Absolutely typical—and completely different from the locale of the previous murders. The first victim had been a very wealthy financier, slaughtered in his own bedroom on the upper floor of one of the city’s premier mansions. The presumed second victim a street urchin, killed by the canalside. The third a poor prostitute, butchered in an alleyway where she plied her trade.
That fact alone was enough to tell Dorma that he was dealing with no typical fiend. In his experience—considerable experience—homicidal maniacs were obsessive in the way they selected their victims. As obsessive as they were in the manner with which they murdered.
This fiend, however, seemed not to care. Not, at least, with respect to the nature of his—or its—victims. And if the grotesquely brutal manner in which it killed the prey seemed obsessive, Dorma suspected that it was not. He suspected, more and more, that the fiend killed in this manner simply because it came naturally. Is a shark “obsessive” because it rends bodies into shreds with huge teeth? Or a lion with talons and fangs?
Petro did not believe, any longer, that he was dealing with a human murderer. As skeptical as he normally was whenever he dealt with charges of “witchcraft”—charges with which he had as much experience as he did with mundane crimes—Dorma had become convinced, in this case, that he really was facing something supernatural.
And that being true . . .
His thoughts wandered, for a moment, to the still-unsolved mystery of what had happened to Father Maggiore, the Servant of the Holy Trinity who had been burned alive months earlier at the ceremony in the Imperial embassy. As it happened, Dorma had been present himself on that occasion, and had personally witnessed the horrifying death of the monk. There had not been the slightest resemblance between the manner of that death and the ones which came after. But—
Who can say what form true demon-work can take? This might all be part of the same thing—whatever that “thing” might be.
He turned to the Schiopettieri captain standing respectfully nearby. A quick check of his excellent memory brought up the man’s name.
“Ernesto, have there been any cases reported of people being burned to death? Say, over the past six months. Not murder cases—I would have heard of those—but things which simply seem like accidents?”
The captain frowned. “A few, Lord Dorma. But nothing which seemed more than misfortune.”
Dorma pursed his lips. “Do me a service, if you would. Discreetly—discreetly, mind you—double-check all of those reports and tell me if anything strikes you amiss. For instance, a death with no eyewitnesses. Or a death whose cause seems unexplained. And while you’re at it, now that I think upon the matter, check to see if there have been any kind of mysterious deaths. Whether by burning or—” His eyes glanced for a moment at the door to the kitchen. “Or by any means.”
The captain nodded. Dorma was satisfied that the man would do a thorough job. Petro was a polite man by nature; but that innate temperament had been reinforced by experience. He had learned long ago that treating his subordinates with courtesy produced far better results than arrogance and browbeating.
That done, Dorma sighed. Nothing for it but to deal with the family, now. That was the aspect of his work he truly detested. The grisly parts of investigation he could handle with reasonable aplomb, controlling his squeamishness easily enough. But talking with grief-stricken relatives . . .
Then, he remembered. And felt a little flush of guilt at the relief that flooded him.
“The poor man was a widower, no?”
“Si, Lord Dorma. His wife died two years ago.”
“No children?”
“No, sir. Well—not here, not alive. Two children once, apparently. But one seems to have died long ago, of the plague. And the other took ship and has not been seen for several years. A son, lives now somewhere in Constantinople, I’ve been told. Estranged from his father, according to rumor.”
Petro nodded; and, again, felt some guilt. He really should not feel relief at the misfortunes of a poor family, simply because it removed an unpleasant task from his shoulders. For a moment, he wondered at the life of that family. One child dead of disease, another estranged and long gone. The mother dead, and now the father horribly murdered.