beyond demonic masks and ritual bell-ringing, something even more alluring: the thrill of knowing there was a real demon out there among all of those costumes. Teresa had seen it happen before, but the workings of the human mind still surprised her every time.
She quickly ran through the security measures they’d put in place to close off any possible escape routes for the killer. They worked in theory, but would they hold up in practice? There were officers spread through the crowd, many of them in plainclothes. Teresa herself had decided to coordinate everything from the field. She wanted to be in the thick of things, to breathe in the same air the killer was breathing, and to see his possible victims the way he saw them. She knew he was bound to come; the opportunity was simply too good for his ego to pass up—the chance to witness the impact he was making, the crowds he’d drawn to that place.
Teresa hoped that it would be enough to satisfy his fantasies of omnipotence for one night, before the monster inside him demanded another sacrifice.
“May I have a word, Superintendent?”
Teresa turned around, startled. It was Chief Knauss, looking forlorn. She could guess what must be ruining his mood: the presence of the reinforcements Teresa had summoned from the city, casting even greater doubt on Knauss’s role and authority.
“Why aren’t you at your station?” she said, wanting to brush him off, and turning back around to watch the celebrations come to life.
“When you first arrived here, you said we could come to you with any problems, so I . . .”
“Well, what is it?” said Teresa, cutting him short.
The chief lowered his gaze to the tips of his shoes and stood with his hands on his hips, chewing a piece of gum without closing his mouth—a habit she detested.
“I was born on these mountains, as were most of my men,” he began. “We know this place and its people better than anybody else. We’re used to dealing with things by ourselves around here, we always have been. We’re . . .”
“I’m sure you’re all exemplary officers, Chief,” said Teresa. “But this case is beyond your abilities.”
Her words hit him with the force of a slap. He looked astonished, as if he couldn’t believe anyone could be so brutally honest.
“Please do me a favor and return to your station, and stay there this time, at least for an hour or two,” she went on. “And make sure your men do the same.”
Knauss stopped chewing.
“I don’t take orders from you,” he said.
Teresa glared at him.
“That’s true,” she replied. “If you did, I would have wasted no time telling you, right here in front of everyone, exactly what I think of you for wasting my time—time that I would much rather spend saving the killer’s next victim.”
The chief went quiet.
Teresa gestured at something behind his back. Two of Knauss’s men were trying, with little success, to disband an unauthorized stall that was collecting signatures for a petition against the construction of the new ski resort. Tempers were flaring.
“You say you know your people,” Teresa goaded him. “Off you go, then, and see if you can solve whatever the problem is over there.”
Knauss spat out his gum and walked away without another word.
Teresa looked at her watch. Not long to go before the start of the pageant. Presently, she noticed that someone else was walking up to her. This was going to be a long night.
“Jesus Christ, what is everyone’s problem tonight?” she muttered.
The man was holding a piece of paper that Teresa immediately recognized. She’d drafted the document herself and arranged for the chief of police to sign it.
“Do we have you to thank for this, Superintendent?” the man growled at her.
“Good evening, Mayor.”
He ignored the greeting and waved the sheet of paper in her face.
“What’s this nonsense? We can’t even turn the streetlights off, now?”
Teresa didn’t even bother to look at him.
“A public safety measure, Mayor,” she replied.
“How am I supposed to get the devotees down and the bonfires going if the lights are still on?”
“I’m sure you’ll manage to put on a good show regardless, and no one will mind too much. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do here.”
Tearing the injunction up, the mayor retreated into the crowd. Teresa was relieved.
The radio at her hip croaked.
“Nothing to report here,” said Parisi’s voice. He was patrolling the churchyard, the kiosks, and the street vendors’ stalls.
They still hadn’t found Lucas Ebran. He had disappeared. His mother had told them it wasn’t the first time it had happened; her son was sometimes gone for days, but she had no idea where he went. They hadn’t found any fingerprints in the house other than the woman’s own. If it hadn’t been for the neighbors who said they’d seen him as recently as two weeks ago, spying on them through their windows, they might have thought Ebran didn’t exist, that he was a figment of someone’s imagination.
For now, all they had to go on was a grainy old photograph. It was all they had to help them spot him among hundreds of faces covered by hats and scarves.
Teresa saw Marini across the road. They nodded at each other as the church bell began to toll. Suddenly, at the eighth chime, the village lights went off, and a murmur of wonder—tinged with fear—rose from the crowd.
Teresa swore and radioed Parisi.
“Find out who did this!” she told him. “I don’t care how you do it, just get those damn lights back on! Now!”
She put the radio away. In the shimmer of torches and candles, Travenì glistened, a stirring tableau in the heart of the Alps, irresistible for a killer on the lookout for fresh prey.
Teresa was joined by Marini.
“Now what?” he asked her.
“Now we wait.” She didn’t know what else to say. She kept her eyes on the crowd—families, lovers, gangs of teenagers, and tour groups. The killer had to be there somewhere. He was probably watching them right now.
They saw a procession of nuns making its way through the crush. They each carried a taper, heads lowered so that only their chins were visible beneath their black veils. They wound their silent, orderly way into the church and out of sight.
“Where did they come from?” Teresa radioed.
“They’re nuns from the convent in Rail,” Knauss replied. “They’ve come to pray together and keep the demons at bay. Are you going to check them out, too?” he asked sarcastically.
“I’m thinking about it. Maybe I’ll send you to do it.”
The sound of a horn echoed through the valley.
“They’re coming,” said Marini.
A slice of starry darkness ensconced between two hills behind the cathedral lit up in a reddish haze, growing increasingly brighter until its source was finally revealed: a line of torches held aloft by dark, stooping figures. The column of demons advanced until it was clearly visible, and then broke up, with the devotees spreading out across the natural amphitheatre.
The hill was set ablaze with primitive bonfires rising and falling in a pagan dance. A line of flames kindled along the length of the horizon, separating the black clouds of smoke that rose to the sky from the compacted snow beneath. The demons were marching into the village, ash raining upon them as cameras flashed all around.
These were the Krampus. Teresa had heard that the word meant “claws.” It seemed appropriate, somehow, considering the blood that had recently tainted the valley.
The masks were truly terrifying. Every detail was so realistic that you really did end up thinking you’d wandered into hell—a rural inferno of primordial allure. The goat-demons of Travenì wore thick wool trousers and tunics, with fur cloaks on top that reached all the way down to their feet. Bells tied to their waists announced their approach. They carried staffs and rods with which they lashed out at the audience. Their faces, crowned with sharp, curving horns, were fearsome, eyes glinting in the dark, fangs ready to tear into human flesh.
A few children started crying, and their mothers rushed to comfort them. But others clapped their hands in awe.
“They look real,” Marini whispered. “It’s amazing.”
He was enchanted.
Teresa shrugged. “It’s a residue of pagan fertility cults, a celebration of the winter solstice that survived the advent of Christianity,” she said. “The legend says that on the night of Saint Nicholas, the Krampus would wander around in search of children who had misbehaved. They were the saint’s own servants, acting on his command. I suppose that was their way of sidestepping the Inquisition.”
Marini looked at her.
“You always manage to boil everything down to some logical cause. It’s really quite extraordinary,” he said.
She kept her eyes on the worshippers, whom she couldn’t see as anything other than what she’d just described to Marini.
“I detect a note of sarcasm,” she muttered.
“On the contrary. I’m genuinely impressed.”
“Oh, shut up, Marini.”
The demons began to mingle with the crowd, and the calm that had previously reigned made way for a hectic euphoria.
“What’s Parisi doing?” Teresa barked. “Why aren’t the lights back on yet?”
She was getting nervous. She kept thinking that the killer might be behind one of those masks, already stalking his next victim. Her team had vetted each devotee and had also checked them as they prepared for the ceremony, but now she felt as if she hadn’t really seen any of them before.
The square was a whirlwind of activity threatening to submerge her at any moment. Faces, smells, sounds, lights . . . everything was moving too quickly, becoming a blur. Teresa closed her eyes.
She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to complete the mission. She felt as if she’d aged years in the space of a few hours.
Calm down, she told herself. Breathe.
The suspect was out there somewhere, beyond the anxiety that clouded her vision. To find him, she had to push herself beyond her own limits. She tried to remember his features, studying the image in her mind. She focused on its every detail until she was familiar with them all.
When she felt ready, she opened her eyes once more. This time she didn’t let the urgency to find him overwhelm her, but worked methodically, keeping her own gaze under a tight leash. Using landmarks to guide her, she checked the men milling about at the stalls and at the corners of the square, then looked over at those who were lingering outside the restaurants. Then, she divided the tide of moving people into streams and studied each one as it drifted past her.
Method, she thought. All I need is method.
That was how she found the one she was looking for out of the hundreds of faces around her.
Lucas Ebran was different from the photograph Teresa had found in his house. He did not possess any of the characteristics of the ectomorphic somatotype: he wasn’t the tall, lanky figure she’d been expecting to see, moving awkwardly among the crowds. Time had dilated his flesh, though it had left his face unaltered; his body looked swollen, rather than overweight. It was a strange combination of youthfulness and decay. His dirty hair fell over smooth cheeks, and he had an almost translucent complexion. His tattered coat stretched tight over his abdomen and across his shoulders and seemed to be getting in his way.
Ebran was anxious. Teresa could tell from the lack of composure in his gestures, and the febrile glances he kept throwing at his surroundings. Something was undermining his self-control—perhaps the arousal produced by the presence of all those bodies around him, and the rising urge to kill once more.
He was pacing between the stalls in the square, tracing the same route over and over again—there was something systematic in his behavior, as if he were looking for something or someone.
Teresa was watching him from the steps that led down to the little square by the medieval clock tower. She could see him studying people’s faces, scrutinizing their expressions.
“What is he doing?” said Marini next to her.
“He’s choosing.”
The parade of the Krampus reached its climax when the demons tried to catch and strike the bolder kids who came close enough to confront them. In the ensuing chaos and crush, it became harder to keep track of Ebran’s movements.
“I’m going to move closer,” said Teresa. “You stay here and make sure you don’t lose sight of him.”
She began tailing Ebran at a few yards’ distance. She kept catching glimpses of his face in the crowd, but then he would momentarily vanish, only to emerge a few steps from where he’d been before. Teresa wondered how long this dance would last.
There was a sudden panic when a series of deafening bangs went off somewhere in the crowd. People started shoving and yelling at each other, trying to find a way out of the square. Teresa was swallowed by the sudden chaos and found herself pushing against the tide.
“Someone’s set off a bunch of firecrackers,” De Carli reported through the radio.
Marini pushed his way into the crowd and tried to restore order, explaining the source of the noise, but it still took a few minutes for the panic to subside.
Meanwhile, Teresa had lost sight of the suspect.
“I can’t see him,” she radioed, with a curse or two thrown in.
“I think I can,” Marini radioed back. “He’s walking toward the church. He’s leaving. I think he’s stolen something. There’s a bulge in his coat, he’s got his arms wrapped around it.”
Teresa stood on her toes to look in that direction, but there were too many people around her.
“Follow him! I’ll get there as soon as I can,” she yelled.
She called for reinforcements and sent out the order that no one was to leave the village. They’d prepared the roadblocks hours ago. She radioed Marini again.
“Have you caught up with him?” she asked.
“Almost. He’s behind the church.”
“Don’t run. You might scare him off. I’m coming.”
The crowds had begun to disperse, thanks to the efforts of Hugo Knauss and his men, and Teresa finally managed to catch up with Marini. Lucas Ebran was walking about ten yards ahead of them. His steps were quick; he was in a rush. He turned to look over his shoulder.
“He’s seen us,” said Teresa.
Ebran started running. Marini sprinted after him and was upon him in seconds, grabbing him by the collar of his coat. Ebran tripped and fell to his knees. He looked delirious. Teresa saw him glancing down at his own abdomen. He had hidden something in the folds of his too-tight coat.
“Superintendent!”
De Carli had arrived, out of breath.
“There’s a child missing,” he said. “He was taken from his stroller when the mother wasn’t looking.”
Teresa looked at Ebran and at the unnatural bulge in his belly. She undid his coat, and for a moment she just stood there, motionless.
“I just found them on the floor, I swear,” said Ebran.
A camera and a purse, but no trace of the child.
-53-
Teresa woke up screaming and gasping for breath, her neck and the rest of her body stiff. Her diary lay open in front of her, squashed under her cheek. She lifted her head, her heart still drumming in her chest. The muscles in her back spasmed in pain. She’d fallen asleep on her chair. She swallowed with some difficulty, her throat burning, her lips dry. She was desperate for a glass of water.
