City of Devils: A Novel (22 page)

‘No one can seriously think that you are implicated, Professor,’ Ottolenghi said quietly.

‘I wish that I had your confidence, Ottolenghi, but a second murder? You know as well as I do that I have enemies and that they will take great delight in pointing the finger of suspicion at me. There will be talk at first, and then . . . well, who knows. It may even jeopardise my position here. There are many who would rejoice at my departure, were it to come to that.’

James wondered what it was about Lombroso that seemed to inspire such extremes of emotion. Did anyone really hate him so much that they would imply that he had committed these terrible crimes in order to discredit him? If so, then why?

Lombroso shook himself. ‘Listen to me! How selfish I have become. What of those poor men? We should be thinking of them and their families, if they have them.’

James shook his head. ‘Some might say that, as they are only criminals, they don’t deserve our sympathy.’

‘Murray, you don’t know how it saddens me to hear that, although it does not surprise me. But some unfortunates cannot help what they become. It is their destiny and nothing less. We should not condemn them for that which they cannot change.’ Lombroso slumped into his chair. He seemed very different since Machinetti’s departure. ‘Two men have died horribly and it seems as if it may be my fault.’ He looked up at them, a look of desperation on his face. ‘I don’t know how to stop this!’

Ottolenghi looked Lombroso in the eye and took a deep breath. ‘Professor, we need to find this killer, and soon, before he strikes again. Let us help you.’

‘No, no, leave it to Machinetti. He will get there in the end. He is persistent, if nothing else.’

‘Professor, please let us help,’ implored James. ‘In the end might be too late for some poor soul.’

Lombroso paused for a moment but then shook his head. ‘No, I say again, leave it to the carabinieri. We have other matters with which to fill our time.’

James sighed. He had thought that the second murder might have persuaded Lombroso to investigate. After all, if they left it to Machinetti who knew how many others might die by the same hand? He simply could not understand why Lombroso was being so stubborn. Surely even the most ferocious of feuds could be put aside to save lives. Unless of course . . . James looked over to him.
Could
he be involved? Why else would he be so reluctant? A sense of dread filled him at the thought that the professor might be capable of such brutality. But then why on earth would he implicate himself by leaving the notes – unless it was some bizarre attempt at a kind of double bluff.

Lombroso leaned towards them. ‘Gentlemen, we cannot allow ourselves to be distracted. I feel that we may be on the verge of a breakthrough. Just imagine what that might mean for the world. If we could predict who the criminals are we could prevent crime. Think of that.’

He got to his feet. ‘Come, let us go back into the laboratory and write up our experiment. Ausano was an interesting subject, was he not? Almost no change in his blood pressure throughout – only the prospect of a glass of wine and an encounter with Machinetti got him going. I wonder what that could mean?’

James and Ottolenghi dutifully followed Lombroso as he left the room, exchanging glances as they did so. They both knew that the second murder had stiffened their own resolve to continue investigating. Perhaps when they had something solid to show him Lombroso might be persuaded to change his mind, James thought. Either that or something much worse – he would be forced to make a confession of his crimes.

11

Certain lawyers have deliberately misinterpreted my theories, turning them to the advantage of their least deserving clients.

Lombroso, 1889 p 231

The following day, as part of the symposium, Lombroso was to conduct a demonstration of his work at the local prison assisted by James and Ottolenghi. In the cab on the way there James watched the professor carefully to see if there was any indication of guilt. Lombroso’s eyes were darting here and there as he muttered to himself. Every now and again he paused and jotted something down in an old leather-bound notebook.

James wondered how long it would be until Lombroso’s fears for his future were recognised. He had been sceptical at first but now it seemed that the professor had been right to worry. Gemelli and his cronies had already been seen at the museum, like vultures circling in a search for carrion. He did not think that it would be long before they landed upon the professor and began to tear his reputation to pieces. Father Vincenzo was little better if the views he expressed at the Marchesa’s reception were genuine, and there was no reason to believe that they were not. He was powerful, more so than Gemelli, and it was clear to James that trouble lay ahead. But more than this, they were faced with a killer who seemed to stop at nothing to prove some kind of a point. There had been two terrible murders but would he stop there? James doubted it. The more deaths, the more comprehensively the point, whatever it was, was driven home. It was surely a matter of urgency to find the culprit and prevent further atrocities and in doing so exonerate the professor once and for all.

But James wasn’t sure how much headway he, Ottolenghi and Tullio could make on their own. Valuable time had already been lost and they could not even visit the second crime scene until that evening at the earliest. He wondered if Tullio had managed to get there before Machinetti and preserve some of the ‘scientific evidence’ he was so fond of. Perhaps that might give them something to go on. They could certainly do with it.

In a few moments they arrived at the prison gates, huge cast iron things that creaked ominously as they swung open. According to Ottolenghi, the prison was known as Le Nuove, but it certainly didn’t look ‘new’. Even though it had been built only a decade or so ago, the red brick walls seemed to have weathered already, almost as if it was aging from within. There were towers set into each corner, standing tall and looming over them like a threat. As they approached the large metal door, the temperature seemed to drop and James shivered. The smell of the interior reminded him of his father’s asylum – a dank, sour smell of sweat and desperation.

They were met by the prison governor, an old friend of Lombroso’s. He greeted them warmly and escorted them to the consulting rooms where they would conduct the experiments in front of a small invited audience. They walked through the dimly lit corridors lined with cells. There was a cacophony of banging and clanging, shouting and calling out of obscenities. Eventually they came to a large spiral staircase in the centre of the building. As they climbed, James looked down on the landings and saw some of the convicts being taken back to their cells. They shuffled along behind the guard. One looked up and their eyes met. He was so thin that his uniform of striped cotton seemed to hang off him. The man gave James a reproachful glare as if he was responsible for his incarceration. James turned away, unable to hold the prisoner’s stare any longer. It wasn’t his fault the man was there but somehow it felt as if it was.

Finally they reached the room where two of Lombroso’s measuring contraptions stood in the middle of the floor, waiting to be used. James recognised the Ruhmkorff induction coil that they had used on Ausano, with another machine that measured changes in blood pressure. This time, though, it appeared to be unattached. Waiting by the equipment were two young men who were also assisting. They stood there, nervously eying the machines, presumably wondering, as James was, what their own part in the proceedings would be. Lombroso had not been particularly forthcoming on the way to the prison and he hadn’t liked to interrupt his thought processes by asking him for details. James had caught Ottolenghi giving him amused glances as if he knew something James did not.

Lombroso and the governor went to greet the invited guests, leaving the young men to ensure that the equipment was in working order. Fortunately the others, particularly Ottolenghi, seemed to know what they were doing, which was more than James did, so he stood around watching as they twiddled various knobs and checked connections. A few moments later he heard the booming voice of Borelli and Lombroso’s slightly lighter tones announcing the arrival of the observers.

All of Lombroso’s guests at his salon were present. Madame Tarnovsky gave James a wave as she came in and he nodded gravely at her, not wishing to appear too frivolous. He was surprised to see Horton hovering at the back of the crowd. He remembered what Ottolenghi had said about Lombroso liking to mix with those who intrigued him and he supposed that Horton was in that category. Even if the professor didn’t like someone, then being interesting would still guarantee access to his inner circle.

DeClichy stood next to Madame Tarnovsky, directly opposite Horton. Every now and again he would look up at him and frown. Reiner stood next to Horton. James looked more closely at him. His stare was like an icicle and he was wearing another fancy waistcoat, similar to the one that James had coveted at the salon. James wondered if he wore them when he talked to his lust murderers. But was his interest in vampirism merely hypothetical? Not long before he had travelled to Turin, Lucy had lent James a story about a vampire who posed as an English lord and seduced the hero’s sister. James imagined Reiner sucking the blood from someone. As he stared, Reiner suddenly noticed him and smiled disarmingly at him. James smiled back guiltily.

Once everyone was assembled, Lombroso rose and the room fell silent. The level of anticipation was so high that James imagined it settling on them like a great cloak. After a long pause, no doubt for dramatic effect, Lombroso, always the showman, addressed them.

‘Gentlemen and Madame Tarnovsky,’ he began. He looked at her directly and she smiled. This acknowledgement was no doubt made in an effort to convey respect. Women in the scientific community were few and far between and they were often ignored. As far as James was concerned it was wrong to exclude anyone from the gaining of knowledge just because of his or her sex. He knew, however, that he was in a minority and that for Anna Tarnovsky it must be a struggle she faced on an almost daily basis.

Lombroso went on. ‘Today, I will be repeating an experiment that I conducted some years ago. I am doing so to demonstrate the advances that have been made in the modification of the equipment used and also, of course, our greater knowledge of criminals and their anthropology. The term “algometry” has become increasingly common in our profession since I invented it all those years ago.’

‘I hate to interrupt . . .’

It was Horton speaking.

‘Then don’t,’ murmured Borelli.

Horton ignored him. ‘Hasn’t someone else claimed it was their idea?’

James thought that Lombroso would be angry at Horton’s intervention but Lombroso merely peered at Horton quizzically and then shook his head slowly. ‘Many people have claimed many things over the years and they are nothing if not consistent.’ There was another dramatic pause. ‘They are always wrong!’

The audience laughed and even Horton joined in. Lombroso continued, ‘Algometry is of course the measurement of sensibility to pain.’

James felt slightly uneasy. This was not really what he had hoped to hear. He held on for a second or two to the possibility that it was only prisoners who were to be examined rather than Lombroso’s assistants but his hopes were soon dashed.

‘We will begin by applying the electrodes of this Ruhmkorff induction coil to various parts of the body. I am ably assisted in this venture by Dr Ottolenghi and, of course, my new student Dr James Murray. They will replicate the earlier experiment previously conducted on four of my colleagues. I intend to propose this method as being suitable for the collection of evidence to be used by expert witnesses in a court of law.’

There was some murmuring from the crowd at this and Lombroso smiled. ‘I know that some of you may not agree with this proposal but I am confident that once you have seen the technique demonstrated you will be as certain as I am of its efficacy in the detection of the criminal from the non-criminal.’ He looked around the room as if challenging someone to disagree but even Horton did not dare to intervene. ‘Now, in the first experiment of this type we attached the electrodes to a variety of body parts – gums, nipples, lips, eyelids, feet and, of course, the genitalia.’

James was not particularly fond of pain. He looked over to Ottolenghi, expecting him to look alarmed. He was, though, completely composed, as if to have one’s private parts electrocuted in front of an audience was an everyday occurrence. James found his friend’s equanimity comforting. It couldn’t be that bad, despite Lombroso’s eyes glinting with what looked like fervour or possibly insanity. James hoped it was the former.

‘I have chosen my subjects with great care as always. Both of these gentlemen are free of any disease and are exceptionally intelligent.’ Usually James would have basked in the glow of such a remark from his new mentor, but not that day. He would have liked to have ‘unvolunteer’ – but then he hadn’t volunteered in the first place so it would be difficult to withdraw now. He resigned himself. He supposed it would be interesting at least. James had wanted to experience new things so he could hardly complain when novelty came his way, whatever its form. Lombroso looked over to them. ‘Murray, Ottolenghi – if you wouldn’t mind taking a seat behind the screen?’