City of Devils: A Novel by Diana Bretherick Read Free Book Online

clenched his fists as if he was about to engage in hand-to-hand combat with his own fears. Breathing deeply, he tried to steady his nerves. The smell of the cab’s interior combined unpleasantly with the odour of the many bodies that had sat there before him. Suddenly it swerved to avoid a handcart being pulled slowly across the road by an elderly man who gesticulated angrily. He was so close that James could see his hostile glare and the spittle seeping from the corners of his snarling, toothless mouth as they drove past. The sight of it jolted him back to reality, reminding him of his purpose. It was then that he knew that he had no choice but to go on, for if he turned back now he would never be complete. It was a risk. He realised that he might not like what he discovered, but it seemed to him that not knowing was even worse.
    Everything had now become further complicated by the murder. If he was innocent, James assumed that Lombroso would wish to give its investigation priority, given the use of his name on the note. It would be interesting to see him apply his theories to an actual crime and he hoped that perhaps the professor would allow him to help, even if that meant that he would have to wait a little longer to address his own problems.
    James looked out of the window again in an effort to find some distraction and soon lost himself in the bustle of the city. Watching the Torinesi going about their business, he thought to himself that, at first glance, this place was not so very different from home. As in Edinburgh there were two contrasting sides to the city: both were built on old ground, one with broad, clean and straight streets and another of winding narrow lanes and alleyways. Here too street traders shouted out at passers-by in an effort to persuade them to buy their wares. The gentry strolled past, their noses high in the air as if trying to avoid the city smells that inevitably surrounded them – sewage, animal and human, sweat and filth; the stink of people, the stink of life.
    In Turin, though, the odour was different from Edinburgh’s. It had a slight undertone of fresh herbs, garlic and olive oil, wafting over from stalls that nestled under the walkways that lined the streets. How easy it would be for the uninitiated to see only the acceptable side of the place, the almost exotic golden glow of the piazzas and archways shining in the pale morning sunlight. One could simply brush aside the sight of the filthy beggars or the sharp-faced con men, ignore the bright-eyed thieves or the snarling pimps and their blousy prostitutes, turn away from the hidden grotesques of the city, lingering in dark corners waiting for night, all the sinister undercurrents that would sweep a man away in its filthy waters given half the chance. It was too late for him. He had already witnessed Turin’s less salubrious side at first hand and knew that beneath this shining surface lay a darker underbelly of shadows and secrets. And he also knew the raw truth: that he was no different.
    On the surface he was quite ordinary; a little pale perhaps, and serious, with a shock of dark hair that he habitually pushed away from his forehead. A colleague of his father’s had once told him that he had a noticeable pallor, as if he had rarely seen daylight, and that his eyes had a distant and haunted quality. When he had mentioned it to Lucy she had told him that he looked ‘romantic’ as if he was ‘a man with a past’. He had not said so but, given the burden he carried at the time, he had thought that description was apt and hardly surprising. After all, it was quite possible that his appearance was a mere reflection of the state of his soul.
    Finally the cab pulled up outside the museum. As before he knocked at the huge wooden doors and was met by Sofia. Today she was brusque, ushering him in as if she was too busy to pass the time of day with him. James was disappointed. He had hoped for a smile at least. He decided to regard her