Present Day Carabinieri HQ, Venice The last part of the media conference is a blur. Tom struggles to keep to his script and at the end, has to walk quickly to escape a posse of photographers.
The press officer covers for him, handing out new pictures of Monica Vidic, along with written appeals for the public's help, penned not only by Major Carvalho but also by the teenager's father.
As soon as they're clear of the main hall, Rocco Baldoni shoves Tom's coat in his hands. 'We're going straight to the Salute. The major and Valentina are already on their way. Professore Montesano, too.'
Tom's confused. 'The Salute? What's happened? Another body?'
'Not quite. I'll tell you en route.'
A Carabinieri patrol boat is standing by, pumping fumes in its mooring. The bow kicks up and breaks white waves as they throttle their way along the S-bend of the Canal Grande, under the Ponte dell'Accademia and out to the final promontory of the Sestiere di Dorsoduro.
The Basilica is already closed and guarded by Carabinieri officers. Baldoni flashes his ID and they are admitted through its grand entrance.
This was not how Tom had wanted to visit the Salute, the famous church depicted on the postcard Rosanna Romano had given him. The card that has drawn him to Venice.
Instinctively he makes the sign of the cross. It is strange to smell church air again, the unique aroma created by candle flame and cold stone. He sees Carvalho, Montesano and Morassi kneeling at the high altar between its giant twin pillars. They look as though they're praying. Were it not for their white Tyvek coveralls, protective boots and latex gloves, they could be mistaken for devoted church-goers.
Tom's footsteps echo like bats flapping in the vast dome overhead. He knows each step is bringing him closer and closer to something more evil than anything he's ever experienced.
A forensic officer with a clipboard stops them. Baldoni signs them through another log point. He explains to Tom that he must suit up to enter the protected area.
As he dresses he sees the gloriously Baroque altar arrangement, designed by Venetian architect Baldassare Longhena. It's more beautiful than the pictures he'd seen on the internet. It shelters a stunning Byzantine Madonna and Child, and at any other time he's sure the setting would radiate a near perfect spiritual atmosphere. But not today.
Tom finishes dressing and walks closer.
Now he sees it.
Driven into the very centre of the sacred stone on the front elevation of the altar is a human organ.
It's pinned to the marble by a massive masonry nail.
Ironmongery as horrible as any hammered into the body of Christ.
Tom crosses himself again, and whispers softly, 'In nomine patris, et filii et spiritus sancti.' He can hear carabinieri officers nearby, talking in Italian. Soft voices. Sombre tones. Baldoni joins them.
There's something else.
Red paint smeared all over the floor of the altar.
Not paint.
Blood.
Valentina is the first to spot Tom. She stands and walks over. 'Thanks for coming.' She sees his stare is hooked on the nailed organ. 'Montesano thinks it's a human liver. Isabella Lombardelli – the scientist from RaCIS – is on her way over, she'll do tissue matches with the bodies we've already got.'
He points to the smeared lines of blood on the floor near the altar. 'What's that?'
'We don't know. Major Carvalho thought maybe you would have an idea.'
Tom nervously approaches the daubed blood.
The major looks up from where he's kneeling, gets to his feet and moves towards him. 'It's not been done by accident, it's not spillage or spatter.'
Tom swallows and tries to stay calm. The tension he's experiencing is familiar. He's had it at exorcisms. Had it when he visited prisoners on Death Row. Had it during the fateful street fight in LA.
It's the closeness of evil.
'It looks like a book,' says Tom, aware his voice sounds stretched. He stoops a little to study the strange marks on the floor. 'If we were in LA, I'd be thinking about gang tags, graffiti signatures, stuff like that.' His mind flashes back to the fight – the kicks and punches he delivered that killed the young men – the battered face of the girl he couldn't save from being raped. His head feels as if someone's squeezing it in a vice. There's a sharp pain across his heart. He feels hot and dizzy. He forces himself slowly to keep blowing out the air and sucking it in again, calm and slow.
Valentina moves towards him but Vito grabs her arm and pulls her back.
Tom can see now that the blood marking is not the outline of a book.
It's a rectangle.
Divided into three perfectly equal sections.
The smears of blood ripple across it, like a river of red demon snakes.