“So you found out right away. It was a momentous occasion.”
“Oh yes. We were all very happy for them.”
“But you discovered the problems after she went to Roma to stay with Paolo?”
“Yes, Giuseppe called and told us Paolo telephoned, reporting complications. It was such a pity. But my sister loved the child anyway. I don’t think she worried about Bernardo’s difficulties. She just wanted to be a mother.”
Mrs. Giannini stopped to pour more juice for her guest and then plopped down in the chair across from her.
“I love this time of year. Fruit is beginning to fall from the trees. The smell is sweet and also somewhat sour. The pears are still too hard to pick, but the plums and some of the peaches are ready. I picked a few from that tree in back of you yesterday. I’m baking a tart to surprise Emilio when he comes home tonight.”
“Did you talk to your sister about the complications later?”
“No. We never talked about that,” she said, finally discovering a cigarette package behind the flowerpot on the table beside her and tapping it until one slid through her long fingers. She clicked her lighter and cupped her hands to protect the flame. Then she removed her shoes and tucked both heels onto the edge of her seat. When she exhaled, the smoke carried away by the brisk wind immediately dissipated.
The nun squirmed, finding it difficult to believe that two sisters never discussed a child’s birth. Mrs. Giannini must have been curious about it, and it seemed only natural that Mrs. Reni would want to confide in her sister.
“Did Bernardo go to mass while he lived here?” Sister Angela asked.
“I don’t think so. He never came with us.”
“And he didn’t return to San Benedetto?”
“If he had, he never mentioned it.”
“But was he here on Sunday mornings?”
“I’m not sure. We never checked his room before we left for mass at Santa Maria. When we returned, he was sometimes here and sometimes not. I’m afraid I didn’t watch him as well as my sister wanted me to. I feel terrible about that.” She checked her cigarette and still had enough of the stub to keep going.
Sister Angela finished her juice. “Thank you, Mrs. Giannini. You have given me some new things to think about.”
“My sister tells me the funeral is the day after tomorrow. Will you be there?”
“Yes, of course. It’s at San Benedetto. I don’t know who will officiate, but it should be lovely.”
*
It was nearly eight when Sister Angela hurried into the station. She knew the interrogation room was down the hallway and around the corner. It was not very large. As she entered, she waved to the men behind the long counter and waited for one of them to lift the end of it and let her through.
Inspector DiMarco’s office was off the passageway and next to the chief’s. The chief wanted to make the whole station larger. He thought two cells and one interrogation room were too few. But Montriano was not that busy. It would be cheaper for the chief to switch his office to the storage room across the hall. That way he would at least have a bigger office. Sister Angela could see as she passed by that he had already begun to clean out the storage room. Boxes and files littered his office floor.
Strolling by the offices, Sister Angela swung her arms to the march she hummed. She rounded the corner and stopped short. Father Sergio sat on a bench stretched along the wall across from the interrogation room. The priest stood up the second she rounded the corner, and the nun’s good humor came to an abrupt end.
“What’s the meaning of this, Sister?” he asked.
The words tripped out of his mouth in a staccato cadence. The nun was tempted to resume her march to match them.
“I should have known you were behind this,” he said, raising his voice.
“I had no idea this was about to happen, Father,” she said honestly. “The police are conducting this inquiry into the murder of Bernardo Reni. I’m not calling the shots.” She breathed deeply and kept her voice low and respectful.
Father Sergio was not about to let her pass. In fact, his face grew red, and the veins in his neck popped out. He remained speechless, however. Sister Angela knew the bishop must have sent him to protect Father Domenic, but she hoped his agitation was not a sign of trouble.
“Why don’t you sit down, Sir? May I get you some water? I think it would be best if I were present during the questioning. Maybe I can help with Father Domenic’s defense.”
Finally, Father Sergio sat back down on the bench, and Sister Angela quickly moved passed him to the room.
“Good morning, Sister.”
“Good morning, Inspector Tortini.”
The officer hovered over a tape machine at the inspector’s end of the table. DiMarco leaned against a wall sipping coffee. The priest sat sullenly at the far end of the table, and a full cup of coffee in front of him remained untouched. The nun helped herself from a carafe. Satisfied the dials were perfectly adjusted, Lazaro took a chair near the witness.
“We haven’t yet started, Sister Angela. Please sit down,” DiMarco said, blowing into a tiny microphone. “The date is Thursday morning the twentieth of July. Present are Officer Tortini, Sister Angela, Father Domenic, and myself. Father Domenic, at the present you are not a suspect. You are here as a witness to matters concerning the murder of Bernardo Reni.”
The nun wondered if anyone had bothered to explain that to Father Sergio. She looked closely at Father Domenic. He did not seem to be the confident and handsome priest she knew. His collar was unattached and stiff and poked into the soft flesh under his stubbly chin. His beautiful black hair stuck out in different directions. The bags under his eyes made him look at least twenty years older. His shoulders drooped over the table, his eyes downcast. He did not seem to have the strength to hold up his head.
“What were you doing the night of the murder?” the inspector began.
“I already told Sister Angela that I fell asleep on my sofa soon after dinner. I woke up at about midnight. I now remember hearing dogs barking, although I’m still not positive about that. I finally went upstairs to bed.”
“You didn’t hear any other noise?”
“No.”
“You didn’t investigate what might have caused the neighborhood dogs to bark?”
“No.”
“Did they bark long?”
“I don’t know. I can’t hear them as well from my bedroom, and I wasn’t listening anyway. I pulled off my cassock and went to bed. I awoke at five to shower and go to the church.”
“Do you always go to the church that early?”
“I sometimes go to the church that early.”
“Were you worried about something that morning?”
“I wanted to pray.”
“Why that particular morning?”
“That is none of your damn business!” the priest hissed.
The inspector appeared taken aback. The priest did not look up so he continued. “And how did you discover the body when you were supposed to be praying, Father?”
“I noticed the processional cross was missing. I thought the altar boys had played with it again. I decided to look for it.”
Was the cross there the day before?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t go there to pray the day before.”
“In fact, Father, the altar boy on Sunday couldn’t find it either. He carried nothing in the procession that morning and said he told you about it after mass.”
Father Domenic looked up for the first time. His eyes were focused elsewhere as if he were trying to remember. “I don’t recall learning it was missing. I guess I didn’t hear him.”
“I’m surprised, Father. I was under the impression you listened to the altar boys—that you were quite friendly with them.”
The flash in the priest’s eyes revealed that he could guess the next question. Even Sister
Angela’s jaw dropped.
“There’s at least one complaint, isn’t ther
e, Father Domenic? It was rendered in a letter to your bishop just two weeks ago, the week before Bernardo’s murder.” The inspector’s voice grew louder. “An altar boy claims he had a problem with you when he was fifteen and you were the assistant priest parish in Umbria. Now twenty-one, he claims you molested him after an evening service.”
“That’s a lie! Where did you get that letter? You know nothing!”
“You couldn’t stop this one from going public, Father. I believe the troubles with Bernardo came at the same time the bishop received that complaint. Was Bernardo going to be a problem that way too, Father Domenic? Did Bernardo know something about your tastes that you wanted to remain hidden? Did you kill Bernardo so he wouldn’t tell anyone you molested him the same way you did others?”
“I didn’t kill Bernardo. I never molested him. I never molested any boys.”
“Then why was this hidden in the sacristy, Father?” DiMarco asked.
The inspector bent down to retrieve a plastic bag on the chair behind the edge of the table. While most eyes were on DiMarco, Sister Angela forced herself to watch the priest’s face. The inspector slid it toward the witness. Father Domenic scrunched up his eyes, trying to recognize the evidence. Sister Angela could see it was a piece of folded fabric in a clear plastic bag. The contents appeared to have large dark-brown splotches.
Father Domenic picked up the bag and turned it over. “My God,” he whispered. “What is this?”
“Surely you recognize what you hid in the woodstove in the basement under the sacristy. It’s a robe. It was originally beige but is covered with dried blood and ashes from the stove.”
“It can’t be one of my chasubles. I don’t have any beige ones. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. Did you check the size? I’ll bet it doesn’t even fit.”
“I remember a robe used for a Christmas pageant a few years back,” Sister Angela offered. “Joseph, the carpenter, wore it. Come to think of it, the shepherds wore similar robes. They were beige because it was a desert scene.”
“This isn’t a child’s size, Sister,” DiMarco said.
“But the boys who take those parts aren’t children. Joseph is usually played by a boy of fourteen or fifteen. I don’t remember who it was last year. Maybe someone at school remembers. Did you get a DNA on it?”
“Even if we did and Father Domenic’s DNA isn’t on it, it proves nothing. He could still have worn it to murder the young man or use it to wipe up the blood.”
“Maybe so. But if there’s a hair or something on it and if the DNA matches Father Domenic’s, it gives us you pretty strong evidence that he isn’t telling the truth.”
“I could book you on what we have, Father, but I don’t think you’ll run away,” he said. “You are free to leave.”
Father Domenic stood up slowly. Sister Angela opened the door for him, and he nodded to her.
“Sister Angela,” Father Sergio said as soon as she followed the priest out of the room. “Be at my office at ten o’clock Thursday morning. And be certain Mother Margherita can tell me you have taught all your classes in the coming days.”
“Father Sergio, please come,” Father Domenic said quietly, grasping his superior’s arm. “I can tell you all that happened when we get to the rectory.”
Sister Angela knew she had to get back to school quickly. She stopped at DiMarco’s office before leaving.
“How did you find it?”
“You mentioned the records under the sacristy. I realized when we scoped the crime scene, we didn’t search that room. We went there right after you left here and found it.”
“Did you discover anything else?”
“You mean this?” he asked, handing her the sheet of paper. “Watch out for the corner. I couldn’t get off all the chewing gum.”
Sister Angela gave him a big smile.
“That’s evidence, Sister. Here’s a copy for you to take with you, though.”
“Bless you, Inspector.”
Nine
Sister Angela looked at the bright side. At least the meeting with Father Sergio would be over in a few days so she would be back on the case soon. She never thought about the outcome—the possible consequences of what Father Sergio considered her act of defiance. He would state his case, and she would counter with facts. The outcome would be God’s will. She knew she had an edge with the arguments, but she had no idea what God intended for her future.
The events of the following days would not affect her night’s sleep. She slept well, except for an hour or so after she got into bed each evening when she pondered who was hiding what about Bernardo. Wanting to interview Mrs. Reni’s brother too, she could not wait for the inspector to go to Roma and get the facts about Mrs. Reni’s labor and delivery. Something happened with the birth, but Sister Angela could not figure out what. Did the woman have the baby at her brother’s home? What went wrong there? No one would want to implicate a brother’s family. And why did she go to Roma in the first place? Had she and her husband argued or had he hurt her? That did not seem likely. The neighbors would have gossiped about it. The family was definitely covering up something. Surely Inspector DiMarco would find out what it was when he went to Roma.
*
The funeral started at ten the morning after Father Domenic’s interview at the station. Sister Angela sat with Sister Daniela. Their students had a day off to study for final exams. Father Giulliano, who was visiting from Ambruzzo, did a wonderful job, and the altar was buried in flowers.
Someone cared, she thought.
Sister Angela looked up from her missal and scanned the pews. The church was fairly full with Bernardo’s family members and neighbors. She did not see anyone she recognized from Garibaldi’s, except Nicola Vitali standing in the back row. Her father and brother were not there next to her. In fact, Sister Angela could not see them at all. Nicola wore a dark mantilla and let her long straight hair fall forward over her face. The nun wondered if she was crying. She peeked back again later, but the young woman had left before the final hymn.
Odd too, that in the middle of the priest’s sermon, another woman fainted. Young people, standing around her, carried her out. The nun had not noticed her before and could not get a good look at her after the commotion started. One of Bernardo’s friends perhaps? The service was over quickly. When she and Sister Daniela walked out right after the service, the sick woman was no longer in sight.
During the reception in the rectory, Sister Angela shook hands with the family she already knew.
“Lovely flowers,” she said to Mrs. Reni.
“Aren’t they beautiful? Paolo sent the lilies. They were lovely. The pink azaleas, all twenty of them came from L’Oro Verde.”
That stumped Sister Angela. “I didn’t see Mr. Vitali at the service.”
“No. I didn’t expect him to come. He’s very busy, you know,” she said, turning to the next person in line.
Bernardo’s mother had not mentioned knowing Mr. Vitali before. Impatient to solve the crime, she wanted to ask Mrs. Reni about their relationship, but she knew the bereaved mother might not yet be ready to answer more questions.
“What are you thinking about, Sister?” the novice asked, handing the older nun a cup of coffee.
“I’m thinking we must get back to work. I wonder where the inspector went.”
*
DiMarco, too, headed back to work. She found him at the station. “Well, well, Sister Angela. What more do you have for me today?”
“Were you able to question the neighbors like I asked?”
“Yes. Actually, Tortini did it. He left me his notes,” he said, opening the sheets and scanning the first few lines. “Do you want me to read the report to you?”
“Yes, please.”
“The first neighbor was Mr. Datillo in the store below the house next door to the Renis.”
“That’s a specialty store, isn’t it?”
“Yes. He sells pasta and canned goods, I think, and has owned the store for twenty-five
years. He said Mrs. Reni came in quite often. He didn’t realize she was pregnant until a month or two before. Then she disappeared for a while.”
“That goes with what Mrs. Giannini said about her not showing much.”
“But when she showed up near the end of her term, he thought she was carrying twins.”
“Did he mention a party given for the neighbors before she left?”
“No. But I don’t think Tortini asked about one. Who said there was a party?”
“Her sister. Who’s next?”
“Mrs. DiCristofaro. She and her husband, Massimo, are about the same age as their neighbors. She didn’t know about the pregnancy until the end either. Massimo said that a few weeks before Mrs. Reni left to visit her brother, she was huge. Mrs. DiCristofaro was pregnant with a daughter, Patrizia, at the time. Both were disturbed that their neighbor never mentioned the pregnancy. The wife went to Mrs. Reni’s house for coffee on several occasions in the months before. They discussed her pregnancy, but not Mrs. Reni. She didn’t know why the Reni pregnancy was such a secret.”
“Perhaps she doubted she could carry the baby to term. And there was no mention of the party?”
“Yes, there was a party after Mrs. Reni returned from Roma. They said they went to that one even though they felt betrayed. Patrizia was born in July, two to three months later.”
“I’m almost certain Mrs. Giannini said the neighbors went to a party before she left. Perhaps this is the real story.”
“I’ll certainly find out more tomorrow. Tortini and I are going to Roma. We can talk more tomorrow night when we know why Mrs. Reni went there to deliver.”
*
Father Sergio’s office was in the seminary on the other side of the piazza. Built in the fourteenth century, the outside of the building appeared very old. The brown bricks were crumbling, but the inside had been renovated and looked like a palace. Smooth tiles of white and black marble dotted the highly polished floor. The doors were heavy walnut with intricate carvings. Expensive paintings hung on the walls. Sister Angela paused as she passed medieval paintings on loan from the museum by the town gate—shiny gold depictions of saints, angels, Madonnas, and crucifixions painted on wood and framed in ornate gothic configurations. Intricate gold patterns embellished brilliant indigo and red fabrics clothing the subjects. No subtleties here, the vivid colors danced around the canvas. Long fingers and drawn expressionless faces stared back at her. All forms looked two-dimensional. When they were completed, three-dimensional art was still centuries away. The simplicity was beautiful.
L'Oro Verde Page 8