The Sculptor by Gregory Funaro Read Free Book Online

Michelangelo’s Bacchus.
    “You see, Dr. Hildebrant,” began Burrell. “Our preliminary analysis indicates that the killer somehow preserved the bodies and mounted them on an internal metal frame. This means that whoever did this not only has a working knowledge of taxidermy, of embalming and such, but also knows something about welding. This sound like anybody you know? Maybe one of your students who was also involved in metalworking?”
    “No,” said Cathy. “I don’t know anyone who could do this.”
    “And you have no idea why someone would want to dedicate this statue to you specifically?”
    “No. No idea.” In the awkward silence that followed, Cathy suddenly became aware that the entire FBI team—what had to be two-dozen of them—was staring at her. She felt her face go hot, felt her stomach leap into her chest, and then a flash of memory, a dream—the third grade, show and tell, and distant taunts of “Ching-chong! Ching-chong!” echoing in her head.
    It was Sam Markham who stepped in to save her.
    “Dr. Hildebrant, is there anything else you can tell us about the statue before the forensic team removes it? For instance, why Tommy Campbell should be missing his…well, why he’s missing his penis?”
    Cathy had the vague suspicion that Markham already knew the answer to his question—that he was trying to get her to talk about Bacchus the same way she talked about Michelangelo in the car in order to calm her. And, for the briefest of moments, Cathy Hildebrant loved him for it.
    “Well,” she began. “There’s some debate about this, but the original is also missing its penis. We know that at some point Bacchus’s right hand, the one holding the bowl of wine, was broken off to give the sculpture the appearance of antiquity—as for a time it lived among a collection of Roman artifacts belonging to a man named Jacopo Galli. The hand, however, was restored by about 1550 or so, but the penis, well, some scholars believe that it was never there to begin with, or that it was chiseled off by Michelangelo himself soon after the statue was completed.”
    “Why?” asked Markham.
    “Both the Roman and Greek mythological traditions—the Greeks called their version of the god Dionysus—held that Bacchus was not only the god of wine and excess, but also the god of theatre, and thus possessed all powers apropos to early Greek theatre’s original ritual and celebratory purposes. Although scholars still debate the true nature of these early rituals, given that sex was part of the excess over which Bacchus reigned supreme, some scholars conclude that there was a sexual component to these early theatrical rituals as well. Hence, in both Roman and Greek mythology we often see Bacchus represented with both male and female genitalia, and thus the ability to govern the excesses of both male and female sexual desire. It has long been believed that Michelangelo purposely sculpted his Bacchus’s body with a fleshy, almost androgynous quality—the swollen breasts, the bloated belly—and some scholars suggest that Bacchus was purposely completed without a penis to represent this. I tend to disagree with them, however.”
    “You ever seen anything like this, Sam?” asked Burrell.
    “No. Serial killers sometimes pose their victims—put them on display, if you will—either for their own sick benefit or for the others who come afterward. But no, I’ve never seen anything like this.”
    “And the missing penis? That mean anything to you, Sam? Killer’s got a problem with his gender? Wants to be a woman or something?”
    “Perhaps. Or perhaps he’s just trying to make the sculpture look authentic like the one in Florence.”
    “That would explain why the killer put the sculpture on display here,” said Cathy.
    “What do you mean?” asked Burrell.
    “Agent Markham, you told me that the owner of this property is the CEO of an investment firm?”
    “That’s right. His name is Dodd. Earl