Present Day Fondamente Nuove, Venice Vito Carvalho bums a cigarette from a soldier guarding the crime scene, and reminds himself of the information he'd been given on the phone just before midnight: The corpse has been dismembered. Body parts tied in heavy-duty plastic trash bags – stuffed in large cloth sacks – weighted down with old bricks. Everything dumped in the north side of the lagoon, away from the regular water taxi and vaporetto routes.
Vito blows out smoke and looks across the black water. Had it not been for the diving teams searching the thick muddy belly of the canal for vital parts of Antonio Pavarotti's motor boat, the dismembered body would never have been found.
Arc lights spill their horror-film whiteness on to the quayside. He walks past recovery teams and CSIs poring over mounds of stinking silt and slimy weed.
Through the glare he sees Nuncio di Alberto with a face paler than the moon listening to one of the scuba team. The diver has rolled his wetsuit down to his waist; as he talks, his body is steaming surreally in the cool night air.
Professore Montesano's voice spills from a white plastic tent. Vito knows who he's talking to long before he pulls back the flap and walks the deck boards forensics have laid to lessen the risk of cross-scene contamination.
'Ciao,' he says with gentle sarcasm. 'No disrespect, but I'd hoped not to see either of you for a while.'
Montesano raises a latex-gloved hand as a hello.
Valentina Morassi can't manage a smile. 'Ciao, Major.' The strain of the day is etched around her raw-looking eyes.
'You shouldn't be here. We'll talk later,' he says pointedly. Valentina guesses he's worked out that she finally picked up Nuncio's calls and then bullied him into telling her what was going on.
Carvalho pulls translucent gloves from a box. 'What have we got, Professore?'
Montesano lifts his shoulders and takes the kind of long, slow breath that means good news is not about to cross his lips. 'We have mush.'
'Mush? What type of mush?'
'Male mush. The putrefying mush of a mature male. That's about all I can say for now. We've opened several sacks and there's a wide assortment of body parts. For obvious reasons I don't want to unpack everything here and risk losing evidence.'
Valentina points at the collection of bags squashed together, seeping water. 'I talked with the head of the underwater team just before he went home. There are more sacks, but he can't have them brought to the surface until around ten in the morning.'
'Ten? What's he running – a campus coffee shop? How about they start again at first light? Maybe put some urgency into things.'
Valentina can see he's tensing up. 'They don't need the light, Major. They've been working in the dark down there all day. Apparently it's zero viz in most places – like working blindfold in a water-filled skip. Anything they've recovered has solely been from hand-touch.'
'I know that!' he snaps, then wishes he hadn't.
Valentina whips back, 'They can't start any earlier because they've got too few men and too much work.'
Carvalho feels as though he's going to explode. 'Budget restrictions! Cutbacks! Don't politicians understand that criminals don't slacken off simply because people aren't quite as rich these days. Cazzo!' He turns again to the ME. 'Scusi. Please forgive my outburst, Sylvio. I know you resent these things too. Can you tell me approximately how long this body has been in the water? A rough guess at how old he is? Something – anything – that I can get an investigation rolling on?'
Montesano knows better than to speak too soon: speculation could throw the whole enquiry off course. But he also knows his friend wouldn't ask if he wasn't under pressure. 'Most of the skin-' he corrects himself: 'most of the skin I have seen so far, has separated from the underlying fat and soft tissue. We're talking advanced decomposition.' He turns towards the stack of sacks. 'Without working out water temperatures and weather conditions over the last few weeks, I can't be more accurate.'
Carvalho sees his opening: 'Days, weeks or months?'
'Months. Not years.'
'Age of victim?'
'No, Vito! I am sorry. Until I have processed everything that's been recovered, that's all you're getting.'
The major surrenders. 'Va bene. Molte grazie. Valentina, walk with me outside. Let's leave our good friend to his work. His most unpleasant work.'
Valentina is wrapped in a red quilted jacket over a grey jumper with jeans and short boots, but she is shivering as she joins him outside.
'It's not that cold,' says Carvalho. 'You're exhausted and shouldn't even be here. But I suppose you know that.'
She does her best not to look like a scolded daughter. 'I want to work. When Nuncio told me there was another body near where Antonio's accident had taken place, I had to come. You understand, don't you?'
Carvalho understands. He feels the same way. Even his turning out at this god-awful hour has achieved nothing that couldn't have waited until later in the morning. 'You want to grab some coffee before you go home? One of my friends has a restaurant nearby and he never finishes up until at least three.'
She forces a smile. 'Grazie. I'd like that.'
They have gone only a few paces when a shout from Montesano stops them in their tracks. The ME stands in the entrance of the tent and calls: 'Vito, there are two – two bodies, not one. I have found another skull.'