The Lost Girls of Rome Read Online Free PDF Page A

She felt a pang in her heart, thinking of the person in that family who had looked after them, feeding them from the feed box next to the tank, periodically changing the inch or two of water in which they were immersed and embellishing their habitat with pebbles and a plastic palm.
    Not an adult, she told herself.
    At that moment, Sergei returned with the screwdriver and again started fiddling with the gas fire. Within a few seconds, he had managed to get it working.
    ‘I knew I’d do it in the end,’ he said smugly.
    The room was narrow and the body occupied almost all the space. It was barely large enough for the three of them. It wouldn’t be easy to work in these conditions, Sandra thought. ‘How are we going to move?’
    ‘Let me get the sauna working first,’ Sergi said, turning the hot water tap in the shower to full. It was obvious he wanted to get rid of her. ‘In the meantime, you could start in the kitchen. We’ve got a twin in there …’
    Crime scenes are divided into primary and secondary, to distinguish the location where the crime has actually been committed from those which are merely linked to it, such as the place where a body has been hidden or the murder weapon found.
    When Sandra heard that there was a ‘twin’ in this apartment, she immediately understood that Sergi was referring to a second primary scene. And that could only mean one thing. More victims. She recalled the turtles and the Christmas tree.
    Sandra stood motionless in the doorway of the kitchen. To maintain her self-control in such situations, it was important to follow the manual to the letter. Its dictates brought order to chaos. At least, that was the illusion she clung to, and she had to believe it was true.
    Simba the lion winked at her from the TV, then started singing with the other denizens of the jungle. She would have liked to switch it off, but she couldn’t.
    Resolving to ignore it, she clipped the recorder to her belt, ready to make a verbal record of the whole procedure. She pulled back her long brown hair and tied it with an elastic band she always kept on her wrist, then arranged the microphone over her head, to keep her hands free to manoeuvre the second camera she had taken from her bag. She aimed the camera at the scene, glad that it allowed her to place a safe distance between herself and what she had in front of her.
    Conventionally, the photographic survey of a crime scene went from right to left, from bottom to top.
    She glanced at her watch, then started the recording. First, she stated her name and rank. Then the place, date and time when the procedure started. She began shooting, simultaneously describing what she saw.
    ‘The table is in the middle of the room. It’s laid for breakfast. One of the chairs has been overturned. Lying next to it on the floor is the first body: a woman, aged between thirty and forty.’
    The woman was wearing a light nightdress that had ridden up her thighs, leaving her legs and pubis blatantly exposed. Her hair was gathered with a clip in the shape of a flower. She had lost one of her slippers.
    ‘Numerous gunshot wounds. In one hand she is clutching a piece of paper.’
    She had been making a shopping list. The pen was still on the table.
    ‘The corpse is turned towards the door. She must have seen the killer come in and tried to stop him. She rose from the table, but only took one step.’
    The clicking of the camera was the sole measure of time. Sandra concentrated on that sound, like a musician letting himself be guided by a metronome. In reality, she was assimilating every detail of the scene as it imprinted itself into the digital memory of the camera and into her own memory.
    ‘Second body: male, approximately ten to twelve years old. Sitting with his back to the door.’
    He hadn’t even realised what was happening. But, as far as Sandra was concerned, the idea of an unconscious death was a relief only for the living.
    ‘He’s wearing blue pyjamas. He’s