The Journey

The story began in the last years of the reign of Her Majesty Elizabeth II (this much I may reveal as chronicler for the chronology of the case). Dr Achille Corso, who had set up his own business as a private investigator a few years ago, was staying at the Machiavelli Palace Hotel. A pretty middle-class hotel with a fabulous view of Florence Cathedral. He and his fiancée, Dr Pentesilea Orsini, commonly known as "Pen", had successfully completed the last assignment and were treating themselves to two days of rest.   Achille and Pen were having a late breakfast on the hotel's roof terrace when a hotel employee cautiously approached and cleared his throat.

"Probably they want to clear up..." speculated Corso, after glancing at his Reverso wristwatch. It was five to eleven.

"Mi scusi, signore, è arrivato un messaggio per lei alla reception..." whispered the valet in a professional voice.

"A message for me?" said Corso, slightly astonished. He asked the servant to take the message to him on the terrace, which he did.

Corso took the message and opened the letter.

Then Corso read, his eyes widening the more he read.

"Something exciting, my dear?" whispered Pen across the table.

"You won't believe it. Mirko Kovacs, who we worked with on a case last year, is inviting us to a pathology conference in his home country - and even sending us the tickets and hotel reservations." opened Corso, with excitement, like unwrapping a present.

"Yet, I had quit university research and gone into the private sector..." grumbled Corso.

"Oh, let's go there - maybe we'll meet some old acquaintances and such conferences are always instructive. Where is it being held exactly?" asked Pen.

"In Split and then in an old palace recently converted into a luxury hotel on a small Adriatic Island," said Corso.

Pentesilea gave them a pouty look and tossed back her blonde long hair. Achille guessed that it was probably better to follow her fiancée's wishes.

"Then I can finally see Diocletian's palace..." he admitted to give the idea of travelling to Croatia a motivational boost.

"Brilliant!" Pen cheered.

Then they finished their late breakfast and Corso hurried to the reception. He had the clothes they were carrying washed at the hotel and the hotel organised a flight to Split.

Back in the room, he explained to Pen that there was no direct flight from Florence and that they would have to fly to Zurich with Swiss shortly before three o'clock in the afternoon the next day and would not be able to fly on with Air Croatia until around seven in the evening.

"We're arriving late, but Kovacs had a room reserved for us at the Hotel Antique in Split," Corso explained.

"Sounds good to me. Where is it?" asked Pen, getting ready for the afternoon walk.

"Inside the ancient palace of Diocletian with a view of Diocletian's mausoleum - now a church...," said Corso.

"Brilliant!" thought Pen.

The next day, the arrival of the conference participants had started long before Achille and Pen packed their bags.

Eleni Konstantinou from Athens had already travelled to Athens-Eleftherios Venizelos airport at dawn to catch the half past eight flight to Zurich with Aegean Airlines. Unfortunately, there were no direct flights and she had quite surprisingly decided to attend the conference. Then there was the problem of finding someone to look after all the cats in her house at short notice. Eleni had the best contacts and was rightly nicknamed "τον Τύπο" (The Press).

She knew almost everyone and knew about many things, because her father was an influential animal in the media landscape. So, there were enough neighbours who owed her a favour and therefore she could leave her numerous cats alone for a few days. The flight was quite pleasant, but it started so late that Eleni was informed while still in flight that she would miss her connecting flight. Now she was sitting around in Zurich Kloten airport for six hours. There was an announcement of a new shopping experience called "The Circle" but the new wing was still under construction. So, Eleni roamed around a bit bored, sat down again and pulled out her mobile phone. After a few chats and phone calls, she not only knew her cats were in good care, but also received the latest information from the upcoming conference.  Finally, Eleni retired with all the luggage to the ‘upperdeck’ restaurant for a Caesar's Salad. The shock of the prices in Switzerland caused a brief rise in blood pressure, which she washed down with an espresso. The hours dragged by and shortly after four o'clock she returned to the departure area. The DolceVita by Longines on her wrist announced another two and a half hours of twilight boredom at the gate....

"Eleni!"

The call woke her up and with one blinking eye she saw Corso and Orsini hurrying towards her.

The two had arrived in Zurich shortly after four o'clock, had a snack and gone to the gate... There they saw their old acquaintance, Eleni Konstantinou.

The usual Mediterranean greeting rites followed with hugs, kisses on the cheek, the obligatory questions about family and the like.

Corso now also introduced Eleni to his fiancée Pentesilea Orsini. Pen was a forensic scientist, dottoressa and came from a well-known family that had its ancestral seat in Rome.

No sooner had she waited for the introduction than Eleni, known as "the press", could not hold back her latest information that had been passed on to her. To her, it was about like the afternoon edition of the latest gossip rag:

"I learned a few hours ago from a well-informed person that Natalia Smirnowa will arrive from Cairo like a thunderstorm..."

"She was Professor Goetze's ghost-writer...?" confirmed Corso.

"Yes exactly, but he hasn't paid for her work for over a year and now Smirnowa wants to put the professor at the conference." Eleni gushed her inside information.

"Then I guess she won't live up to her family name - the Smirnowa is derived from smirno "calm". But when it comes to the rouble..." said Corso pointedly.

Eleni rubbed her hands together in anticipation of what was to come:

"The conference seems to be interpersonally explosive - because in addition to Goetze his two rivals are also arriving, Professor Nickel from Sardinia and Professor Frascati and son from Padua..." explained Eleni with the tone of an investigative journalist.

She proclaimed, like a continuation campaign in the media put up as a front-page headline: "Maximum conflict as professors all seek millions in European Research Fund. But only one of the three institute heads is likely to get the money."

Orsini waved her hand.

"Exactly." confirmed Eleni, "especially for Goetze, it's all at stake."

"Why?" wanted Pentesilea to know.

"He hasn't been able to win a grant for several years, numerous experts have bailed on him and now he's on his last legs, even though he still pretends to have lots of money." 

"And I also know that other people from his former team are arriving, such as the historian Dyle and Irina Markova, his geneticist, as well as his group leader Dr Kristian Pölyä, who, however, has increasingly distanced himself from his former companion."

"Ideal conditions to study people, like alchemical homunculi in a glass flask, as it were," said Corso.

Eleni agreed: "I can literally imagine Goetze arriving from Berlin. He arrives at the very last moment, when the ground crew calls the "last and final call" for Prof. Goetze. Then the old toad wobbles to the check-in with a red head and googly eyes. Always first class, of course."

"Do they even have first class on such short flights?" enquired Pen.

"Usually not." said Eleni "...and then the bitching starts about the airlines' poor service."

"Nice." said Corso laconically.

Then check-in began and the topic of conversation shifted to more mundane things.

The Air Croatia flight took off at seven o'clock and arrived in Split shortly before nine.

The taxi ride from the airport took them along the coast and a good half hour later Orsini and Corso checked into the Hotel Antique. Eleni travelled on to a nearby hotel.

They had just unpacked the essentials when Corso's telefonino buzzed.

"Pronto..."

Then Pen heard that it was apparently Mirko Kovacs on the line.

"Kovacs is inviting us to a late dinner." said Achille to Pen after the phone call had ended.

"Also joining us is a Dr Leroy from France who will be presenting a great thing at the conference."

Only a few minutes later, Corso and Orsini arrived at the nearby restaurant. Because it was already not that warm in the evening, Kovacs had reserved a table inside.

Mirko Kovacs welcomed them warmly with hugs and long handshakes.

"May I introduce you to Dr Nicholas Leroy?" said Kovacs.

Another round of Mediterranean greeting rituals followed.

During the greeting, Corso could see that their table was in a corner of the restaurant, separated from another table by a Spanish wall. Behind the wall was the blond mop of hair of an obviously very tall man and the diffuse shadow of another person.

"Too bad if you're that tall, you always stand out," Corso thought to himself.

"Leroy is a forensic scientist working for the French authorities and has already solved several cases." Kovacs praised his acquaintance.

"Mais aujourd'hui..." began Leroy "...today I am here as a partner in a medical start-up that has developed novel emergency syringes that a person can administer to himself if he detects...