Free The Lost Girls of Rome by Donato Carrisi Page B

was all speculation, but at the moment he couldn’t rule anything out.
    From the distance there came the barking of the stray dogs.
    With that melancholy sound in the background, he began his exploration of the lower level, starting with the small bathroom that concealed the trapdoor beneath its floor. On the shelf next to the shower stood bottles of shower gel, shampoo and balm, all neatly lined up according to height. The same care was noticeable in the arrangement of the detergents next to the washing machine. Behind the mirror above the wash basin was a smallcabinet containing cosmetics and toiletries. The calendar on the door was open at the page corresponding to last month.
    The dogs outside started barking and growling, as if they had got into a fight.
    Marcus returned to the small living room and kitchen. Before heading to the upper level, Jeremiah Smith had taken care to empty the sugar bowl on the table and the box on the shelf with the word SUGAR on it, in order to get rid of all traces of the drug. He had done everything calmly and unhurriedly. He wasn’t taking any risks. With Lara asleep, he had all the time in the world.
    You’re good, you didn’t make any mistakes, but there must be something. Marcus knew that the idea that serial killers were dying to reveal their work to the world and deliberately challenged their pursuers was just a fairy story, one circulated by the media to keep the public’s attention alive. But serial killers did enjoy what they did. Which meant they wanted to continue doing it as long as possible. They weren’t interested in fame – that would only be a hindrance – but they did sometimes leave signs. Not to communicate, but to share.
    What did you leave for me? Marcus wondered.
    He aimed his torch at the kitchen shelves. On one of them stood a line of cookery books. He imagined that Lara had never had to cook when she lived with her parents. As soon as she had moved to Rome, though, she had had to start looking after herself, which included learning to cook. But in among these volumes with their coloured spines, one stood out because it was black. Marcus went closer and bent his head to read the title. It was a Bible.
    Anomalies, he thought.
    He took it out and opened it at the page marked by a red satin bookmark. It was Paul’s first epistle to the Thessalonians.
    The day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night.
    A macabre irony, and definitely not a coincidence. Had someone put the book there? The words referred to the day of judgement, but could also describe what had happened to Lara. Someone had carried her off. The thief, this time, had stolen a person. The young student had not been aware of the presence of Jeremiah Smith,
    moving around her like a shadow. Marcus surveyed his surroundings: the sofa, the TV set, the magazines on the table, the refrigerator with the magnets, the worn parquet floor. This little apartment was the place where Lara had felt most secure. But that had not been enough to protect her. How could she have known that? Nature leads human beings to be optimists, he told himself. It’s fundamental to the survival of the species to neglect potential dangers, apart from the most obvious.
    We can’t live in fear.
    A positive vision is what keeps us going despite the setbacks and misfortunes that fill our lives. The sole disadvantage is that it tends to stop us seeing evil.
    At that moment the stray dogs stopped barking, and he felt an icy tingle at the back of his neck: he had heard a new sound. An almost imperceptible creaking of the floorboards.
    The day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night, he told himself, realising that it had been a mistake not to check the upper level first.
    ‘Turn it off.’
    The voice came from the stairs behind him and clearly referred to the torch he was holding. Without turning round, he did as he was told. Whoever it was had been here when he arrived. Marcus concentrated on the silence around him. The