L'Oro Verde (9 page)

“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
there, 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.”

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.

Unprepared for what met her, Sister
Angela slowly walked into the designated conference room. Across the table, her
order’s secretary general sat motionless. Her back was straight, her hands
folded on the polished wood. White curls peeked out from beneath her gray veil.

Under the superior general, the
secretary general was part of the counsel elected to direct the chapter to
which the nuns in the diocese belonged. Only the Holy See had direct authority
over the superior general, and only the Sacred Congregation, a group under the
Holy See that governed all the chapters of religious orders, could depose her.
Sister Angela knew the secretary general would see her side—at least she hoped
the preeminent representative of her order would. Sister Angela’s vows were at
stake. She nodded her head when Sister Angela entered. The nun bowed from the waist.

Next to the secretary general, Mother
Margherita fidgeted with papers. Father Sergio, his back to the door, stood at
the head of the long table. He turned to greet the nun and motioned her to the
side of the wide table opposite Mother Margherita. Sister Angela glanced at her
watch. She was one minute early.

“I’m glad you are all here. As deputy to
the bishop, I called this meeting to talk about an incident that embarrassed
the entire diocese,” he said, looking around the table. “Yesterday morning,
Father Domenic, acting rector of San Benedetto parish, was summoned to the
station of the Montriano police before he was out of bed. This was not intended
to be an arrest, mind you. He was supposedly only there as a witness to a local
murder.”

“Weren’t you there?” Mother Margherita
asked. “How were you informed if he was told to come at once?”

“Inspector DiMarco called me as soon as
the priest was taken in, and I, of course, went over there to try to make certain
the questioning was impartial. Surprisingly no
avvocato
was summoned.”

“I don’t believe the law says he must
have a counselor if he’s being called as a witness, does it?” Mother Margherita
asked.

“Why didn’t you call Don Bastiani, the
church’s
avvocato
in Petraggio, if you thought it might be necessary?”
the secretary general asked before the priest could answer.

“Madame Secretary, the interview would
have been over before he could get there. But that is not the problem.”

The secretary general bowed her head.

“Even though the inspector said Father
Domenic was only a witness, he showed evidence the priest was indeed a suspect
in the crime,” Father Sergio said. “In a stove in the church basement, the
inspector found the cloak the murderer used to wipe up the victim’s blood.
DiMarco accused Father Domenic of hiding it. He also alleged that our priest committed
crimes against young boys, actually stating he thought the priest was trying to
cover up another such crime by killing the witness, Bernardo Reni.”

“Isn’t Father Domenic under
investigation for such a crime at the present time?” the secretary general asked.

“An incident is under inquiry, yes. But
that is not the business of the police.”

“I’m sure the inspector is aware of the
allegation,” she said. “The police in Umbria must be in contact with him.
Wasn’t the complaint made to the Umbrian police to begin with? And what does
that have to do with the charges against Sister Angela?”

“Sister Angela is behind the murder
investigation. She gives her theories to the police and tells them what to do. The
police did not have to embarrass the priest by hauling him off to the station.
And a nun does not have the authority to take stories of improprieties out of
the jurisdiction of the Church.”

“Sister Angela,” she said. “Would you
like to answer to the charges?”

Sister Angela stood up. Her face was red
but not from shame. She was ready to speak her peace. “Madam Secretary, I’m
totally innocent of the charges against me. Even though I must confess I
thought about looking into the priest’s record, I was not aware there were any
inquiries about past improprieties. The police were present when I questioned Father
Domenic about his discovery of Bernardo Reni’s body on that first morning. If
the priest looked uncomfortable, they saw it. I didn’t need to tell them.”

“Did you feel it was necessary to
question the priest?” Mother Margherita asked.

“I questioned him only about how he
found Bernardo’s body on the day of discovery, Mother. You see, it wasn’t
visible from the altar where the priest was praying. Father Domenic appeared agitated.
Later, when the police went to the basement room under the sacristy, they found
a robe. They naturally suspected the priest.”

“But you directed the police there,
Sister Angela, did you not?” asked Father Sergio.

“Because I had to talk to the boy’s aunt
in Petraggio, I sent Sister Daniela to ask Father Domenic if she could check the
church records. He showed her to the basement stairs on the other side of the
sacristy. When I told Inspector DiMarco about the records in the basement room,
he realized they never searched there. The weapon and cloth used to wipe up the
blood were still missing. The inspector never told me he found anything there.”

“And did you question the priest further
during the interview yesterday morning?” Mother Margherita asked.

“No. In fact I told the police the robe
they found most likely didn’t belong to Father Domenic. I said it looked like one
that was used in the annual Christmas pageant.”

“Are those answers enough for you,
Father Sergio?” asked the secretary general.

“My point is that I believe it is
irresponsible of Sister Angela to investigate a crime that has nothing to do
with the Church.”

“Sister Angela,” she said. “You are a
teacher, are you not? Is teaching not enough for you?”

“I feel, Madame Secretary, that I have a
special gift for solving crimes. I believe God gave me this talent to—”

“I’m aware of Sister Angela’s exploits,
Madam Secretary,” Mother Margherita interrupted. “She’s a good teacher and good
investigator and has been able to juggle both well until now. The community is
very pleased with her work.”

“So you don’t believe her police work is
a liability.”

“No. And this crime has much to do with
the Church. “The murder took place in San Benedetto,” the mother superior said.
“I believe we should have someone following the investigation—someone who can
protect the clergy as well as get to the bottom of the crime.”