“No. I’ll get the bus back. Stefano keeps asking me when I’m going to ride next,” she said. “But I’m not sure the priest will remember anything about the baptism. The last I heard, his condition was deteriorating.”
*
The block of single story apartments where the inspector dropped her off was on the outskirts of town near the turn-off for the A1. Sister Angela clutched a basket of bread and a bottle of wine. She hobbled across the busy street and scanned the mailboxes for his name. He was at home, or at least someone was. A young woman in a white uniform came to the door.
“Good afternoon. My name is Sister Angela from San Benedetto Church. I wonder if I could speak with Father Augustus.”
“Well, I’m not sure. We just got back from a stroll, and he seems awfully tired,” she said politely.
Sister Angela could see his feet in front of the television. She watched the nurse bend over him to adjust his blanket.
“Come in, Sister. I’m not sure he’ll remember you, but you can try,” she said, walking the nun into the small room. “Augustus, look. Sister Angela has brought us a gift. I think we’ll save it for a little later.”
Sister Angela was shocked. He looked so small in his wheelchair. The bright blanket had been pulled up around his chest, making his gaunt face appear even grayer.
“Hello, Father. I have come to give you news from San Benedetto.”
The priest said nothing, staring blankly at the nun’s face. She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.
“Father Domenic sends his regards,” she said. “He has been away on a retreat, and I hear he’s looking quite fit. Do you remember Father Sergio? He often speaks fondly of you. Sister Daniela and I were cleaning out the basement of San Benedetto the other day. We found all sorts of items that reminded us of you. The old potbelly stove is still working. Do you remember the stove, Father?”
The old man smiled and placed a hand on her knee. “We were straightening out that closet with the certificates in it,” she continued, ignoring him. “Oh, what a mess it was. I’m surprised no one has been in there recently. Anyway, we found some odd papers about the boy, Bernardo Reni. You recall him, Father, don’t you? He was your altar boy for so long.”
“Yes. Bernardo,” he said, nodding his head slowly. “Mariella said she didn’t have the right paperwork. She begged me to make some up.”
“I think you mean Mrs. Reni, don’t you father?”
“Ah yes, Valeria. What a beautiful girl she was. She and Giuseppe were so much in love. I married them, you know.”
“And she wanted you to give the boy a baptismal certificate even though she had no proof of birth.”
“I told her I couldn’t do that.”
“Then why was he baptized, and a certificate included in the file?”
“Valeria went and got her friend,” he said. “Mariella told me there had been a mix-up at the hospital. The wrong name was on the birth certificate.” He paused to watch a commercial on the television. “It would take weeks for them to straighten it out. I thought she gave me a copy months later, didn’t she?” His brows were knitted, making him look somewhat concerned.
“You mean that the certificate had the names of Vittorio and Mariella on it instead of those of the Renis?”
“No. Bernardo was adopted so Valeria and Giuseppe would never have their names on the birth certificate. Oh. That was a secret. Please don’t tell anyone, Sister. I wasn’t supposed to tell the others about it.” Agitated, he raised his arm limply to get his nurse’s attention.
“Oh no, Father. I already knew he was adopted,” she said, trying to reassure him and quickly continuing. “But then whose name was incorrect on the birth certificate? Why did Mariella need to have it changed?”
“The certificate was wrong,” he snarled. “Mariella said that Vittorio’s name was misspelled.”
The nurse came running into the room. “Oh my, Sister, you’ll have to leave now. Father Augustus is very tired. I’m afraid he’s a little cross today. I hope he hasn’t upset you.”
“No, he hasn’t,” the nun said, hesitating. Sister Angela wished he would calm down so she could ask him more questions, but he did not. “I hope you are well, Father,” she said, finally standing. “Everyone sends their greetings. I can see myself out. Thank you.”
*
DiMarco waited nearly half an hour for Eduardo Adriano to emerge from his office.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I was on the phone. Please come right in,” he said, leading him through the doorway. “Nina, hold my calls. What can I do for you today, Inspector?”
“As you are aware, Bernardo Reni was murdered a few weeks ago,” DiMarco said, letting his eyes scan the room.
The office furnishings were exquisite, the billowing curtains like tapestries, only in vivid shades. The carpet was the color of red wine, and the desk, very old.
“Fifteenth century,” the lawyer commented, undoubtedly noticing the inspector’s eyes grow large. “And the chairs are French, fourteenth century, including the one you are sitting in.”
“The paintings look like the ones in the Vatican. Are they valuable?”
“No, they’re copies,” he said. “I had to take the originals down and put them away. You see, Inspector, I do think of security. It makes both our jobs easier. Would you like some coffee?”
“No,” the inspector insisted.
“Yes. I’m aware of the death of Bernardo Reni,” Adriano said. “In fact, Vittorio Vitali phoned me about an hour ago wanting to update his will.”
The inspector smiled. “Had he called you before this?”
“About the will? No. He hasn’t changed anything for years.”
“Did you know Bernardo was the son of Vittorio and Mariella Vitali?”
“Yes. I drew up the first will,” the lawyer said. “It was about two years after the baby was given to the Renis.”
“And the paperwork for the adoption?”
“Ah, no. I’m afraid I wasn’t involved in that.”
“Because it wouldn’t have been legal,” the inspector said.
“Because I was never approached. I would have made certain that it was legal had I been involved.”
“When did you find out Bernardo was their son?”
“When I made up the will,” Adriano said.
“Do you have a copy of the birth certificate?”
“No. That wasn’t necessary. Vittorio’s request to bequeath money or property to the boy didn’t require proof that the boy was his.”
“Then why did he tell you?”
“As a courtesy, I suppose.”
“And who have you informed about the circumstances surrounding the boy’s birth?”
“You surprise me, Inspector. I’m sure you are aware that I can’t reveal that information to anyone. It’s classified, as is the will.”
“Has anyone ever asked to see it?”
For the first time, the counselor looked uncomfortable. “I don’t remember if anyone asked. I suppose it’s possible, but I have so many clients it’s difficult to keep track of visitors I send away disappointed.”
“I’m sure Nina keeps track of them for you, counselor. Isn’t that the procedure?”
“That isn’t my procedure, Inspector. You can ask her if you’d like, but she’s very vigilant about keeping secrets. That’s why I hired her. I don’t think she’ll tell you anything.”
“Thank you, sir. I suppose my visit is over.”
“May I give you a piece of legal advice, Inspector DiMarco?” Adriano said, standing to accompany the inspector to the door. “Next time you come, you might want to have instructions from the court first. That way I know you are on more than a fishing expedition.”
*
Sister Angela got to the bus just as it was starting to pull out of the stop. She rapped on the door. “Oh sorry, Sister,” Stefano said. “I didn’t see you.”
The nun fell into the seat directly behind the driver. “Thank you
, Stefano. I don’t know what I would have done had I missed this bus,” she said, still out of breath. “I ran all the way from the retirement home where Father Augustus lives.”
“Is he well?”
“He was able to talk to me, although he sometimes got confused.”
“Yes, I remember Father Augustus. He baptized two of my children. Such a nice man,” he said, smoothly pulling the bus into traffic and accelerating. “I remember driving you to L’Oro Verde on Sunday. Did you enjoy the party, Sister?”
“Yes. Carlo took me on a tour of the orchards. It was beautiful.”
“I once knew the Vitalis pretty well,” he said. “That was when I worked for Mr. Garibaldi.”
The nun’s ears perked up. “What did you do for Mr. Garibaldi?”
“I was his chauffeur for five years. Then I met my wife and decided that I needed to get another apartment. That’s when I got this job.”
“When was that?”
“About twenty to twenty-five years ago now. Time goes by so fast, no?” He sped up as they drove through the straightaway.
“I agree. Mrs. Vitali was having a hard time then,” Sister Angela said. “Had you heard about that?”
“You mean the miscarriage? Oh yes. I was there.”
“It was in Bologna, wasn’t it?” The nun’s heart raced.
“Yes, Santa Teresa Hospital. It was very sad. Mr. Garibaldi was such a help, you know.”
“Did he assist with the burial?”
“Yes. Poor Mr. Vitali was in such a state. I drove Mr. Garibaldi and him to get a casket, and Mr. Garibaldi helped him again when Mr. Vitali had to sign all the papers to get the body buried at the cemetery.”
“San Felipe Cemetery?”
“Yes. That was it,” he said, adjusting the mirror.
“I was unaware that Mr. Garibaldi knew the Vitali family personally,” she said. “Did he go to L’Oro Verde often?”
“No. Not with me, anyway. Maybe we went once or twice for business.”
“Then how did he know to go to Bologna because Mrs. Vitali was in labor?”
“Someone called the house, I think. Elena was working for Mrs. Vitali when I worked for Mr. Garibaldi. Ah yes, Elena—quite a woman. I would have married her if she had noticed me. I think she eventually ran off to Napoli with the gardener.”
“Someone called the house and…”
“Someone called Elena, or at least she picked up the phone,” he said. “She called Mr. Garibaldi at work and told him to go to Santa Teresa Hospital. He was very agitated, you know. He kept telling me to hurry. I had never seen him that way,” he said, leaning forward to open the door. “This is the last stop, Sister, unless you want me to take you back to Petraggio. Time goes fast when we talk. I like it when I have somebody to talk to.”
“Thank you, Stefano. Your information certainly enlightened me,” she said, climbing down from the bus.
She gazed at her watch. The inspector probably went straight home to his beautiful wife and dinner. Looking forward to her meal too, the nun decided to climb the hill and call him after dinner.
*
Sister Angela opened her eyes with a start. Sunlight streamed in through the window. The sound she heard was not the alarm. She had not set it. It was vacation, and this was her first opportunity to sleep in. With any luck, Mother Margherita had not noticed her absence at the morning service. If she had, Sister Angela hoped she knew her charge was working hard on the case.
Sister Angela rose onto her elbows. She heard the noise again. Of course it was the cell, but where? It had already rung at least six times when she finally held it to her ear. Why had the answering thingamajig not turned on? Was it Alessandro calling about a change in plans?
“Hello?” she said.
“Oh, good morning, Sister Angela,” the voice said. “Enzo Garibaldi here. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“No, Mr. Garibaldi, you didn’t disturb me,” she said, quickly coming to her senses. “It strikes me as peculiar, however, that you know my number. May I ask you how you got it?”
“Oh my, Sister, I’ll only be too happy to tell you after you get here. I’m afraid I’m very busy, however, having a meeting right now in this very conference room. I have only just now realized I may know something regarding the boy, Bernardo, that might help you solve your case. Had I known it was relevant, I would have told you earlier, but I’m afraid I have been out of the loop, you see.”
The nun waited for him to make a proposal.
“And?” she finally asked.
“Can you meet me here at my office in an hour and a half? I think I can squeeze you in before lunch.”
“You can’t discuss this on the phone, Mr. Garibaldi?” she asked.
“I would prefer we do it here, Sister,” he said, speaking to someone at his side. “I must go now. The meeting is starting. I look forward to seeing you at eleven, then.”
With that, the phone clicked and the line was silent. Sister Angela knew she did not have enough time to eat. She would have to shower and dress in a hurry to make it to the bus stop in time.
*
Stefano was not the driver today. Sister Angela did not recognize this one. She felt ill at ease, still questioning the nature of the interview and not knowing what could go wrong at Garibaldi’s. She had the urge to call the inspector but did not really want to trouble him. After all, he was busy with other cases too.
Her eyes followed the rows of trees, flashing by the dirty window. The drupes were still green, not ready to pick. No matter how hard you shook them, they were just not ready. The information here was trickling in too. No matter how hard she and the inspector tried to force the clues, they were just not ready. She would have to wait for more like this one to come along.
The nun did not stop at the bench in front of Garibaldi’s. She did not change out of her sneakers but walked through the front door and directly up the stairs. The receptionist in the lobby did not stop her. The marketing department was busy. Sister Angela had not seen it that way before. She walked up to the desk, expecting to find Gisella.
“Good morning,” a woman said, removing her earpiece. “How can I help you?”
“May I please speak to Miss Vitali?”
“I’m sorry, but Miss Vitali isn’t here today. Someone else might be able to help you—Mr. Cannelo perhaps? He’s taking over for Miss Vitali while she’s out.”
“Does she plan to be away long?”
“I don’t know. I’m only the help. I repeat what I’m told.”
“Is Gisella also gone?” the nun asked.
“Why yes. She’ll be gone for quite a while. She’s getting married this weekend, you know.”
Oh yes, the wedding, Sister Angela said to herself. Maybe Nicola’s involved in that too.
“Anything else?” the woman asked, replacing her headpiece.
“No thank you,” Sister Angela said. She descended the stairs and asked the receptionist there to announce her to Mr. Garibaldi.
“Ah, Sister,” he said, entering the lobby. “It’s so good of you to come. Please follow me back to the conference room. We can talk more there.”
He sat down across from her and leaned back in his chair, looking comfortable and relaxed. Was this affected? Perhaps his information was not as significant as he made it seem. Whether it was important or not, Sister Angela had to find out what he was hiding. The nun wished she, too, could feel confident about their conversation, but tension crawled across her shoulders. She grasped the arms of the chair tightly and felt a chill run up and down her spine.
Nineteen
Sister Angela heard the footsteps outside the conference room door. Several people approached but passed by the room and continued down the hall. There were voices, happy voices. The nun looked at her watch, but Garibaldi did not seem to notice.
“Stefano told me you have some questions,” he finally began. “He said he told you that he worked for me. Those were the days. Stefano was loyal, and I appreciated
him. But alas, he met someone and wanted to settle down. I offered him an apartment, but he thought I was being too generous. I don’t believe I was, Sister. Good help is hard to find, don’t you think?” Before she could respond, he added, “Perhaps it would be better if I answered your questions. I can give a clear picture of the events that trouble you.”
“The police are interested in the activities surrounding the death of Bernardo Reni,” she said. “Mr. Vitali gave us his version, but as the chief suspect, he was distraught when he learned there might be a paper trail concerning Bernardo’s adoption.”
“Yes. Yes. I already know what he’s told you. He confessed that Bernardo was his son. Am I right? And that I helped him with the scam to have the infant buried. That sheds a poor light on me, of course. However, I only did what any good friend would do to help out,” he said, pausing to watch her face. But she revealed nothing, and he continued. “I’ll gladly work with the police to straighten out how and why we did what we did. I must confess, it probably should have been handled differently.”
Now the nun was even more confused. Vittorio never gave her the impression that the two men were good friends. Even Carlo had made Enzo sound like a business partner. Stefano hinted at some kind of relationship, but did the two men share an intimacy no one else was aware of?
“Tell me about him,” she said.
“Who? Vittorio?” he asked, surprised. “We have known each other for well over twenty years.”
“Did he know ahead there might be problems with the baby?”
“The baby was premature, you see,” he said.
“But Mrs. Reni must have known before the birth that she might get the baby,” she said, irritated by his circuitous answers.
“Oh no, I don’t think so.”
“If Mrs. Vitali went into labor early, how did you know to go to the hospital?”
“I came when I was called.”
“By Vittorio?”
“Yes. At least I think it was Vittorio. I don’t remember. No. Wait a minute. Maybe it wasn’t Vittorio. I really don’t know who actually called, but Vittorio definitely wanted me there.”
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