Esoteric Crimes

He warmed a strong tea for the two women and dismissed them, waving them goodbye. The old woman and her young friend hoisted their backpacks and ventured onto the bridge, suspended over an abyss of at least eight hundred meters high.

Chapter 1

Caterina Ruggeri

The voice of the plane’s pilot in command who warned the passengers of the now imminent landing brought me back to reality. Ancona is just an hour flight from Genoa, but my mind has been engaged in a whirlwind of thoughts. The events of the past few days have brought my life to a turning point. I thought about my past and my future. Now I had an important position, I had been appointed police chief in Imperia, and I never thought that this appointment would come so soon. Of course, I’ve spent exciting years as head of the Dogs’ Unit of the State Police at the Raffaello Sanzio airport in Ancona. I had had the opportunity to achieve what I have always liked from an early age: work with police dogs and train them, from drug-sniffing dogs to rescue from rubble dogs, from anti-riot dogs to the so-called molecular ones, that is those dogs that are suited for the research of trails and missing people. On the other hand, besides being engaged in a job that I liked very much, I also had the time to devote myself to studying and graduating in Law. I specialized in Criminology and hoped for the desired career advancement.

I would certainly never abandon my passion for dogs. That passion has been passed down to me by my veterinary cousin, Stefano, now fifty years old and medical director of the Aesis Veterinary Clinic. Stefano had always been my secret love since I was little. My second cousin, twelve years older than me, had always attracted me in a particular way. The memory of a Ferragosto twenty-five years ago would forever stay alive in my mind. At the time, I was little more than a child: I had attended the second year of middle school and was not yet thirteen years old. He had just graduated in Veterinary Medicine in Perugia.

I was on vacation with my family: father, mother, and my two twin brothers, Alfonso and Stella, in a beautiful location in the Sibillini Mountains, at 1,400 meters above sea level. My father, crazy about alternative holidays, would have never taken us on vacation in a hotel. So, we used the brand-new truck tent that he had just purchased.

My family and Stefano’s were very close. My cousin joined us early in the morning, together with his two sisters and his mother, to spend Ferragosto with us. The day was already splendid, serene, clear, and cloudless. The crisp mountain air was perfect for a nice walk, so we decided to reach a refuge located at an hour and a half walk from the place where we were camping. From there, another half an hour of a tough climb made it possible to reach a peak called Pizzo Tre Vescovi. All the way, I had ignored my equal in age cousin, trying to stay as close as possible to Stefano and to talk with him. He had spoken about the university, his current and future plans, how and why he had recently broken up with his girlfriend, with whom he had shared over five years of life. Stefano and I were the most passionate about the mountains and the most hardened to physical fatigue. When we reached the refuge, the others had decided to rest and dedicate themselves to the picking of blueberries and raspberries whereas the two of us had extended the hike to the top. My father had agreed to meet us at the camp for lunch at one o’clock. With a slightly childish but targeted gesture, I took Stefano’s hand in mine and started with him up the steep and tiring path. The show at the top had paid off the effort to get there. On such a clear day, you could glance at the Umbrian mountains to the west, the Adriatic Sea to the east, the Pesarese mountains to the north, and the massive shape of Monte Vettore to the south. The latter closed the horizon and prevented from getting a glimpse of Laga and Abruzzo’s mountains.

I observed the view, but above all, I looked at Stefano’s beautiful green eyes, who kept pointing out the names of the various mountains he could recognize. The more I watched and listened to him, the more attracted I felt to him, he who had a handsome face, adorned with a light beard, thick and dark hair, and two eyes that I liked incredibly. Being little more than a child, I didn’t know what it meant to fall in love, but, in those moments, I understood that I was feeling new sensations. Perhaps, for the first time, I had fallen victim to this strange feeling.

We went back down, still talking and joking, reaching the rest of the company, just in time for the lunch prepared by my mother. She cooked an excellent Amatriciana, accompanied by grilled sausages and, to finish, the raspberries collected by brothers and cousins during the excursion. At the end of the meal, I suggested Stefano lie down in the sun. I recovered a tartan blanket and moved a bit away from the others, just out of sight. I pulled off my shirt and jeans and stood in a pink bikini that was just enough to cover my still immature breasts. He, too, had gotten rid of his shirt. We lay down, side by side, enjoying the afternoon sun that warmed the skin. At one point, I turned to him and pressed my small breasts against his chest.

«Teach me how to kiss a boy!»

He looked at me quizzically, but I, not at all frightened, brought my face close to his, half closing my eyes. I felt his lips join mine, and for a moment, I felt myself swooning. I don’t know how long it lasted; just a few moments, I think. When Stefano realized what he was doing, he stopped and, albeit delicately and perhaps reluctantly, he put some space between us.

«Caterina, it’s not possible between the two of us. I shouldn’t have let myself go. You are a pretty girl, and you will become a beautiful woman. You have two gorgeous blue eyes that stand out even more under your cascade of dark hair. You will have no difficulty in finding a nice guy suitable for you. I’ve known you since you were in swaddling clothes, and I assure you that I love you so much but like a sister! And then twelve years of difference are an abyss. You are little more than a child, and I am already a man almost ready to get married. Anyway, in September, I will leave for grad school in Little Animals’ Diseases and will stay in Pisa for two years. I assure you that I will write to you and give you my address. My friendship and my affection for you will always be there, but let’s consider today’s episode as a game and let’s not talk about it anymore. »

Blushing, I nodded, but that kiss would remain in my mind and heart as the most beautiful one I had ever received.

At that time, cell phones did not exist, so contacts could only be made by writing letters and postcards or via landlines. For some time, keeping in touch with Stefano had been sporadic, and only two years later, I did manage to spend a few days with him again.

I had finished the first year of High School and had been passed with excellent marks. Summer, however, promised to be boring and without any holiday plans since, in the family, the quarrels between my father and my mother were more and more intense. The two of them could no longer agree on anything. Besides, my father was experiencing increasingly frequent depressive breakdowns.

It was a hot July day when my mother called me, telling me that my cousin Stefano was asking about me on the phone. I had rushed to the device with my heart in my throat.

«Hi Caterina, I passed the exam of the second year of specialization, and I have a few days off before starting the two months internship at the University Clinic. Then, in October, I will have to present my thesis, so summer is looking to be quite busy! Why don’t you join me here in Pisa, so we’ll allow us to take a tourist tour of Tuscany? A nice holiday will do both of us some good, for you as a distraction from your family’s situation, for me as a short break from the studying efforts!»

I asked for permission from my parents, who had not created any problems, took the train, and reached Pisa. Stefano was waiting for me in the station lobby. I mended him my bag and found myself aboard his car, a Citroen 2CV, with which we would tour Tuscany in the following days. We stayed overnight in hostels or were hosted by his friends from the university. We visited beautiful cities, Pisa itself, San Gimignano, Siena, Arezzo. We also went on the Tuscan-Emilian Apennines for a short excursion to the Arno’s spring, always animated by our well-established passion for the mountains. Finally, we reached Florence, where his brother hosted us: he was enrolled in the faculty of Architecture and did everything but study. It was hot on the last evening after dinner, and I was tired. Walking along the Lungarno, we reached Ponte Vecchio. It was a splendid evening; the river reflected the almost full moon in the sky, and everything was very romantic. Taking advantage of my tiredness, I leaned against Stefano, passing an arm around his neck. In response, he gently grasped my hand, which dangled from his shoulder, caressing it a little. Then he squeezed my hips with the other arm. We remained like that, in silence, close and embraced, looking at the Florentine landscape. I was expecting a kiss, but nothing happened. I wished for that moment to never end. I wanted to stay there forever. Instead, the following morning, I found myself at the station in Florence, ready to go back home. The short vacation was over, but I still thought about the embrace of the previous evening: I kept feeling the hand that touched mine. Was I in love? Maybe.

When I got home, I found my father and mother engaged in yet another quarrel, and this turned off all the poetry created in the previous days. How is it possible, I thought, for two people who had loved each other, who had shared their lives for over twenty years, to come to treat each other like this? At that moment, I realized that marriage was not for me.

I was almost 19 when, on a warm early autumn day, my father killed himself, shooting himself in the temple. How had he come into possession of a gun, I would never know. The fact is that his life has been marked by a tragedy, which occurred about twelve years earlier, a tragedy in which my little brother of about three years died.

On Sundays, my father liked to cook, preparing embers in the fireplace, where he cooked everything, meat skewers, sausages, grilled vegetables, skewered chickens, and other delicacies. On the day of the accident, as usual, he had lit the fire and prepared everything he needed on the table. Alfonso, as a joke, had taken a grill and started running around the room. Trying to prevent an accident, my father chased him, but my brother stumbled and fell to the ground. The grate flew in the air and fell on the back of his nape. The metal point had found the space between two cervical vertebrae, slipping into the spinal cord and causing the immediate death of the child. Dad had never made peace with himself for this episode. Together with my mother, they had decided to have another child to compensate for their loss. So, after some time, the twins were born. Naming one of the two children Alfonso, again, has not been a brilliant idea at all. Every time my parents spoke his name, they remembered that tragedy all over again. Over time, my parents quarreled more and more often. Every time, my mother pinned the fault for the death of the child on her husband, who had gone into depression, to fight which he had started attending psychotherapy sessions. At one point, his therapist had stuffed him with psychiatric drugs, which, instead of making him feel better, led him to the psychic meltdown and, eventually, to suicide.

I had heard a loud noise coming from the study, and I rushed into my father’s room with a bad feeling. I found him slumped on the desk, with a laconic note beside him, where he had written just the following: «Forgive me.»

I hadn’t been able to shed a tear. My mother didn’t seem too sorry for the loss: indeed, perhaps it has been a liberation for her. I felt the need to speak with someone other than my mother, with someone who understood me, and the only one who could do that was Stefano. I joined him in his Veterinary Clinic, on the outskirts of Jesi, and only in his arms, I did manage to unleash all my tears.

«I’ve suffered too much in the last years. I’ve seen too much evil around me. I would like to remedy this by engaging myself in a job that is useful to someone and, at the same time, that could be a personal satisfaction. Give me some advice, please!»

He smiled at me, trying to wipe away my tears.

«You have recently graduated with honors, you have a good knowledge of psychology and sociology, plus you love animals and dogs in particular. If you may be interested, a client of mine, a superintendent of the State Police, illustrated me a few days ago a project for the construction of a dogs’ unit. It will depend on the Ancona Police Headquarters. Waiting for the funds and equipment to arrive, he was assigned a German Shepherd, to use as a drug-sniffing dog at the port. Why don’t you try the police force career? I can see you doing that! Then, once you enter, you will have the opportunity to assert your qualities as a skilled dog expert. I am here and will always help you when you will need it!»

At the time, I judged the idea a bit bizarre. But then, considering that I didn’t think of myself as a marriage kind of woman, given my parents’ bad experience, a few days later, I presented myself to the Police Headquarters in Ancona. I filled in the application for admission to the course for student agents.

After the course, the career hadn’t been as easy as I had thought. Some time passed before I was called into force. In the meantime, I had enrolled in the Faculty of Law in Macerata, dedicating myself mainly to criminology.

I hadn’t even been able to sit an exam when finally, the employment letter arrived. I was to be a chosen agent stationed at the Police Headquarters of Ancona. At first, it seemed that nobody cared about my qualities as a criminologist, and about my knowledge on how to work with dogs. I spent long days behind the wheel and around the city, stopping cars at checkpoints or arresting drunks, drug addicts, and prostitutes. It was certainly not the job I had expected and, after the shift was over, I was so exhausted that it was unthinkable to go back to the books to study.

But I didn’t let my guard down, and I always looked for an opportunity to demonstrate my true abilities to my superiors. After a couple of years of service, the advancement to the rank of superintendent was automatic. Thus the possibility for me to follow my fellow inspectors in some investigation had opened up.

The idea of a dogs’ unit dependent on the Ancona Police Headquarters had been monopolized by a colleague, by superintendent Carli, posted at the port. He did nothing but make some tourists pass by his German Shepherd, to occasionally pull out from, of the moment, unfortunate person, a few grams of drug from his underwear. But the real drug, the one, we knew very well, was passing through the port of Ancona in kilos he never intercepted it.

Finally, one day my great opportunity knocked on my door. Together with Inspector Ennio Santinelli, a smart guy, but who lacked that edge necessary to stand out from the others, I was investigating the trafficking of stolen dogs. We believed they were being exported abroad after being cleaned up of their tattoo, that is if they had one. According to my colleague, they were mostly hunting dogs, marketed in Greece, Albania, and Turkey. In my opinion, there was more to it because they were often half-breed dogs, and of all ages, there were even old dogs. I asked Stefano, and he too, as a veterinarian, said that it didn’t add up much.

«If one wants to speculate with international dog trafficking, the dogs are to be hunting dogs of high genealogy and young or trained to fight. There’s something wrong here,» he told me on the phone.

One morning in March fax from Greece arrived at the station. An animal welfare association reported that in Patras, a lorry, that officially transported horses, had been embarked on a ferry with Ancona as its destination. But, among the horses, there were at least a hundred dogs transported in inhuman conditions. Superintendent Carli was not on duty that day. Inspector Santinelli, partly because of the bitter cold of the morning, and partly because he did not want to invade his colleague’s camp, was reluctant to head towards the port.

«I don’t think this interests us much,» said Santinelli. «You go, Caterina, have a look and, if you find it necessary, get the Public Veterinary Service to intervene.»

When I arrived at the pier where the ferry from Greece was docked, I immediately noticed a hustle and bustle of animalists, who demanded the immediate appropriation of the animals. On the other hand, the captain of the ferry claimed that on board, as per international conventions, the Italian authorities could not intervene, and he had received a message from the Greek shipowner not to land the lorry, which would return to Patras. All this convinced me more and more that there was some shady traffic in there. I asked for the lorry documents, the travel plan, and the animals’ accompanying documents. Trucks, engine, and trailers came from Turkey and were headed to Hanover. From the transport documents, it appeared that the vehicle had to transport only horses intended for slaughter. Trying to express me in English with the Greek driver, I managed to get information that some dogs were being transported among the horses. He showed me some health certificates, attesting to rabies vaccination and other treatments, but which, being written in Greek, were very difficult to understand. The driver claimed to have about forty dogs on board, while animal rights activists claimed there were at least a hundred. I would have liked to unload the truck to check it calmly, but the ship’s captain continued to object. I needed a ploy. I grabbed my cell phone and, even if the mobile phone rates were still very high in those days, I called Stefano, who gave me the tip.

«If the animals have been traveling for more than 24 hours, for their well-being, and according to the international laws, they must be watered, fed, and allowed to rest. So, you need to insist and make the captain disembark the lorry. You will see that he cannot refuse. If he doesn’t follow the rules, he’ll risk losing his well-paid job.»

The captain threatened to later officially protest but had landed the truck. Inside, in fact, there were just a few horses and many dogs. I immediately called Inspector Santinelli and the magistrate on duty, because I intended to seize the entire load. I managed to do that, overcoming the reluctance of my colleague and the magistrate, who were truly distraught, because then an adequate place should have been found to house all those animals.

When I managed to check the dogs, there were one hundred and two at the final count. I was struck by the fact that they were all medium-sized dogs, all half-breed, and all with prominent muscled backs.

Why not? I thought to myself. They may have found a way to smuggle something into the subcutis of these poor animals! But how can I explain it to my superiors?

And here, Stefano intervened, once again, with his precious help. I arranged for the horses to be placed in the stable of a friend of his, and for the dogs to be sent to a modern and recently built shelter. Stefano looked after it from the sanitary point of view. The shelter was provided with a fully equipped infirmary, where Stefano performed first aid interventions on injured dogs. The equipment included an ultrasound, used to diagnose the pregnancies of the hosted mares.

We had to act quickly because internationally renowned lawyers were already on the move to obtain the release of the animals. This increased my suspicions and hypothesis of illegal trafficking. Colleague Carli was making rain down holy hell because we had invaded the land under his jurisdiction. He invoked important connections in the upper echelons, even up to the Ministry of the Interior, and demanded that the case be traced back to him.

As soon as we sheared the dog’s fur, we realized that the animal had a linear scar on both sides, alongside the lumbar spine.

«Let’s try to run some ultrasound scans on the backs of these dogs,» Stefano suggested to me, fondly caressing one of those nice little animals.

«These are perfect scars. They do not appear to be surgical cuts, because the cross marks of the stitches are not evident. But a surgeon who can work well, performing a particular subcutaneous suture, can get aesthetic scars like these. I, myself, could not do better.»

He then placed the ultrasound probe on the involved part.

«There is an abnormal density of the subcutaneous tissue. I’d say to take some of these dogs to the surgery room. Let's see what is hidden under the scars.»

He anesthetized a dog, surgically prepared the identified anatomical area, and cut right above the scar. He extracted a blood-stained, well-sealed transparent envelope, with a white powder within. It was certainly neither flour nor sugar.

«Drug,» I said. «Most probable cocaine or heroin, coming from Afghanistan and headed to Germany through Turkey, Greece, Italy, and Austria. They invented a nice trick but, I think that someone I know suggested it. Drug-sniffing dogs only smell other fellow dogs, and the drug was not discovered in customs. The surgery is performed at the origin; then they wait for the wounds to heal and the fur of the animals to grow back. And then, upon arrival, these animals are perhaps slaughtered, even killed, just to pull out their precious contents.»

I informed the magistrate of the discovery, who ordered the animals to be operated in safe conditions, to remove the drug, and then to treat them properly. Later they could be put out for adoption by good-hearted people. Stefano, in his clinic, worked day and night to operate all the dogs. He allowed himself only a few hours of rest and knowing that he would not see a penny at the end of the work. But to ensure my success, he would do this and more. In the end, we had two hundred and four bags, each containing half a kilo of drugs, which the scientific laboratory confirmed to be pure heroin. They were worth one hundred and thirty billion of the then old Lire (about sixty million Euros). We also discovered that Superintendent Carli was entangled in this story up to his neck. So, he was arrested for aiding and abetting. At that point, the investigation passed to Interpol, which would try to identify the network of drug traffickers, starting from all the elements we have made available.