drums his fingers. ‘It probably doesn’t make any difference. But a priest who left after the experience you went through - well, maybe that’s something worth us talking about, right?’
‘I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Not then - and not now.’
Carvalho tries coming at him from another angle. ‘When I became a policeman I stopped believing in coincidences. Phrases like, “I just happened to be there when I came across this body,” stopped ringing true. And I have real trouble believing that you left two corpses behind in LA, flew all this way and just happened to be on hand to find another one here in Venice. Do you see what I mean?’
Tom smiles. ‘I do. I absolutely do see what you mean. But, at the risk of annoying you, I did just happen to be there. Ask the old man, he was the one who found the young girl - Monica.’
‘He found her,’ interjects Valentina. ‘But maybe you put her there. Killers like to be around for the find.’
Tom shakes his head. ‘You don’t believe that. Not for a minute. I know you’ve got to do your job and go through all this. But you don’t really believe that.’
‘Okay, let’s talk about belief for a moment.’ The major leans forward and rests on his arms. ‘What kind of man do you believe could have killed a young woman like that?’
‘A very disturbed one,’ says Tom. ‘He was either mentally ill - or worse. Perhaps overcome or possessed by the powers of evil.’
‘The powers of evil?’ says Carvalho mockingly.
Something in the major’s tone gets to Tom. ‘I’ve seen a lot of murdered people. Probably more than you’ll ever see. I’ve heard the confessions of many serial killers, child abusers and rapists. And I tell you, you’re dealing with the devil’s work. It was his hand that guided that blade, as surely as if he’d stood there in all his cloven-hoofed glory and killed her himself.’
Tom looks across the table and sees their scepticism deepen. ‘Okay, the bit about cloven hooves is probably over the top. But the rest of it I mean. I really mean.’
CHAPTER 11
It’s early afternoon when they finally let Tom go. By now, he’s way beyond hungry and thinks he’ll fall over if he doesn’t get something quick.
Venice is very different to eating cheap at his church vestry in LA and he’s discovering his lunchtime allocation of fifteen euros won’t buy much. The search is on for cheap pizza and, by the looks of it, he won’t get it at the Grand Canal restaurant on Calle Vallaresso.
He stands on its elegant terrace by the waterside, watching waiters glide between tables in an exquisite culinary ballet. A menu behind glass makes his mouth water. If he had the money he’d start with salmon and swordfish tartare with lemon and basil. Maybe a glass of a local Barolo with a main course of rack of lamb and fresh garden vegetables.
‘Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt ate here.’ A woman’s voice. One he recognises.
He turns to see Tina, the travel writer he’d met in Florin’s. ‘It’s famous for its seafood,’ she adds as she lifts a pair of fashionably oversized shades. ‘And its prices.’ Her blue eyes twinkle.
‘You’re right there.’ Tom taps the menu glass. ‘I can just afford the coffee.’
‘You haven’t eaten yet?’
‘No. Not since last night. Can you recommend somewhere that suits a more modest - actually, a much more modest budget?’
She takes a long look at him, then smiles. ‘I tell you what - let’s get a table here. You buy the coffee - you said you could stretch to that - and I’ll buy lunch.’
Tom is horrified. ‘I can’t let you do that—’
But Tina already has the eye of a waltzing waiter and doesn’t feel like taking no for an answer. ‘ Lei ha una tavola per due, per favore?’
A white-jacketed ballet star in his late fifties grins at her. ‘Sì, signorina, certo.’
Tom feels embarrassed as he follows them to a table in the far corner. Even before the seat’s been pulled out
‘I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Not then - and not now.’
Carvalho tries coming at him from another angle. ‘When I became a policeman I stopped believing in coincidences. Phrases like, “I just happened to be there when I came across this body,” stopped ringing true. And I have real trouble believing that you left two corpses behind in LA, flew all this way and just happened to be on hand to find another one here in Venice. Do you see what I mean?’
Tom smiles. ‘I do. I absolutely do see what you mean. But, at the risk of annoying you, I did just happen to be there. Ask the old man, he was the one who found the young girl - Monica.’
‘He found her,’ interjects Valentina. ‘But maybe you put her there. Killers like to be around for the find.’
Tom shakes his head. ‘You don’t believe that. Not for a minute. I know you’ve got to do your job and go through all this. But you don’t really believe that.’
‘Okay, let’s talk about belief for a moment.’ The major leans forward and rests on his arms. ‘What kind of man do you believe could have killed a young woman like that?’
‘A very disturbed one,’ says Tom. ‘He was either mentally ill - or worse. Perhaps overcome or possessed by the powers of evil.’
‘The powers of evil?’ says Carvalho mockingly.
Something in the major’s tone gets to Tom. ‘I’ve seen a lot of murdered people. Probably more than you’ll ever see. I’ve heard the confessions of many serial killers, child abusers and rapists. And I tell you, you’re dealing with the devil’s work. It was his hand that guided that blade, as surely as if he’d stood there in all his cloven-hoofed glory and killed her himself.’
Tom looks across the table and sees their scepticism deepen. ‘Okay, the bit about cloven hooves is probably over the top. But the rest of it I mean. I really mean.’
CHAPTER 11
It’s early afternoon when they finally let Tom go. By now, he’s way beyond hungry and thinks he’ll fall over if he doesn’t get something quick.
Venice is very different to eating cheap at his church vestry in LA and he’s discovering his lunchtime allocation of fifteen euros won’t buy much. The search is on for cheap pizza and, by the looks of it, he won’t get it at the Grand Canal restaurant on Calle Vallaresso.
He stands on its elegant terrace by the waterside, watching waiters glide between tables in an exquisite culinary ballet. A menu behind glass makes his mouth water. If he had the money he’d start with salmon and swordfish tartare with lemon and basil. Maybe a glass of a local Barolo with a main course of rack of lamb and fresh garden vegetables.
‘Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt ate here.’ A woman’s voice. One he recognises.
He turns to see Tina, the travel writer he’d met in Florin’s. ‘It’s famous for its seafood,’ she adds as she lifts a pair of fashionably oversized shades. ‘And its prices.’ Her blue eyes twinkle.
‘You’re right there.’ Tom taps the menu glass. ‘I can just afford the coffee.’
‘You haven’t eaten yet?’
‘No. Not since last night. Can you recommend somewhere that suits a more modest - actually, a much more modest budget?’
She takes a long look at him, then smiles. ‘I tell you what - let’s get a table here. You buy the coffee - you said you could stretch to that - and I’ll buy lunch.’
Tom is horrified. ‘I can’t let you do that—’
But Tina already has the eye of a waltzing waiter and doesn’t feel like taking no for an answer. ‘ Lei ha una tavola per due, per favore?’
A white-jacketed ballet star in his late fifties grins at her. ‘Sì, signorina, certo.’
Tom feels embarrassed as he follows them to a table in the far corner. Even before the seat’s been pulled out
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