Death of a Serpent (32 page)

Not the first time, not the last.
We bury what we’d rather not know.

• • •

When it arrived mid-morning, the package from Mother Concetta contained four habits in homespun, a large latchkey, and a note.

Dear Serafina,

The enclosed opens the screened grille to the chancel behind the Madonna’s Chapel.

Viewed from outside, the room’s objects appear as dim shadows, nothing more. But its occupants are able to see through the screen to the chapel. They hear every word uttered on the altar.

Lock the door upon leaving. Return the key to me when finished.

Burn the garments.

Mother Concetta Maria, OP

Serafina handed it to Rosa. This time the madam read sitting down and with her finger moving underneath the words.

“Let’s try on a habit,” Serafina said.

“Don’t need a disguise, not to walk the few meters from here to the Duomo.”

Serafina had already donned the homespun over her dress. She marveled at the size of the pockets in nuns’ habits, making a mental note to tell Giulia.

Straightening the scapula, she said, “And when the monk leads Carmela to his lair, what if he turns around and sees us following him? What if he’s a customer who recognizes you or Scarpo? What then? We are unmasked, our plan in tatters, and Carmela’s life in danger if not lost.”

“A point you have,” the madam said. She tried on a habit.

“We’ll wear them to request Colonna’s help as well.”

The madam shook her head. “Enough dramatics. Tonight, yes, but not today.”

“The monk may have his spies in the piazza, and don’t forget, we are supposed to be in Trabia.”

Rosa gave her a blank look before the penny dropped.

“Time for sweets,” Serafina said, removing the homespun. “Renata, call the children.”

Totò opened the door, tugging on a long rope. “C’mon, move! Push, Tessa!”

“Don’t you dare bring that goat in here!” Renata yelled. “Oh, where is Carmela when we need her?”

• • •

Later, when Rosa was resting, Serafina asked Renata, “Who delivered the parcel from Mother Concetta?”

“The little girl we met at the orphanage last month. You remember her, the one missing a few front teeth.”

“But she’s a child, about six or seven, I should think. How can one so slight carry something so heavy?”

Renata threw her a look as if she, Serafina, had gone round the twist. “She wheeled it here in a small wagon.”

Serafina didn’t speak for a while. Then she said, “It all falls into place now. Why did it take me so long?”

Renata rolled her eyes. “I’ve sent word to Carmela.”

“Word?”

“That you’ll be in the chancel when she talks to the monk, just like she and Mother Concetta hoped you’d be.”

“You see? I couldn’t manage without you,” Serafina said.

Renata went back to stirring the sauce.

Useless

Tuesday afternoon, November 6, 1866

C
lothed in nuns’ habits, Serafina and Rosa set out to talk with the inspector. A sharp wind whipped their skirts. Puddles from the morning’s rain glittered. The
Centru
began filling with people pushed about, men holding onto their caps, shawled women leaning into the blowing force like dark ships pitching in a gale.

They asked to speak with Colonna and were ushered into his office.

Colonna’s jaw dropped.

Serafina explained the need for their disguises. She summarized the deaths to date, including the victims’ longing for redemption. Rosa told him their primary suspect was a begging monk who appeared in the piazza offering eternal salvation. Serafina described the accomplice, someone within Rosa’s walls who fed the killer information and procured his victims. Emphasizing the significance of timing, given the importance of the numbers six and seven in the crazed mind of the killer, Serafina reminded him that all three women were murdered sometime between the sixth and seventh day of the month. She ended by detailing their plan for catching the killer.

“But there was a fourth death, different from the other three, wasn’t it?” the inspector asked.

“Pirricù, my handsome inspector,” Rosa said, adjusting her habit, “we talked about that on Sunday, remember? Gusti knew too much, was in the way. That’s why she was murdered.” The madam looked at Serafina and, without words, the two decided not to tell him about Eugenia.

Serafina continued. “The timing of Gusti’s death falls outside the pattern he established with his first three murders, a scheme he is sure to follow with the timing of his next killing.”

“Today is the sixth day of the month. We must act now. Give us several of your men to help carry out our plan. You won’t regret it.” Serafina stopped speaking and stared at the baffled inspector whose brain, she was sure, was back on his question, as if it had gone unanswered.

He smiled at both women, raised his eyebrows, pulled the cord.

A functionary appeared.

“Look in the record book and tell me if we issued any permits to mendicants during the last month. And bring me names and dates,” Colonna ordered. He said, “And, now, we shall see what we shall see.”

Serafina furrowed her brows. “Could you please explain that last remark? I am unclear as to the meaning of the first ‘see’ in your previous sentence. Is it the same as the second ‘see’?”

Colonna was lost. “My dear, best you leave police business to the professionals.”

In a few moments the functionary returned. “None in the last six months, Inspector.”

Colonna turned to the women, and with an elaborate shrug said, “So, dear ladies, you see? There is no proof that the monk exists. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe you.” He cleared his throat. “The monk may well have been begging and you may well have seen him, or thought you had seen him. But, new rules, desperate times, and I must justify my every move. Does the monk exist? If I have no permit, I have no proof, so there. How can I send a man or two to chase after a fantasy?”

Rosa’s face reddened.

“And, dear inspector, do I exist? I have no begging permit, so you have no proof.”

Colonna’s face reddened. “Your plan is ingenious.” He stroked his mustache.

She held up Carmela’s note. “But, Inspector, the monk meets my daughter this evening in front of the Madonna’s Chapel. The last victim had a similar rendezvous with him. Surely you can spare a—”

“Save your time. Call off your plan. Ah, yes, you have concocted a nice plot, for a…woman. Might even work with some modification and with luck. But it is based on intuition and on information from a—how can I put it—your daughter is what, a fallen woman, no? Doubtless this monk exists, but is he the one who killed?” He closed his eyes, shook his head. “The rioting continues in Catania and I still have most of my men tied up in that chaos. A thousand apologies, but with the increase in crime, I have no one to spare.” He lifted his palms in a placatory gesture. “Your plan: can it wait five or ten days, perhaps a month or two? Then of course we will take over.” He beamed.

Rosa looked like Etna erupting.

“Time we do not have, Inspector,” Serafina said. “In less than twenty-four hours, another woman will be dead if we don’t intervene. In another month, another of Rosa’s women will follow. Rosa, her women, perhaps even the child, Tessa, are in jeopardy. We must act now.”

He straightened the pile of papers on his desk while he spoke. “All right, you convince me. Come back tomorrow, or soon after tomorrow, say, in a week or two, and I might be able to spare you a man.”

Outside Rosa sputtered. “He cannot wait until siesta when he will sink his teeth into food and, afterward, take a nice long nap. He sees nothing. He knows nothing. He does nothing. Useless, our visit.”

Serafina fought to control herself. “No matter, Rosa. No time for anger. If we are to catch the killer ourselves, we must remain calm. I know our plan will work. And I’m sure the monk acts alone—except, of course, for his accomplice—so we outnumber him. There will be five of us—four in the chancel, and Arcangelo somewhere in the shadows near Carmela.”

“And don’t forget the guards.” Rosa said.

They were crossing the piazza on their way home, hands folded into copious sleeves. Passing the fountain and the statue, Serafina saw the ragpicker leaning against a weather-beaten cart crammed with old cloth, his cap pulled down low against the wind, his one-eyed mule swishing its tail. In his line of sight were the Duomo’s copper doors. She welcomed his presence, a fearful confirmation, like the glimpse of death at the edge of vision.

All her deliberation must be focused on their plan for this evening. Nothing must be left to chance. After it’s over, Arcangelo could rescue the mule. She hung onto this thought, a single strand of mercy in a skein of madness and death.

Capture

Tuesday late afternoon, November 6, 1866

T
he wind was a knife at their backs as the wimpled group blew across the street to the Duomo’s side entrance. Nodding to the guards sitting on a nearby stone bench, they climbed a flight of stairs and filed through the sacristy to the main altar.

Serafina led the way. With eyes cast downward, she snaked through the sanctuary toward the Madonna’s Chapel, genuflected, kissed her beads, and cast an outward glance. No shadows moved in the darkness beyond the communion rail. Turning around, she saw the madam scowling to herself, red-faced in her tight-fitting headpiece. She spied Beppe frowning and Scarpo sucking at his shaven lip. They followed her to the rear of the chapel. Serafina fit the key into the chancel’s lock, wincing as the tumblers fell and echoed throughout the cathedral. Slowly she opened the heavy, grilled doors. The four slipped inside.

Cold, damp, dark, the room contained nothing of comfort. Simple wooden furnishings were scattered throughout, a few straight-backed chairs with seats of straw, several unforgiving prie-dieus scattered around. A small altar jutted out from one wall. After her eyes adjusted to the dimness, Serafina glanced at Rosa. Kneeling, and with head bowed, the madam grasped the crucifix of her beads as if it were a pistol. Sensing Serafina’s gaze, Rosa turned to her and smiled. Beppe and Scarpo stood against the stone wall, Scarpo with one hand on the knife wedged into his belt.

Serafina looked out. She could see nothing at first, no shadows, no movement. Soon, however, Carmela’s form emerged. Facing Serafina, several meters beyond reach, she sat in the first pew waiting for the monk’s arrival. Serafina’s heart raced as she whispered the words to a half-remembered prayer.

Where is he, this monk?
Had he gotten wind of their plan? Perhaps, after conferring with his accomplice, he saw through Carmela’s ruse, devised a surprise of his own. For all Serafina knew, the cunning monster had them in his sights and would appear in fury, whipping steel blades into their hearts. No chance, then, to save her child. She started from her seat, but sat back down and wiped her forehead.

Minutes seemed like hours. Finally she heard footsteps, felt the vibrations of a heavy object on stone.
Tap-step-step-tap. Tap-step-step-tap.
An iron rod rammed the floor. It shook her skull.
Tap-step-step-tap
. The sound grew louder.

From out of the shrouded gloom a silhouette appeared, faint at first, becoming more distinct as it approached. She blinked, calmed herself, reached over, and clasped Rosa’s arm. Perhaps their plan would work.

Wearing a cowl and what looked like dark sackcloth covering his head, face, and neck, the monk appeared. Cold eyes peered out from behind two slits. In one gloved hand he held a staff. At its top, a piece of metal coiled around a cross. Serafina recognized the same spiraling snake she’d seen over and over again in Bella’s magazine—the symbol of the brazen serpent. The monk neared Carmela’s form. Bending to her, he said, “You wait for me?”

The old nun was right. Despite the headdress Serafina wore, its starched cotton muffling sound, she heard everything, even the tremor in Carmela’s voice as she began to speak.

“Do you know where I can find the monk?” she asked, her voice growing stronger. “The one who gives absolution to a few of the chosen? I have sinned, and no ordinary priest has the power to forgive me. What’s worse, I probably will sin again.”

My girl.
Serafina smiled.

There was a long pause before the monk replied. “I am the one you seek. You must follow me and kiss the brazen serpent.” He pointed to the coiling snake. “It is the serpent, not I, who offers absolution.”

“Give me this absolution, monk,” Carmela said. “I can pay.” She opened her reticule and held out gold coins. They gleamed in the light from nearby candles.

Serafina turned and saw a veiled Beppe, his brow furrowed, his cheeks working in and out. Looking beyond Carmela and the monk, down the main aisle to the vestibule, she could pick out, in a sliver of light from the rose window, a figure walking softly toward them, twitching in his sleeves.

“No gold can buy you absolution, lady,” the monk said, grabbing the coins in his gloved hands. “A few are chosen. You are one of the lucky ones, but you must feel the viper’s sting. I will sign you with his mark, and you will be absolved in his blood. For this you must go with me to my chapel. Are you willing?”

Carmela nodded. “Where is it, this chapel of yours?”

“Follow me.”

Serafina’s heart pounded. Again she rose in her chair, but was stopped by Scarpo’s hands on her shoulders, forcing her to sit down.

The monk was leading Carmela up the steps to the back of the chapel, pointing beyond the main altar to a hall leading to the sacristy.

They were nearing the chancel. Serafina crouched down as far as possible into her chair. The others did the same. She felt the air move as Carmela and the monk passed by. She hoped Mother Concetta was right, that no one could see into the room.

“My chapel is not far from here, in the rocks by the sea. I must hear your confession before the bell tolls midnight. We haven’t much time. Walk faster.”