“Okay, but the second hermit could have turned off.”
“Less than thirty seconds after we see Brother Donato trekking up the path, we see this unnamed brother walking in the same direction. If we continue to watch, we can see in the distance that he is turning onto the same path that Brother Donato took. Then a new figure comes through the gate.”
“So how do we know that the first monk isn’t Brother Pietro?”
“Because when he passes the first garden wall there, we can determine his height. This figure is too short to be Brother Pietro. The victim was over two meters tall and thin. The hermit here is an average build. Then there’s the fact that this one is looking around. It is my understanding that Brother Pietro concentrates on prayer and looks at no one when he is returning from Compline.”
“Then our culprit has to be one of the eremiti.”
“Or one of the monks from below. They wear white robes too.”
“Or it could be anyone who was able to obtain a robe and slip into the recessional. I understand what you’re saying, Sister.”
“Detective Loria and Brother Salvatore seem to be running late. I’m going to have to find a way to get back to the monastery. But before I go, I would like you to get me a court order so I can get some information from the power company in Avalle.”
“The one that provided gas to the eremo?” Morena ask, picking up the phone. “I’ll have them deliver it to the monastery in the morning, Sister. Then I’ll drive you back up the hill. I want to be there when the boys come down from the mountain.”
Sixteen
Kitchenware
“What seems to be the problem?” asked Brother Salvatore.
Loria took a few more steps and then doubled over in pain. “Maybe you should go ahead. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It couldn’t have been the roll Sister Angela gave me, could it?”
“We never get sick from Brother Alonzo’s food. It’s more likely something you ate last night.”
“Or drank. I went to a pub with friends.” He stood and started up the trail once more. “Sorry we’re running so late.”
“That’s okay. It’s nearly summer, and the sun is staying up longer. I just hope your boss doesn’t worry about us. Sister Angela knows we won’t be able to call them. She took just as long when we went up here yesterday, and she didn’t even have a stomach problem.”
“How far now?”
“Only about fifteen minutes if we run.”
The nun and detective decided to stop in Collinaterra for bread. But Morena chose to drive a few minutes farther and park at the power company.
“Let’s see if he still wants that court order.” He opened the door. “Hello, Vito, is your boss in?”
“Inspector, what brings you here,” Vito said, standing to shake his hand.
“Vito, this is Sister Angela. She’s the detective working on this case. Now where’s Gilberto?”
“He’s in his office here. Just knock before you go in.”
Morena did as instructed. They found Lippi face down on his desk. Morena walked in and slapped the desk. “Hey, Gilberto, I have someone to introduce to you.”
Lippi jumped up.
“This is Sister Angela, the detective working on the case involving the gas explosion on the mountain.”
Lippi wiped his hand and offered it to the nun. “I heard it was a murder—that we weren’t involved.”
“I didn’t say you were involved. Sister Angela has to interview whoever worked up there, though. We’re tying up loose ends.”
“But we didn’t cause the explosion so we have nothing to do with the incident at all.”
“Are you saying none of your men were here to install the pipes or fix the pipes that were aging in the walls of the cottages?”
“Well, perhaps we did do some work more recently.”
“We’ll need to talk to the people who did the work, and I would like copies of the invoices for materials used. Is there anything else, Sister?”
“It would help if I had the list of employees over the last twenty years.”
“That would be overkill, Sister,” said Lippi.”
“Someone with knowledge of how these cottages were set up to use gas was probably the culprit rigged one of them to explode,” said Morena. “If you had a trained employee who might have left here angry or with something menacing on his mind, it would be nice to question him first.”
“I don’t think…”
“You’re probably right, but only after I eliminate your employees can I go farther afield with the investigation.”
The two walked back to Nico’s Bakery, Sister Angela telling the chief detective about his bread. “It’s the best bread I’ve had,” she said. “He bakes for the monastery and the hermitage too, you know. And the pastries are excellent.”
He held the door open for her.
“Good afternoon, Sister Angela,” said Nico. “What can I get you?”
“Nico, this is Chief Detective Morena from Avalle. Would you like some coffee, Monte?”
“Yes, and a pastry. The panettone looks delicious. I’ll have some of that.”
“And I’ll have a Sfogliatelle. Is Gina in the back?”
“No, Sister Angela. She’s visiting relatives near Roma.”
“Who’s helping you?”
‘I have an assistant, a boy who wants to open a bakery. He had to promise me he would not open one here.”
“Who’s that?” the nun asked, pointing beyond him.
Nico looked over his shoulder at a framed picture on a shelf above the cash register. “That’s Gina.”
“That woman doesn’t look like your wife at all, Nico.”
Nico smiled broadly. “No, that’s her mother. Gina’s the one in the stroller. She had blond golden curls when she was a baby. Then her hair gradually got darker. Many babies start out blond, Sister. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Nico. I have nieces and nephews who are now grown with dark hair too.” She screwed up her eyes to examine the picture on the shelf more carefully. “Where was that picture taken?”
“I assume it was in Roma since that’s where she’s from.” He took the picture and gazed at it more closely. “That’s Santa Maria in Vincoli, see? Yes, it has arches. That must be Santa Maria in Vincoli in the background.”
“You’re probably right. Monte and I are going to sit over there. You can deliver our orders to our table.”
The monastery was not quiet. Monks sat in the balmy air of the two courtyards, reading or talking while they waited for dinner.
“Follow me,” said Sister Angela, leading the chief detective into the administrative office first. “Hello, Brother Pascal. Have you seen Detective Loria or Brother Salvatore?”
“Yes, Sister, the detective left soon after they arrived. Brother Salvatore went up to shower. He should be down any minute. They both looked frightful.”
“How do you mean? When did they come back?”
“Less than a half hour ago. They walked up the mountain, you know.”
“Yes. That was this morning. What took them so long?”
“I don’t know. Oh, there’s Brother Salvatore now.”
The door flew open, and the young monk limped in.
“What happened to you?” asked Sister Angela.
“We got it. We found the knife.”
“Where’s Loria?”
“I sent him home. He’s in worse condition than I am. He started to get sick halfway up the mountain, and it took us way longer to get to the waterfall than I expected.”
“And why are you limping?”
“I slid on one of the rocks and ended up in the stream. Draco helped me out but needed to rest before heading down again.”
“Where’s the weapon?” asked Sister Angela.
“In a bag in my room. I’ll go get it. It was behind the waterfall under some sludge like I said it would be. There were kilometers of forest to bury the damn thing, and the killer hid it in plain s
ight.”
“I wouldn’t have known to look there,” said Morena.
“Well, every brother on the mountain has used that shelf as a secret hiding place. Does that mean Father Pietro’s killer wasn’t a monk?”
“Possibly, but some monks might not have been here long enough to have heard the mystery of the waterfall,” said Sister Angela.
“Anyway the pattern on the knife handle looks familiar. I need to go upstairs and get it because we should pass it by Brother Alonzo to see if he recognizes it.”
“No, Brother, you should give it to me so we can check for fingerprints. I promise to get you a drawing of the knife first thing tomorrow. Sister Angela, check your email in the morning for the drawing.”
That evening, Sister Angela went to dinner but lingered to go over her notes. Brother Salvatore dropped a folded tablecloth over the chair next to her.
“I thought you were excused from doing your duties, Brother. You need to rest your leg, don’t you?”
Brother Salvatore slumped into another chair. “I know you and the abbot think I’m ready to become the next ecclesiastical detective, but I’m not sure I’m that talented.”
“You probably don’t know what you really want to do. Pat yourself on the back. You found the knife.”
“But the knife wasn’t really hidden. It was in an obvious place. Any monk at Santo Velo would have known it was hidden there.”
“That’s just it. Clues are always obvious. You only have to understand them. You need the rest of the work to do that.” The nun hesitated. “You must be saying that the killer has to be a monk because the hiding place was known to all of them?”
“I’m not sure what I mean. I think I mentioned I came to the opposite conclusion. Why would the monk leave the knife in a place that has concealed communications from monk to monk for centuries?”
“Explain.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to write notes to each other. I was pretty young when I first joined the monks here. I had a lot to figure out but was embarrassed to talk about it aloud. I would write to the monks and leave the notes behind the falls, and some of them would answer me.”
“Did any of the hermits answer you?”
“Yes, on occasion.”
“Is it still used as a conduit for talking to other monks?”
“Not really. Most of the monks are more mature now. I think most of us are resigned to the fact that we like it here and want to spend our lives here.”
“And did you pick through the muck around the knife. Could there have been a note in there too?”
“Yes, and I couldn’t feel anything else.”
“So if there was activity behind those falls, what does that say about the culprit?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a detective.” He hesitated. “Maybe he didn’t know the history of the hiding place.”
“And who wouldn’t have known about the hiding place?”
“Anybody who wasn’t a monk,” said Brother Salvatore. “It could have been a monk if he had entered the monastery more recently.”
“Don’t tell me you aren’t a detective when you think like one. Remember, nothing is obvious until all that boring information we collect fits into place. I didn’t even include you in a lot of the investigation, and you haven’t asked for my notes recently.”
“Did you and Morena learn anything new?”
“Monte and I went through the tapes, bit by bit. It didn’t reveal anyone coming through the back gate like I hoped, but we watched the recessional more closely.”
Salvatore leaned forward.
“I told you the camera at the gate off of the courtyard showed Brother Donato trekking up the hill to his cottage, didn’t I?”
“No, but you told me Brother Donato said he held the gate open for Brother Pietro. Did you see that?”
“That wasn’t in the camera’s field of vision. But whether he held open the gate for Brother Pietro or not, a monk did follow Brother Donato up the hill.”
“You mean an eremita.”
“The camera was looking at this other fellow from behind.”
“Did it have to be a man?”
“No, you’re right. But it could also have been a monk. From behind, your robe and hood make you look like any of the hermits.”
“But if the killer was there, are you saying he kidnapped Brother Pietro by himself and then set off the explosion? That doesn’t sound plausible. Where could they have gone when the cameras don’t see them leaving through the perimeter fence?”
“Okay, there are still holes. But we learn from the video that there was a monk or someone dressed to look like a monk who followed Brother Donato…”
“All the way up the path? The figure could have veered off. He could have been just another eremita who lived in a cottage near the top of the community.”
“No, the camera shows that when the path branched out the final time, the figure continued to follow Brother Donato. There are only two cottages at the end of that path.”
“Brother Donato must have noticed the stranger behind him,” said Brother Salvatore.
“He said he heard the footsteps but assumed it was Brother Pietro because he thought he had seen Brother Pietro at the gate.”
“Yes, I see holes. If Brother Pietro didn’t follow the mysterious monk and the monk didn’t escort Brother Pietro down the hill, then why did Brother Pietro descend the hill? Where’s the motive?”
“Perhaps you should get caught up on my notes tonight,” said Sister Angela. “Do you think Brother Alonzo will excuse you after you finished redoing the tables?”
“I’ll ask.”
“I wouldn’t have invested all this time in you if I didn’t see your talent, Brother Salvatore. One has to possess a certain frame of mind to slog through all the information to find clues. It takes years to even recognize that you have a clue. It isn’t easy. Your vocation within the Church will make it difficult. There will be long periods in between cases. But the longer you work with Chief Detective Morena and Detective Loria, the more they will value your input and include you in other cases.”
“So you don’t think I’ll have to choose between my life as a monk and my police work?”
“Your superiors in the Church might try to convince you otherwise, but you also have friends in the Church who will try to help you realize that God has given you special gifts—gifts that you have to develop and exercise if you ever want to solve cases often.”
“What about my colleagues here? Brother Enrico has already complained to me and to the abbot that I don’t do my jobs here?”
“No, you have permission to work on the case. Tell Brother Enrico that and trust your abbot. Don’t be a wuss, Brother Salvatore. It’s not about you. It’s about all those poor souls who didn’t get to fulfill their dreams on earth.”
Brother Salvatore smiled. “That was the first English word I learned, Sister. Someone called me a wuss, and I punched him in the nose.”
“Hopefully not here at the abbey. I’m leaving you my notebook. For heaven’s sake, please don’t lose it or let anyone else read it. Finish setting the tables and then go to bed. I need you strong tomorrow. We have much more to do. I’m going up to read my email. I haven’t received too many. Monte said he would send me a drawing of the pattern on the knife. You’re going to need that so you can see if it was stolen from the kitchen on the mountain. Hopefully Brother Bruno dropped by to look at my connection. I need to receive and print that out. I wonder if Father Sergio has sent me a note. He’s awfully quiet. Too quiet.”
Seventeen
Festive Occasion
The great piazza endured the drizzle of a winter rain. The old church was cold and silent, save the dripping of water that echoed through the empty nave. Together with her father, the bride draped her gown over her arm and carefully stepped up to the entrance. She smiled at him but got no response. With no music to time their steps, the father and daughter walked slowly up the aisle. But the bride did not he
ar silence. Her heart thumped the rhythm. She saw her love, standing in front of the altar. Fabri left Ciana beside him and walked back down the aisle to disappear in the shadows of the narthex.
Dante smiled, his straight white teeth sparkling. Ciana shivered. She dreamed of this day over and over. It was like he was greeting her into their home. She tried to listen to the priest, but barely saw him, her mind whirling. When the priest prompted her, she repeated the words the best she could but only looked at the man she loved. And then it was over. Through the empty nave, Dante lead her out the doors and onto the empty street.
They drove off to their new apartment in a small village south of Rome. Dante maneuvered the car into a quiet side street. Under an umbrella, the two avoided the puddles and ducked into the front door of an unremarkable building. He led his bride up several flights of stairs to a tiny room on the fifth floor. Still in a dream, Ciana let him carry her to the bed, just inside the door.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her ear. “It’s all I could find. Did your father say anything?”
“Not a word. The last thing he said to me was at the announcement.”
“Then tomorrow morning, I’ll leave early and see if I can find a job. I used some of our savings to fill the tank. I may have to find a company.”
“Why don’t you find something around here?”
“What could I do? This is farm country. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“What about one of the shops?”
“I’m not sure I could pay for this place with what I would be paid here. I was hoping to earn enough to make our child’s life worth it. And maybe you could go back to school. You were so close to finishing. That would be better.”
“Perhaps. But first I have to make sure our baby is born. I can’t think about anything else now.”
Dante was gone for a week. When he returned, he found Ciana sipping the last of the soup she had made their wedding night.
Il Pane Della Vita Page 13