Chapter 11

Ercole Benelli said to the others, “In the Europol alerts yesterday. A notice from the U.S. embassy in Brussels. Did you not see it?”

Spiro glared at the young officer and Ercole continued, “Well, sir, this man—they know he is a white male, though not his name—he kidnapped a victim in New York and left a noose just like this one, as a token. He tortured him. The man was about to die but was rescued just in time. The perpetrator escaped. The State Department believed he left the country but did not know where he was headed. It seems he’s come to Italy.”

“A copycat crime, surely.” Spiro was nodding at the noose.

Ercole said quickly, “No, impossible.”

“Impossible?” Spiro growled.

The young man blushed and looked down. “Ah, sir. I would say unlikely. The fact of the noose hasn’t yet been released to the press. For the very reason of copycat perpetrators. Someone might have seen the video, yes, but Crovi said it was a heavyset white male in a dark outfit. And the noose? The same as the report from the NYPD about the kidnapper there. I think it must be him.”

Rossi gave a chuckle. “You’re a Forestry officer. Why were you reading Europol reports?”

“Interpol too. And our own Police of State and Carabinieri alerts from Rome. I always do. I might use something that I learn in my own work.”

Spiro muttered, “At Forestry? That must happen as often as a pope’s death.” He kept his eyes on the blackness of the landscape. Then: “What else did this report say? The video?”

“He posted a video of the victim about to be hanged. With music playing. On a site called YouVid.”

“Terrorist?” Rossi asked.

“Apparently not. The report said he is on antipsychotic medication.”

“Which is obviously not doing a very good job,” Daniela said.

Rossi said to Spiro, “Postal Police. I’ll have them monitor the site and get ready to trace it if he posts.”

“Postal Police” was an antiquated name for a state-of-the-art law enforcement division in Italy. They handled all, or most, crimes involving telecommunications and computers.

Spiro said, “Any other thoughts?”

Ercole began to speak but the prosecutor interrupted, adding, “Massimo?”

“If he is making a production of the death,” the inspector said, “I won’t spend much time and manpower searching for the body. Only one team. I will send most officers out to canvass and look for CCTVs in the area.”

“Good.”

Which cheered Ercole, since this was close to what his own suggestion would have been.

Spiro added, “I must be getting back to Naples. Good night, Massimo. Call me with any developments. I want all the reports, especially the crime scene data. And we should pursue this lead, if that’s what it is.” He was now looking at the noose. He shook his head and walked to his car. There, before climbing in, he paused at the driver’s side, pulled the leather-bound book from his pocket and made notations. He replaced the volume, climbed into the Volvo and sped away. As his car drove off, crunching over the gravel on the shoulder, another sound filled the night. The guttural growl of a motorcycle approaching.