and put Tex’s ring on his hand, because he fit the general description. I need a positive identification. Now.”
“You forget. This man’s fingertips they are removed with his face, and the backlog for DNA is worse than in your country.”
Griffin stopped, looked right at Sydney. “What about doing a forensic sketch, like you did for Alessandra?”
“That’s a possibility,” she said, “but before you go that route, it might help to look at the missing person’s report. Maybe there’s something in it—something no one noticed, because they weren’t thinking it was anything beyond the routine.”
“Have them fax you a copy,” Griffin told Giustino.
Giustino made the call. A few minutes later, the fax purred to life. The moment the missing person’s report dropped into the tray, Griffin picked it up. He spoke fluent Italian, but his grasp of the written language wasn’t as good, and after looking it over, he gave it to Giustino to translate.
“The victim, Enzo Vitale, he goes for a walk with his dog that evening. He never returns. I see nothing else. He and Tex, they are very close in size, but there is no more to identify. Niente.”
To which Fitzpatrick said, “Something I didn’t take into consideration. How many overworked officers bother to ask for minute details on a standard missing person’s report? Especially when nine times out of ten, the victims turn up safe and sound?”
Griffin stopped at that. “Good point. Giustino? Call the family. See if there’s some detail, some identifying detail they might have forgotten to tell the officer…And do it gently, in case it is this Enzo Vitale.”
Giustino nodded, took the report, and made the call. When he hung up, he looked hopeful. “The wife of Enzo Vitale, she describes a heart-shaped mole about four centimeters below his navel.”
Something only a wife would know. “Call the morgue.”
Giustino dialed, related the information to the investigator on duty, then waited. Time stilled. No one moved, no one said a thing while Giustino sat there, the phone pressed to his ear. From the open windows, they could hear bits of conversation drifting up several stories from the piazza below, as diners arrived at Arnaldo’s ristorante. Almost eight o’clock, and the three of them had yet to eat. After several minutes, Giustino sat up, said, “Certo. Grazie, Commissario.”
He hung up the phone, closed his eyes, seeming to sink in his seat, and Griffin had no idea if it was good news or bad, until Giustino said, “It is him. Enzo Vitale. They found the mole.”
University of Virginia
“Professor Denise Woods?” Carillo held out his shield and credentials for the petite woman to see.
“You’re here about my missing student? Please tell me you’ve found him and he’s okay?”
“Actually,” Carillo said. “I’m here on a somewhat related matter. My partner saw you earlier in the week? Special Agent Fitzpatrick?”
“Yes. She’s the one I gave the papers on conspiracy theory to. I’ve had so many people here asking about my students lately, I can’t keep it straight.”
“You’ve spoken to other agents?” he asked. Fitzpatrick had indicated there was more to this case than met the eye. “From which agency?”
“Come to think of it, they didn’t really say.”
“And what’d they ask you?”
“Same thing as your partner. Sort of. They were interested in my assistant. Wanted to know when was the last time I saw Alessandra, if she’d discussed anything out of the ordinary with me.”
“And did she?”
“No. That was the gist of it, and they left.”
“Anything else you can tell me?”
“About Alessandra? No.”
“What about the other student?”
“Xavier, the young man Alessandra had befriended. Normally I don’t encourage my assistants to become so closely involved in the projects of my students, but Alessandra had said she’d seen something in his work, something she’d like to explore further.”
“What sort of something?”
“Two things, actually, the first being the conspiracy report I gave to your partner. What Alessandra saw in it besides the usual rubbish found on the Internet, I’m not sure.”
“And what was the other?”
“An odd thing on genealogy he’s working on with another professor who is away on sabbatical. It was, in fact, the reason that Alessandra befriended him.”
“My partner see that report?”
“Actually, no. I didn’t think of it at the time, because she specifically asked if he was working on conspiracy theory.”
“You don’t still have it, do you?”
“Of course.” She opened a file on her computer and printed something out. “Here it is, along with a copy of the conspiracy report.”
“Mind if I copy it?”
“If it helps you in your investigation, it’s yours.”
“Thanks,”