The Ear Monster, as the media would quickly have nicknamed him somewhat grotesquely, had committed the first murder on a morning in late September 2000. The victim was a wealthy woman, Maria Capuò Tron, a 52-year-old housewife married to a hospital doctor, killed in their hilltop villa in Turin, in Mongreno Street, while her husband Amilcare was on duty and the family’s domestic help had gone out to do some errands. The couple had no children. The housekeeper, a legal Filipino immigrant, had found the body lying on the floor of the bedroom when she returned. As the autopsy would later ascertain, the victim had not been raped or tortured in any way, but killed quickly, albeit atrociously, by a sharp blow into the ear with an ice pick, which perforated her cerebrum. There was no sign of disarray in the house.
The widower had called the police after the housekeeper had telephoned him at the hospital. He had rushed home and dialed 113.
According to the initial investigations, the murderer could have entered the house through one of the windows on the ground floor, left open on that late-September day still enjoying a taste of summer, after climbing over the wall surrounding the cottage.
The killer, and this would be the only time, had taken some jewelry from a box inside a chest of drawers in the room where the crime had taken place. According to the insurance company, it had an estimated worth of three hundred million lire, or over one hundred and fifty thousand euros today.
In view of the theft, the maid had been the prime suspect, at the very least as a possible insider. With the authorization of Dr Marcello Trentinotti, Deputy Public Prosecutor assigned to coordinate the investigation, the woman had been detained the next morning, taken to Police Headquarters and questioned by Deputy Commissioner Evaristo Sordi. He had been charged with the investigation into the crime by the head of the Homicide Department of the Squadra Mobile, Deputy Commissioner Giandomenico Pumpo. As he would later report to the magistrate, Sordi had released the woman towards evening because of a total lack of evidence.
A few days later, a new crime had completely exonerated her, and the different lead of a serial killer was being explored.
Although he had retired in 1984, my dear and only friend Vittorio D'Aiazzo, Emeritus Police Commissioner, had wanted to work on the case in collaboration with the Police as an informal consultant, as he had already done for some particularly interesting cases after his retirement.
Vittorio would turn eighty-two on April 30, 2001, but age had not made him lose his verve. For him, it was not only an intriguing pastime so he could still feel active, but he was "doing a good service to others" as he had once told me, "a service that I want to continue doing to help make this amoral society a little less unjust and, perhaps, make my neighbor a little less unhappy". It was one of his ways of obeying that precept of love which he had tried to implement, I imagine, his whole life and, certainly, since I had met him in the now distant 50s of the bloodthirsty and blood-filled twentieth century that was coming to an end without the promise of any improvement for the next millennium.
I admired the existential faith of my friend, which had very little to do with religion, if with this word we conventionally mean subservience and duty, full of liturgical obligations, to a very powerful and pretentious God, immune from human suffering: it was a faith that he expressed concretely in doing good for others, following the example of his tormented evangelical Master who, according to Vittorio, had spoken about God’s loving feeling in the world. "Of course," he had said to me once, "when a person treads the path of love in regard to one's neighbor, as far as he is able, it is impossible that it doesn’t continue after death, in Eternal Love."
Unfortunately, unlike my friend, I was not and am not a believer; I say unfortunately because, being no longer a young man, I think more often of death and its putrefaction than I did in the past and, if is there is only nothing after our last breath, the tragic futility of life. In any case, it had been precisely this pessimistic feeling that, from a young age, led me to that same desire for justice that drove my friend, even if for me it was a justice that could only be earthly. Convinced as I was that in the cosmic tragedy in which I had a part, complete solidarity between humans was at least indispensable according to the ethos I considered timeless, which every person honors, I had the highest disdain for those who consciously curtailed the gift of life of others, already so brief, and towards violent people in general who caused anguish to human beings during the few years on earth which they were granted.
And I completely agreed with Vittorio when he said that, since the ‘60s of the XX century, civility had been brutalized little by little as many of the traditional philosophical-social or religious ideals weakened and were finally lost. Thus the life of those very people had become simply putting their own selfishness into practice, according to what my friend called the rule of I do as please if it’s seems convenient for me.
Vittorio had made rapid advances in his career from the early 1970s, and had been promoted to Deputy Commissioner at an early age. Then, unfairly, nothing further. He had automatically moved to a higher level only on the day he retired with the pension of Commissioner, as regulations required.
My friend had neither family nor next of kin: he had been a widower with no children for a long time. I was a bachelor who was equally alone, and we felt like brothers.
I’m Ranieri Velli - they call me Ran - journalist and writer and, in the 50s and 60s of the last century, I was a colleague with the rank of deputy sergeant of the then Commissioner Vittorio D'Aiazzo in the Public Security Guards Corp.
I was the younger of the two, just sailing along, let’s say, towards sixty-eight, with a birthday the following 1st of August 2001. Like Vittorio I was already receiving a pension, although I had not ceased my activity as a columnist in the daily press. In the distant past, when there were still no faculties of Communication Sciences and even a non-graduate could become a journalist after the usual internship, I had worked at the glorious Gazzetta del Popolo, a Turin newspaper that, after stops and starts in its last decade of life, had ceased publication altogether on December 31, 1983. So I had moved on to another newspaper, La Gazzetta Libera, founded the following year. It had nothing to do with the previous homophonic daily, even though it too had been created as counterpoint in Turin to the immortal La Stampa which, in essence, meant FIAT. Thanks to the subsidies of an economic group that had an interest in it, the new Gazzetta, even though it never reached the same circulation numbers of the previous one, was still viable at the start of the twenty-first century.
Though Vittorio was my only friend, he instead had more than one, even it they were not as close. Evaristo Sordi could also call himself one of Vittorio’s friends despite not having frequented him socially. Years before, he had been his side-kick in the Homicide Section of the Squadra Mobile after I, his predecessor and part-time writer, had tendered my resignation to devote myself entirely to writing. Evaristo had arrived at the highest career level for a non-graduate and was a senior inspector of sUPS (sostituto Ufficiale di Pubblica Sicurezza, meaning deputy Public Security Officer), commonly called "deputy commissioner" and performing those duties. Not much younger than I, and not far off retirement, the man sported an impressive grey mustache for a long time and despite his age still had a lot of hair, which was salt-and-pepper too. He was a robust figure, just like my friend Vittorio who, unlike Evaristo, was not a very tall man. I was the tallest of the three by quite a bit, almost six feet two, and I had always been very thin although, unfortunately, in recent years I had become a little hunched because of my bad habit, common in tall people, of bending down to the many interlocutors of lesser stature, starting with Vittorio himself.
Vittorio had learned of the first crime from the evening news on television and the following morning had read about it calmly in our newspaper, in an article by the chief crime editor Carla Garibaldi, an unmarried colleague in her forties. She was a woman about five feet eight tall and because of the excessive amount of body building which she "carried out daily" as she had told me, had arms and calves, and probably thighs, a little too muscular for my tastes of an old fashioned kind of man. A protruding jaw and a nose which was too small for the shape of her considerably broad face made her quite ugly. On the other hand, she was a person of great culture with a frank and self-effacing character, and I got along well with her, unlike certain entitled brats on our newspaper.
Just as for cases in the past, by way of me, there had been an exchange of information between Vittorio and Carla, and vice versa which all things considered was to her advantage because my friend was usually in possession of first-hand information, given that he often visited Sordi at Police Headquarters. He had already had crucial clues from the retired commissioner in previous cases, so it was not only out of respectful friendliness that she often welcomed Vittorio into her office and, at times, to the crime scenes themselves and listen to his opinions. In the case of the Ear Monster too, she had very willingly kept Vittorio close.
My friend sometimes went to visit another of his former employees, Deputy Commissioner Giandomenico Pumpo who, after a period as Chief Commissioner leading a special department that dealt with magic, esoteric, pseudo-religious and satanic groups, the ACT, Anti Sect Team, sat in the very place that had once been D'Aiazzo’s. Although not as close a friend as Sordi, Pumpo also allowed the old policeman to extract some news out of him now and then which was useful for his parallel investigations.
Personal Terror Political Terror-A Novel Description
"In the year 2000 the elderly emeritus police commissioner D'Aiazzo, is working alongside Commissioner Sordi, his former employee, as a consultant at the Police Headquarters in Turin. He is investigating a series of murders that seem to be the anarchic work of a sadistic serial killer or people sacrifices to the devil of one of the sulfurous sects in the macabre-obsessed Turin. But it could also or only have elements related to the brand of terrorism that had raged in Italy until about twenty years beforehand and still drags on into the end of the millennium. The monster suppresses his victims in a horrendous way, pushing the murder weapon into an ear until it reaches the brain and kills them. The investigation unfolds through disturbing suspicions, identity crises, psychological annotations, and reaches its conclusive acme in the unsettling final revelation, which has the death of the police commissioner himself, as the very consequence of his discovery of the culprit as its addendum. In the year 2000 the elderly police commissioner emeritus Vittorio D'Aiazzo is working alongside commissioner Sordi, his former employee, as a consultant to the Turin Police Headquarters. They are investigating a series of murders that appear to be the anarchic work of a sadistic serial killer or sacrifices to the devil by one of the sulfurous sects of macabre-obsessed Turin. But they may also, or only, have roots related to the terrorism that had raged in Italy until twenty years earlier and is still dragging on at the end of the millennium. The monster suppresses his victims horrendously by sticking the murder weapon into an ear until it reaches the brain, with lethal results. The investigation touches on private issues and moves forward through a motley group of humanity that is not entirely morally transparent. But it also touches on the political, economic, and social themes typical of the 1970s during the so-called anni di piombo (years of terrorism), when political and private violence normally ended up being mixed with the disappearance, or almost, of the concept of the person and the prevalence of social roles. Vittorio D'Aiazzo's investigation winds its way through the evil fruits of those perverse seeds, amid disturbing conjectures, identity crises, psychological annotations, and reaches its crucial acme in the unsettling final revelation which has as an addendum the death of the commissioner himself, resulting from the discovery of the culprit."...
Who is Personal Terror Political Terror-A Novel Author?
Author: Guido Pagliarino
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