Tweedledum and Tweedledee (14 page)

"Photograph," I mumbled.

"What about it?"

"Mrs. Alessandrino received a photo of her daughter's cut off leg. Mrs. Colombo was certain her son was dead. Why was she so sure that she would kill herself?"

"You think she received a photo as well?"

I put the empty beer bottle down. "I need to check something. Could you stay here with the boys?"

"No problem."

38

April 1984

A
T FOURTEEN YEARS OF
age, the twins were terrorizing the streets of Rome. At least, according to the citizens.

Before running into the streets, they had killed them all. Just like in the fortune teller's prophecy, the twins had killed every gypsy in the gang that morning in the parking lot. Like a mighty spider, they had jumped the roofs of the trucks, swung themselves inside the open windows and massacred the men and women who had tortured them and kept them locked up for years.

Then, they had disappeared into the streets. They lived in the dark alleys, staying clear of people, and eating trash out of the dumpsters behind the restaurants. Soon, rumors started running about the beast from hell, the two-headed spider mutant that was rampaging the small streets of Rome. Some said it was a large animal, others said it was a vampire or a mutant rat. It was even said to maybe be a mythical creature, like a sphinx with the body of a lion and a human head, or a Scorpion man, half scorpion, half man. No matter what kind of creature it was, most stuck with the theory that it was very dangerous and came from the pit of hell.

The newspapers even wrote about the mystical creature that had been seen by people in the streets and soon, tourists roamed the alleys in the hope of catching a glimpse of the strange creature and maybe even taking a photo.

But the twins hid well and were hardly ever seen. They didn't care much about people, only to stay as far away from them as possible. They slept in abandoned buildings and ate what they could get their hands on. Whether it was leftovers from the restaurants left in the dumpster or a small cat that they killed themselves, didn't matter to them. It was all down to survival and not getting caught or seen by people.

They had started speaking again in their own language and would have long conversations at nighttime. They would often speak of their parents that they had never known and make up stories about them and where they were. They would imagine their parents looking for them everywhere, not knowing where to find them. They would talk about how their dad probably was a pilot or something really important, how they might have been stolen as children and, ever since, their parents had been searching everywhere to find them.

They knew, of course, this wasn't true, but it helped them to get over the fact that they both knew why they had no parents. Because no one wanted them, because who would ever want the spider-boys? Who would want a beast for child? They both knew that was why they had been abandoned, but it felt good to escape into their little fantasy every now and then.

And it helped that they had each other. Without their mutual love for one another, they wouldn't have survived any of what they had gone though. They both knew that and never stopped telling each other how important the other one was.

Every night, they crawled onto the dirty old mattress they had found in an old condemned building, looked at each other and spoke the words:

"I love you."

"I love you more."

And so they did as well on this night, precisely two years after the attack on the gypsies. The night of what they had decided was their birthday. They had just eaten the remains of a stray dog they had captured near the famous Piazza Navona and told each other goodnight, when a shadow entered the room, followed by several others.

It was a sound that woke them up. The twins opened their eyes, a flashlight was turned on and the twins could see faces behind it. One was holding a tranquillizer-gun that he had pointed at them. The twins barely managed to scream before the shot was fired.

39

April 2014

I
WALKED DOWN THE
hallway and came to the door to room three hundred and forty five. The numbers had been imprinted in my mind ever since Victor had said them over and over again. I touched the handle carefully and realized the door wasn't locked. I opened it and went under the police tape.

There was still blood on the beige carpet in the bedroom where Ivana Colombo had been shot. I took in a deep breath to calm myself down. The thought of all the despair and suffering that had taken place in this room made me miserable. I had to pull myself together in order to focus on why I was there.

I walked to the stain on the floor and looked around. The police had been in the room for hours, examining the entire suite. If I was to find something they hadn't, it had to be hidden pretty well.

I tried to imagine I was Ivana Colombo and sat on the bed. I imagined that someone stuck a photograph under the door, then maybe knocked to get their attention. Ivana would get up from the bed and walk towards the door and open it. I got up and tried to do the same. I pretended to open the door, then looked down and imagined a photograph on the floor. I visualized Ivana picking it up, then the shock.

What did she do next? Did she turn to her husband and show him the picture? No, she couldn't have. Then he would have told that to the police and that would have supported his testimony that it was suicide. So maybe she didn't tell him. Maybe the shock was so strong, all she could think of was to kill herself. Find the gun and finish it off. Shut up the strong emotion of grief that was about to rush in over her.

I looked around, then walked back to the bedroom. The shot was fired in there. So she had to have walked back in there to grab the gun. I walked back, pretending to be holding the photograph.

She had to have been really out of it at this point. Maybe walking back and forth in the room deciding what to do? Or was she determined it was the only way out from the moment she saw the photo? After all, she had to have thought it through while waiting for answers. Maybe she even planned it. Maybe she decided it already once he went missing, that if Alberto turned up dead, she would shoot herself right away…Determined that there was no way she was ever going to go on without him.

But where was the gun? I opened the drawer next to the bed, but found only a Bible and some pens with the cruise line's logo on them. I closed the drawer, went to the other side of the bed and opened that one as well. The gun had to have some case or something, right? I didn't know much about guns, I had to admit. I had never even held one in my hands. Where I came from, we were very much against weapons. I had no idea why a woman like Ivana Colombo would have a gun with her in the first place. Was it because she was afraid of being attacked? Maybe, being this rich, she was constantly afraid of having her child kidnapped for ransom, or just someone assaulting them to get their money and valuables. Did she bring expensive jewelry with her on a trip like this? Probably. To wear at nice dinners and such. Now, wouldn't you try and have the gun near the jewelry, in case someone forced an entry?

I walked to the dresser and opened all the drawers. I only found clothes. Expensive underwear. I felt bad for going through her stuff and closed all the drawers again.

"Now, where would you hide jewelry and a gun, Mrs. Colombo?" I mumbled.

Then I realized the obvious. There was a safe. In every suite, there was a small safe for the guests to put their valuables in. Just like in many hotels. I found it in the walk-in closet. On a shelf above the hangers. It was locked. I took out my phone and searched the web for
how to open a hotel safe,
then typed the brand of it
.
I found a video on YouTube telling me to type in only zeroes. The man in the video told me most of these kinds of safes from this manufacturer had the same defect. You could open all of them by simply using zeroes. So I did. I typed them in and the safe opened.

I was quite startled that it was this easy. I opened it and looked inside. As I suspected, I found jewelry and a black case for the gun. The case was empty. Carefully placed next to it was a Polaroid photograph.

"Bingo," I said and picked it up. I felt nauseated again. The picture showed Alberto Colombo, lying on his back with dead empty eyes. His chest and stomach had been flayed.

Ivana Colombo had placed it there as the last thing before taking the gun, probably thinking they would find it there and understand why she killed herself. It was her suicide note to the world. She just never considered the possibility that they might not find it…simply because they weren't looking.

40

April 2014

T
HE MAN WAS WATCHING
the people by the pool. So many happy faces. So much laughter. It annoyed him. Especially since he himself didn't feel well. He was aching all over, shaking, and burning up with fever. The damn wound on his shoulder hurt again. He had taken pills to kill it, but it didn't seem to be enough.

He had put Deedee back in his case to not attract attention. A man in a long black coat is, after all, quite suspicious on the sundeck where most people were wearing swimsuits. But now, the wounds from where Deedee had been were bleeding and he could see red spots through the white shirt of his uniform. He put on a jacket to cover it up. It hurt like crazy.

Just a few hours more, then everything will be perfected. You just need to stay focused a little longer, just enough to finish the work you started. You can't give up now. Do it for Deedee.

It didn't take long for the man to spot a new donor. A young boy playing in the water. His skin was perfect. The man didn't have to come close to be able to judge that. He was perfect. And being slightly chubby, especially on the stomach, he would provide skin enough. A lot of the finest skin.

The man hadn't had enough time to plan his approach well, and he knew he was taking a chance. But, as soon as the mother told the boy to get out of the water because they had to get something to eat, the man followed them closely back to their cabin on the middle deck. The boy wasn't among the rich people on the boat, which the man usually preferred, since they took better care of their skin, but he would have to do. There wasn't time to change plans now.

The mother and child disappeared into the cabin, then returned a few minutes later all dressed. The man followed them as they walked into a fast-food restaurant and ordered fried chicken and French fries. The man frowned while watching them throw themselves at the greasy food. None of what they ate could be good for their skin. He had started to regret his choice. Then he looked around him to see if someone else would be better. He spotted another boy walking into a toy store with his mother and wondered if he would be a better choice. He followed them with his eyes as they disappeared into the store next to the fast-food restaurant.

The man shook his head. No. No. He had made his choice. He had to follow through with it. He looked at the chubby boy again. He was licking grease off his fingers, then washing the food down with soda.

No, it doesn't matter. You need him. Take him.

The man waited till the boy had to go to the restroom, then followed him in there. The boy was standing by the urinals and was peeing when the man came up to him. The chubby boy looked at him, annoyed.

"Hey, do you mind? I don't like people staring at me while I'm peeing," the boy said.

The man tilted his head and came closer.

"Hey, didn't you hear me?" the boy said. "Find someone else's penis to stare at before I call the police."

The man didn't move. He felt the handle of the knife in his pocket. Then a thought struck him.

How will you carry him downstairs without anyone noticing?

He hadn't thought it through. It was so hard for him to think straight lately. It was like the fever made it impossible. He was breathing heavily, while staring at the boy. Then a dizziness overpowered him and he had to lean on the wall to not fall.

The boy stared at him in disgust. Then he closed his zipper and started walking towards the door. The man held on to the wall while fighting to stay conscious. Slowly, he slid towards the floor till his face landed on the cold tiles. The boy turned to look at him. Then he walked up to him and kicked him in the abdomen, knocking out the last bit of air he had left.

"Old pig," the boy said, just as he walked through the door and returned to the restaurant.

41

April 2014

I
STILL HAD THE
photograph in my hand as I ran to my own suite. My dad had dozed off on the couch next to Victor when I stormed inside.

"She killed herself," I said.

My dad squinted. "I'm not sure I'm following you here," he said drowsily.

"Victor was right. Victor knew, Dad. He told me Mrs. Colombo knew her son was dead and that was why she shot herself. It wasn't the husband at all."

"Victor told you this?" my dad asked.

"Yes. And I have the proof," I said and handed him the photograph. "I found it in the safe next to the empty gun case. She put it there as the last thing she did. That's how she knew. That's how she knew her son was dead. The killer slipped the photo underneath the door like he did to Mr. and Mrs. Alessandrino. The police just never found the photo because she placed it in the safe and, apparently, they never looked in there."

"Wow, Emma," my dad said. "That's a lot to take in at once. So, you're saying Mr. Colombo never killed anyone?"

"Exactly. I just need to get the proof to the police. I'm expecting the captain to let us know that he will find the nearest harbor any minute now. The police need to take over."

I sat down next to Victor. He looked at me all of a sudden, then at the photo in my hand. He was fascinated by it, I could tell. I hated that he liked stuff like this, but it was different with him, I kept reminding myself. He didn't react to things like the rest of us. He didn't find them appalling or disgusting. He found the macabre interesting, in a scientific way. I was starting to think he might have a future in forensics.