The Year of the Mantis

THE YEAR OF THE MANTIS
P. J. Mann
Copyrights © 2021 by P. J. Mann. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 978-952-7415-17-7 (paperback)
ISBN 978-952-7415-18-4 (hardback)
ISBN 978-952-7415-20-7 (EPUB)
ISBN 978-952-7415-19-1 (MOBI)


acknowledgments
I would like to thank first of all my editor, Lorraine Kolmacic Carey, for her support suggestions and fantastic editing work. Mr. Pasquale Rapetti ex Police officer, for the great help concerning police procedures in case of murder cases in Italy and the hierarchy inside the Police Corps. Attorney Roberto Fiorucci for the precious legal assistance. My reader’s team who gave great suggestions and supported me also for this novel.


INTRO
01.28.2010, Rome (Italy) 3:00 a.m.
The door of the apartment slammed close with a threatening creaking sound on its hinges. With a muffled growl, Claudio froze for a moment, hoping his son didn’t wake up.
The soft snoring coming from his son’s bedroom relieved him. Keeping the light switched off, guided by the feeble illumination coming from the streets, filtering through the curtains, he prowled across the living room.
He slipped off the jacket and carelessly threw it to the couch when the ringing of his mobile phone echoed in the apartment. A whispered curse escaped him, already imagining himself under the sheets of his bed relaxing after a long day and night.
“Hello,” he whispered, trying to open the door of the apartment, not to wake up anyone who was sleeping.
A female voice answered him, but due to the missing ID caller, he couldn’t recognize the owner. “Mr. Calvani, this is the Venus Caprice club. I’m sorry to disturb you, but someone found a credit card bearing your name, and since you’re one of our VIP members, we considered it appropriate to call you. Would you be able to come by and get it? We’ll be closing within three hours, and we’d prefer not to store anything belonging to our customers.” Claudio tried to clear his mind, thinking about his credit card. Indeed, that would have been an annoying inconvenience as he’d have to wait until the opening hour the following day.
Grimacing at his distraction for not having checked whether he forgot anything in the club, he started to walk to the elevator. “Thank you; I’ll be there in about half an hour. Will you give the card to the bouncer, so I can retrieve it and leave right away?”
“Of course, thank you very much.” Abruptly the woman closed the conversation as Claudio rushed to his car. In his mind, there was nothing else but returning home as soon as possible and getting some sleep. The morning after, he had an important meeting scheduled at half past eleven, and he couldn’t afford to look sleepy or unsharp.
From this moment on, I swear to God, I will never leave the club without having a complete inventory of what I have in my pocket and what I might have left behind.


CHAPTER 1
01.28.2010, Rome (Italy) 6:00 a.m.
A relieved exhale released the stress Giulia accumulated during the night as she stepped out of the wagon. It was six o’clock in the morning, and the ride on the night train drained her of all the energies. Regardless of the traveling class, there was always something that didn’t work the way she’d hoped. Her feet were swollen, and she was sure her hair stuck out of her head like those of an old witch. With a subtle movement, she adjusted the blazer and ran her hands down her hair. She paced to the next exit, suitcase in hand, looking for a taxi.
That wasn’t supposed to be something hard to find. If there was something easy to get at the Termini station, that was a taxi.
“Good morning,” greeted the taxi driver, gently taking the suitcase and placing it on the trunk of his black Mercedes.
“Good morning. I need to reach via Colfiorito 8,” she exhaled with the last remnants of strength.
Without replying, the driver opened the door of the car for her, and as they were ready, he started to drive. She knew the ride would have been almost smooth at that time of the morning and hoped to be at home within 20 minutes. Glancing outside the roads of Rome caused her to produce a smile; the kind of smile a person gives returning to what is familiar and meant home.
Reaching the apartment, she closed the door behind herself and slipped off the shoes. Considered the long journey, she wouldn’t have gone to the office until the following day. Routinely she prepared herself a coffee and turned on the TV to listen to the news.
She was still massaging her feet when the telephone started to ring.
Generally, she wouldn’t receive any calls before eight or nine o’clock in the morning, and at half past seven, that ring seemed to be off time, mainly because it came from the mobile phone of her son, Luciano.
“Lucio, I thought you were still sleeping. What happened?”
She divorced her husband, Claudio, a few years before, but their son, who was eighteen years old at the time, decided to remain and live with the father.
“Mom, I... I have to tell you …” his labored breath choked his voice as his heart started to race in his chest.
“Luciano, darling, is everything okay? What’s going on? Did you have an accident with the car? Are you hurt?” She tried to go through all the possible hypotheses coming to her mind to justify his frightened, broken voice.
“Mom, something terrible…” he said, taking long pauses between one word and the other. “It’s not about me; it’s about Dad.”
“Oh!” her voice toughened, not clearly interested in listening to what happened to that asshole, as she addressed him.
“Mom, please, this is serious!” he reproached, yet understanding her bitterness would have never disappeared for how Claudio behaved toward her when he repeatedly cheated on her with that stripper. “Dad... Oh, my God. I