SALVE ROMA! A Felidae Novel - By Akif Pirincci Page 0,69

Vatican City. After all, even the unworldly padres there would eventually notice the increasing loss of animals on the site. And in the long run he couldn’t keep misusing all Vatican parks as hazardous waste deposit. Also, he had cultivated his surgical skills so much that he needed a professional operating room in a secret retreat. The only question is why a fellow would lend oneself to being the handmaid for some monstrous felidae killer. What is the reason?«

There was another pause, but a shorter one this time.

»Do you think what I think again, Francis?« Antonio asked, very compassionately this time, as he was reading my thoughts apparently.

»Maybe«, I replied. »But I wish, one would finally take the thinking and the ultra heavy weight of this horror story off of my shoulders. I’m in a bad fix.«

»I know. If you don’t follow this lead, you sin against our kind and allow the killer to go on with his incredible malice. And if you do and hunt him down howsoever, you rob your beloved Sancta of her master and ensure that soon she will have to join the other homeless at the Largo Argentina. Francis, il mio amico, face the truth: This Umberto with his technical skills is the only person in your investigation file so far, who is capable of the gruesome bricolages you hypothesize. Even more, he works at Vatican City, and being security chief he has access everywhere – day and night.«

Given his trenchant analysis, I kept silent. But that didn’t release me from my dilemma. Antonio had simply expressed things, which had been floating about my mind for a while, just that I hadn’t been willing to draw any consequences. Nevertheless I wasn’t able to trace this case with open eyes, when I closed my eyes from the already looming finale at the same time. That was crazy, and people, who did that, were also crazy. There was another word for such a behavior: Sin!

»Where does this guy live again?« Antonio wanted to know. In his turquoise eyes, which were still wet from the tears, flared cravings for revenge.

»Sancta mentioned, that he owns a stingy cabin under the Ponte Rotto at the Tiber.«

»Damn it, so we will actually get quite wet tonight!«

14.

Ponto Rotto, which was only a couple of stones throws away from the head of the Tiber Island, was a strange ancient residue. Originally, this first stone bridge was called Ponte Emilio but as it was neither rebuilt nor removed after its ultimate collapse due to a heavy flooding in the 16th century, it has been called the broken bridge ever since. Technically, there was only a single element of the ruin left, which looked like a triumphal arch that had been frayed at its sides. The two sockets of the arch stood on raised stone hills, which over the ages had created a couple of islands with rampant vegetation. As we arrived at the Tiber bank it soared in the rain-soaked night sky, which was haunted by angry thunderbolts, like the last brown snag in the mouth of an old man.

After a dead run through Rome’s flooded alleys, Antonio and I still had to face the worst, but that didn’t really bother us any more as we would probably die from pneumonia in the next couple of days anyway! The may rain had put us through the mill so hard, that we reminded of socks, which had been spit out by a broken washing machine drum, with our soaking wet hair that stick to our body and made us look half our actual size. We jittered.

We arrived at the Ponte Fabricio, which was illuminated by old streetlights, a sound bridge that connected the city with the Tiber Island in the middle of the river. The rain performed a crazy dance and blocked our view. Not many had lived on the tiny island, people used to visit the sacred sites – the Temple of Aesculapius and then later a medieval church – and then they left. We ran over lateral stairs, which led from the bridge to the island and sort of ran to the stern of the ship, a stone platform with a couple of steps that led to the shore. Only a couple of feet lay between us and the Ponte Rotto, only that these few feet were filled with turbulent water.

There was something encouraging after all. Next to the bottom of the left arch of the bridge’s remains and partially hidden in dense