The Ouroboros Mystery

“Can I see that ring please?” Fiorella asked.

Ahmed took the ring off his pinky and held it out to her. She took it and looked at the object gleaming in the pale winter sunlight that glowed through her office windows. It was quite beautiful—gold with a carnelian gemstone. The ouroboros was carved into it quite clearly and precisely.

“Where did you get this?” Fiorella asked.

“Well, it was from Enrico actually,” said Ahmed. “I admired it one day. He said (just like an Arab actually) ‘Here please take it!’ At first I was shocked—I refused. It’s gold! Very expensive. But he insisted. To be honest, it is a little bit small for me, it only fits on my little finger. But now I wear it every day.”

“When was this?”

“A couple of months ago. You want to keep it?” He said reluctantly.

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “Just for a few days. Thanks.” said Fiorella, stowing it in her pocket. “Thanks. You can go now.”

He left the interview room and Fiorella put her chin in her hand, leaning her elbow on the table, thinking. The fact that someone had tattooed Enrico’s body with the same image had to be more than a coincidence…

***

The next suspect to be interviewed was Lucia Leonardi, Valentino Brano’s common-law partner. Fiorella’s first impression was of some tragic heroine of the golden age of opera—probably she was influenced by the name; of her favorite Donizetti character, Lucia Lammermoor. She could definitely imagine this girl traipsing through a castle singing “Il dolce suono” to an embarrassed and pitying crowd.

Lucia’s features were small and fine, an effect that was exaggerated by her glasses with thick black rims. Fine black hair skimmed her shoulders and her dark eyes were large and melting. She had wrapped a black shawl around her shoulders and seemed to huddle inside it, not only for warmth but for comfort and protection. She looked frail and confused, like a very old person or someone in shock. There were frown marks on the bridge of her nose and she looked around her as if uncertain of the reality of the world.

“Please, take a seat Ms. Leonardi,” said Fiorella. “I’m Commissario Muti, this is Captain Giorgia Scuri.”

“A pleasure,” the young woman murmured politely but as if she were not entirely present.

“We’re very sorry for your loss. Obviously it’s a very sad time. We want to help the victim’s family by getting as much information as we can about his last hours.”

“Yes, of course,” she mumbled.

“Can you tell us about Enrico? Did you know him well? What sort of a boss was he?”

“He…he…was a good man. I’m sorry,” she apologized because suddenly she was in floods of tears, her face crumpled. She lifted her hands to cover her face.

“That’s OK. It’s normal. Take your time,” said Fiorella. She pushed a box of tissues towards Lucia and waited.

“It’s just so terrible,” said Lucia. “He was a good man. He was a wonderful boss. Very kind. He helped me so much. I can’t imagine…”

“Can you tell us when was the last time you saw him?”

“Y-y-yes,” she breathed a shuddering breath. “It was on Friday morning. He was in the office as usual. It was a normal morning.”

“Did you speak with him about anything in particular?”

She shrugged.

“No,” she said quietly. Fiorella had a strong feeling that she was lying.

“What time did you see him?”

“It was probably at about nine-thirty,” she said.

“One on one?”

“Yes. He wanted to talk to me personally about something.”

“Can you say what it was?”

“Just work stuff,” she shrugged.

Fiorella thought that Lucia was probably the worst liar she’d ever seen.

“It would be great if you could tell us specifically,” said Fiorella. “We want to find out who did this.”

“To be honest I can’t even remember,” said Lucia. Another lie. Tears were gathering again.

“OK,” said Fiorella. “And how did you spend the rest of the day on Friday?”

“I was at the museum until five. Then I went to the gym. I went home at seven, had dinner and then went to bed.”

“OK. Anyone who can confirm that?”

“My colleagues saw me at the museum.”

“What’s the name of your gym?” Giorgia asked.

“Zero Excuse,” said Lucia. It’s a women-only gym.”

“OK,” said Fiorella. “Thanks Lucia. We’ll get in touch with you if we need any more information.”

Lucia nodded, tears dripping off her nose, and stood up shakily. Neither Fiorella nor Giorgia were prepared for what happened next: her eyes rolled up in her head and she dropped, as if in slow-motion, to the floor.

***

“This is outrageous! Didn’t I tell you she was too weak to be questioned? This amounts to police brutality! My lawyers will eat you alive!”

Valentino’s face was flushed red and contorted with anger, his eyes popping out of his head.

Fiorella, who’d met him in the foyer of the police station, held up a hand.

“Sir, I know you’re upset but threats are not going to get you anywhere. Calm down, please. We’ve called a nurse who is with Ms. Leopardi now. He says she’s fine, she had low blood pressure and fainted after standing up too quickly.”

He snorted. Again, she raised a hand.

“However, they’re going to take her to the hospital for an overnight stay to do some tests.”

“What kind of tests?”

“To make sure there’s no underlying medical issue.”

The man let out a heavy sigh and shook his head.

“I was trying to tell you about this. And you wouldn’t listen. Of course she has medical issues.”

“What do you mean?”

“She has a severe mental health condition: extreme anxiety, delusions, blackouts…”

“Oh, I see. Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“Because there’s a stigma around mental illness. I was afraid you’d jump to conclusions—that just because someone has a mental illness that she’s necessarily violent or out of control.”

“OK. I appreciate your concern but can assure you that I don’t share this prejudice. I only care about evidence.”

Valentino’s shoulders drooped.

“OK. Well, I appreciate that. But I must insist that Lucia has an attorney with her next time she speaks to you. Can I see her now?”

“Of course,” Fiorella said. “This way.”

***

Giorgia handed Fiorella a cup of espresso and sat down at the other side of her desk.

“Rough morning?”

“You could say that,” Fiorella smiled weakly. “Did you get Enrico’s phone unlocked?”

“Not yet. Still working on it. But I did find out somethings that may interest you.”

Fiorella chugged the espresso and immediately felt better. Hot, strong brain fuel.

“Tell me.”

“First: All the security cameras in the museum were disabled on Friday at mid-day. And they didn’t come back on again until after the body was found.”

“But they did come back on? Interesting. So whoever did it knew the security code…”

“Yes.”

“Any other cameras in the vicinity?”

“Across the street—there’s a luxury hat store with CCTV. They give a view of the road. Hard to see the license plates though.”

“You’ve got access to the footage?”

“Yes, I’m already on it. Secondly: DNA tests show those blonde hairs in the glass cabinet definitely belonged to Greta Hertz.”

“OK. She has some explaining to do.”

“Third: Ahmed Ali died nine months ago.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I called Alexandria University to verify Ahmed Ali’s resume. They confirmed it but they said that he died of complications related to covid-19.”

“So who is the man we talked to earlier today?”

“An imposter, as yet unidentified. I sent the university a picture. They said he looks very similar to Ahmed but it’s definitely not him.”

***

When Fiorella burst into Ahmed Ali’s office, he was playing Candy Crush on his phone. She startled him so much that he fumbled and dropped the phone in his waste-paper basket.

“So who are you?” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He stared at her, speechless. She moved forward and banged a hand down on his desk.

“You’re not Ahmed Ali, so who are you actually?”

He shrank into his suit and ran a tongue around his dry lips.

“I’m Khaled. I’m his brother. I’m sorry, I…”

“OK. Tell me the whole thing please.” She sat down and gave him her undivided attention.

Khaled aka Ahmed stooped to fish his phone out of the waste-paper basket, then placed it on the desk beside him. He looked in Fiorella’s eyes, pleading.

“My brother applied for a job here. He had a phone interview and it seemed like he was going to get the job. After the interview, he had some kind of attack. The hospital said he wouldn’t live more than a month. He called me to his side and made me promise to him that I would continue the application on his behalf and take the job in his place, that I would pose as him. I didn’t want to—I don’t know anything about mummies! I’m an engineer! But he wanted his wife and kids to have a better life, to have all the opportunities. They were so excited about coming to Europe. So I promised him to pose as him. I studied enough to bluff my way through a video interview and I got the job. Everyone got visas and we came here six months ago with his mother-in-law, his wife, his children.”

“Don’t you have your own family back in Egypt?”

“No, I was a bachelor. And my duty was to help my brother’s widow.”

“Do you know that identity theft is a serious crime?”

“Yes, yes. But this wasn’t theft! My brother gave his identity to me. I didn’t want it. It has been very difficult for these months, living a lie. In fact, I was relieved when Enrico…”

He stopped himself, aware that he had said too much.

“Yes?” Fiorella said, watching him. “Enrico what?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Let me guess…he’d found out you were a fraud—”

He winced.

“Fraud is a strong word.”

“And he fired you.”

Khaled remained silent.

“But you don’t want to let your family down. Right?”

He hung his head.

“Right.”

“I understand,” Fiorella nodded. “I admire that, truly,” she said softly. “But it also seems gives you an excellent motive to murder someone, does it not? Someone who has the power to send your family back to Egypt?”

“I did not! I never!!” Khaled protested.

***

“What did you say?”

Lunch time. Fiorella had demolished a tramezzino and was now on the phone with her best friend Claudia. Despite her usual objection to mixing work with social life, there was something that had been nagging at the back of her mind.

“An Ouroboros.”

“Oh! The Ouroboros. Yes, of course. I know about that from the coven.”

It clicked. That’s why she’d thought of Claudia—she was part of the local Stregheria crowd.

“OK. Tell me, is anyone from your coven involved with the museum?”

“Well…you know, I’m not supposed to reveal that.”

Fiorella rolled her eyes and waited.

“But yes,” Claudia confirmed. “Two. That professor Theodora Rossa—her coven name is Hecate. And a blonde girl…Fae…I can’t remember her real name right now. Anyhow, Hecate—that’s Theodora—she was crazy about the ouroboros. She handed out transfer tattoos and also little rings. She said they had a protective function. So that if we wore the tattoo or the ring then they’d shield us from danger. I got one of the rings, mainly because I like it.”

“What does it look like?”

“Well, it’s gold, or at least gold-leaf, and it has orange glass inside, there’s a snake etched on the glass.”

“I see. When did Theodora give these out?”

“Well, you had to pay for them. They were about 20 euros a pop. It would have been…a month ago?”

***

“Yes, I gave that to Enrico. For his birthday. So?”

Theodora handed the ring back to Fiorella.

“Were you going to mention the fact that you sold ouroboros merchandise at your coven?”

Theodora was momentarily lost for words. She bit her lower lip, then spoke.

“I didn’t mention it because in the first place I have taken a vow not to mention the Old Religion. And in the second place I didn’t see how the ouroboros was in any way relevant to Enrico’s death.”

“Did you not think that the very fact that we were asking about it would suggest it was relevant?” Fiorella asked, ironically.

Theodora shrugged.

“You didn’t elaborate.”

“Well, I’ll elaborate now. Enrico had a tattoo transfer of the ouroboros on his upper arm. It was applied after his death.”

“Oh,” said Theodora, abashed.

“Yes. So you see. It’s interesting to us that you were selling such transfers. I’ll need to see one of them, incidentally. Oh, and there’s something else we want to ask you.”

“Which is?”

“Who is Fae?”

“You mean Greta?”

“Are you saying that Greta belonged to your coven?”

“Yes, of course. She’s one of our most devoted adherents.”

“Did she buy a transfer?”

“She bought a ring, a transfer and an ouroboros jello mold. But I really doubt any of this has anything to do with…”

“If we’re speaking of doubts,” said Fiorella, “I doubt that witchcraft exist, but I’m willing to entertain the possibility. There’s one other thing I want to ask you, Professor Rossa. We have camera footage showing that you showed up at the museum on Friday at 7pm. Can you explain this?”

“Yes,” the woman crossed her arms, cool as several cucumbers. “Enrico sent me a text saying he wanted to see me. So I went to his office.”

“Why didn’t you mention this?”

“Well, he wasn’t there. So why should I? It was a very brief visit.”

“How did you get into the museum?”

“I have a set of keys that Enrico gave me, when we were still together.”

“I see,” Fiorella pursed her lips.

***

“I got the calls!” Giorgia announced, bursting into Fiorella’s office.

“What do you mean you got the calls?”

“To Enrico’s phone.”

“And?”

“Friday. One call to Theodora at 6.30 pm. ‘Please come over to my office. Urgent.’ One call to Lucia at 7.00: ‘Please come to my office. Urgent.’ – the exact same message. One call to Greta at 10.03 (as we already know): ‘Can’t wait to C U Monday XX’”

“Any others?”

“No, that’s it.”

“And Enrico was almost certainly dead before the first text was sent.”

“Yes, the coroner estimates time of death between 5 and 6pm Friday.”

“So it was the murderer who sent the messages.”

“Most probably.”

Fiorella looked at her phone. A number she didn’t recognize.

“Yes? Commissaria Muti speaking.”

***

“Good evening, Commissaria Muti. Thanks for coming.” Said the young nurse. He had a blond beard and kind eyes.

“No problem,” said Fiorella. “You said Lucia wanted to tell me something?”

“Yes. Bear in mind that she’s on some heavy medication.”

“OK.”

He led her to a bedroom where Lucia lay propped up on a hospital bed. She looked as if she’d been crying. Her face was puffy and her eyes were red.

“Hello Lucia. How are you?”

“I have to tell you something. I’m pretty sure I killed Enrico. Are you going to arrest me?”