AllFreeNovel
Share Us
--Bucket, common. No source determined.
--Lock and hasp, barring front door. Common. No source determined.
--Wooden rod, improvised gallows. Common. No source determined.
--No fingerprints, other than Victim's. Smudge marks suggest latex gloves.
--Related: Uploaded video on NowChat video posting service, four minutes, three seconds, depicting Victim, noose. Music playing: "Waltz of the Flowers" from The Nutcracker and human gasping (possibly Victim's). --Postal Police attempting to trace upload, but use of proxies and virtual private networks is slowing search.
Beatrice then taped up a dozen crime scene photographs of the water reservoir where Maziq had been held, as well as the entryway to the old building, the aqueduct and the musty brick basement.
Ercole stared at the pictures of the reservoir, which seemed to depict a medieval torture chamber. "A grim place."
Rhyme said nothing to the Forestry officer but scanned the chart. "Well, I mentioned crazy. I didn't see how right I was."
"What is that you mean, Captain Rhyme?"
"You see the sodium chloride, propylene glycol and so on?"
"Yes. What is that?"
"Electroconductive jelly. It's applied to the skin for electroconvulsive shock treatments for psychotics. Rare nowadays."
"Could the Composer be seeing a mental doctor here?" Ercole asked. "For those treatments?"
"No, no," Rhyme said. "The procedure takes time in the hospital. It's probably from the same place where the Composer got the antipsychotic drug: a U.S. hospital. He's functioning well enough, so I'd guess he had the treatment a few days before the New York attack. And what's amobarbital? Another antipsychotic?"
Sachs said, "I'll check the NYPD database." A moment later she reported, "It's a fast-acting sedative to combat panic attacks. It was developed a hundred years ago in Germany as a truth serum--it didn't work for that but doctors found it had a side effect of quickly calming agitated or aggressive subjects."
Many bipolar and schizophrenic patients, Rhyme knew from past cases, were often racked with anxiety.
Another figure stepped slowly into the doorway. It was Dante Spiro, who scanned everyone with an expressionless face.
"Procuratore," Ercole said.
The prosecutor cocked his head and wrote something in his leather-bound book.
For some reason, Ercole Benelli witnessed this with concern, Rhyme noted.
Spiro slipped the book away and reviewed the evidence chart. He said only, "English. Ah."
Then he turned to Sachs and Rhyme. "Now. Your involvement in this case is to be limited to these four walls. Are you in agreement, Inspector?" A nod toward Rossi.
"Of course. Yes."
"Mr. Rhyme, you are here by our grace. You have no authority to investigate a crime in this country. Your contributions to analyzing the evidence will be appreciated, if they prove helpful. As they have, and I acknowledge that. And any thoughts you might have about the Composer's frame of mind will be taken into account too. But beyond that, no. Am I understood?"
"Perfectly," Rhyme muttered.
"Now one more thing I wish to say. On a subject that has been raised before. Extradition. You have lost jurisdiction over the Composer and his crimes in America, while we have gained it. You will wish to try for extradition but I will fight it most strenuously." He eyed them for a moment. "Let me please give you a lesson in the law, Mr. Rhyme and Detective Sachs. Imagine a town in Italy called Cioccie del Lupo. The name is a joke, you see. It's not a real place. It means Wolf Tits."
"Romulus and Remus, the founding of Rome myth," Rhyme said. His voice was bored because he was bored. He stared at the newsprint pads on the easel.
Ercole said, "The twins, suckling on a wolf."
Rhyme corrected, absently, "The female suckles, the baby sucks."
"Oh. I didn't--"
