The Death of Faith

  * * * *

  Chapter Twenty

  At lunch, he found the mood of the entire family as subdued as the mood he brought back with him from the Questura. He attributed Raffi’s silence to some difficulty in the course of his romance with Sara Paganuzzi; Chiara was perhaps still smarting under the cloud that had marred the perfection of her academic record. As always, it was the cause of Paola’s mood that was the most difficult to assess.

  There was none of the usual joking with which they displayed their boundless affection for one another. Instead, at one point, Brunetti found them discussing the weather, and then, as though that weren’t grim enough, politics. All of them were visibly glad to see the meal end. The children, like cave-dwelling animals which had been frightened by signs of lightning on the horizon, scurried back to the security of their rooms. Brunetti, having already read the paper, went into the living room and contented himself with watching sheets of rain batter themselves against the rooftops.

  When Paola came in, she carried coffee, and Brunetti decided to view it as a peace offering, though he was uncertain about what sort of treaty was going to accompany it. He took the coffee and thanked her. He took a sip and asked, ‘Well?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to my father,’ Paola said as she took a seat on the sofa. ‘He was the only one I could think of.’

  ‘And what did you tell him?’ Brunetti asked.

  ‘I told him what Signora Stocco told me, and what the children have said.’

  ‘About Padre Luciano?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said he’d look into it.’

  ‘Did you tell him anything about Padre Pio?’ Brunetti asked.

  She glanced up, surprised at the question. ‘No, of course not. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just asking,’ he said.

  ‘Guido,’ she began, setting her empty cup on the table, ‘you know I don’t interfere, not in any way, with your work. If you want to ask my father about Padre Pio or about Opus Dei, then you have to do it yourself.’

  Brunetti had no desire to have his father-in-law interfere in this, not in any way. But he didn’t want to tell Paola that his reluctance was based on his doubts about where Count Orazio’s allegiance would lie, whether to Brunetti’s profession or to Opus Dei itself. Just as Brunetti had no idea of the extent of the Count’s wealth and power, he was equally ignorant of their source and of the connections or loyalties which would make them possible. ‘Did he believe you?’ he asked her.

  ‘Of course he believed me. Why do you even ask that?’

  Brunetti tried to shrug this away, but a glance from Paola denied him that chance. ‘It’s not as if you’ve got the most reliable of witnesses.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, voice sharp.

  ‘Children speaking badly of a teacher who gave one of them a bad grade. The words of another child, filtered through a mother who was obviously hysterical when she spoke to you.’

  ‘What are you doing, Guido, trying to play Devil’s Advocate? You showed me that report from the Patriarchate. What do you think this bastard’s been doing all these years, taking thousand-lire bills from the poor box?’

  Brunetti shook his head. ‘No, I have no doubts, none at all, about what he’s been doing, but that’s not the same as having proof.’

  A wave from Paola dismissed this as so much nonsense. ‘I’m going to stop him,’ Paola said with naked aggression.

  ‘Or just move him?’ Brunetti asked. ‘As they’ve been doing for years?’

  ‘I said I’m going to stop him, and that’s what I’m going to do,’ Paola repeated, enunciating every syllable, as if for the deaf.

  ‘Good,’ Brunetti said. ‘I hope you do. 1 hope you can.’

  To his vast surprise, Paola answered with a quotation from the Bible: ‘ “But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.’“

  ‘Where’d that come from?’ Brunetti asked.

  ‘Matthew. Chapter eighteen, verse six . . .’

  ‘No,’ Brunetti said, shaking his head from side to side. ‘It’s strange to hear you, of all people, quoting the Bible.’

  ‘Even the Devil is said to have that capacity,’ she answered, but smiling for the first time and, with that smile, brightening the room.

  ‘Good,’ Brunetti affirmed. ‘I hope your father has the power to do something.’ Brunetti half-expected her to answer that there was nothing her father could not do and surprised himself by realizing that he, as well, at least half-believed this.

  Instead, she asked, ‘And you, with your priests?’

  ‘There’s only one left,’ he said.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Signorina Elettra’s friend in the Patriarch’s office said that Contessa Crivoni and the priest, who seems to be wealthy in his own right, have been having an affair for years. Apparently her husband knew about it.’

  ‘He knew?’ Paola asked in open surprise.

  ‘He preferred young boys.’

  ‘You believe this?’ Paola asked.

  Brunetti nodded. ‘The fact that she had a husband provided them with cover. Neither she nor the priest would wish him dead.’

  ‘So there really is only one left,’ Paola said.

  ‘Yes.’ Brunetti told her about Patta’s anger and his command that police protection be removed from Maria Testa. He made no attempt to disguise his certainty that Padre Pio and the powers standing behind him were the original source of that order.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Paola asked when he finished explaining.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Vianello. He’s got a friend who works in the hospital as an orderly, and he’s agreed to look in on her during the day.’

  ‘Not much, is it?’ she asked. ‘And the nights?’

  ‘Vianello’s offered — I didn’t ask him, Paola, he offered — to be there until midnight.’

  ‘And that means you’ll be there from midnight until eight?’

  Brunetti nodded.

  ‘How long will this go on?’

  Brunetti shrugged. ‘Until they decide to make a move, I suppose.’

  ‘And how long will that be?’ she asked.

  ‘That depends on how frightened they are. Or how much they think she knows.’

  ‘Do you think it’s Padre Pio?’

  Brunetti had always tried to avoid naming the person he suspected of a crime, and he tried to do so this time, but she could read his answer in his silence.

  She got to her feet. ‘If you’ve got to be up all night, why don’t you try to get some sleep now?’

  ‘ “A wife is her husband’s richest treasure, a helpmeet, a steadying column. A vineyard with no hedge will be overrun; a man with no wife becomes a helpless wanderer,’“ he quoted, happy to have, for once, beaten her at her best game.

  She couldn’t disguise her surprise, nor her delight. ‘It is true, then?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That the Devil really can quote Scripture.’

  * * * *

  That night, Brunetti again dragged himself from the warm cocoon of his bed and dressed himself to the sound of the rain that still pounded down on the city. Paola opened her eyes, made a kissing motion in his direction, and was immediately asleep again. This time, he remembered his boots but didn’t bother to take an umbrella for Vianello.

  At the hospital, they again went out into the hallway to talk, though they had little to say. Lieutenant Scarpa had spoken to Vianello that afternoon and had repeated to him Patta’s orders about staffing. Like Patta, he had said nothing about what officers chose to do with their own time, which had encouraged Vianello to speak to Gravini, Pucetti and even a repentant Alvise, all of whom had volunteered to fill in the hours of the day, Pucetti offering to relieve Brunetti at six in the morning.

  ‘Even Alvise?’ Brunetti asked.

  ‘Even Al
vise,’ Vianello answered. ‘The fact that he’s stupid doesn’t stop him from being good-spirited.’

  ‘No,’ Brunetti answered immediately, ‘that seems to happen only in Parliament.’

  Vianello laughed, pulled on his raincoat, and wished Brunetti good night.

  Back in the room, Brunetti walked to within a metre of the bed and looked at the sleeping woman. Her cheeks had sunken in even more, and the only sign of life was the pale liquid which dripped slowly from a bottle suspended above her and into a tube which fed into her arm, that and the remorselessly slow rise and fall of her chest.

  ‘Maria?’ he called, and then, ‘Suor’Immacolata?’ Her breast continued to rise and fall, rise and fall, and the liquid continued to drip, but nothing else happened.

  Brunetti switched on the overhead light, pulled his edition of Marcus Aurelius from his pocket, and began to read. At two, a nurse came in and took Maria’s pulse and entered it on the chart. ‘How is she?’ Brunetti asked.

  ‘Her pulse is quicker,’ the nurse said. ‘That sometimes happens when there’s going to be a change.’

  ‘You mean, that she’s going to wake up?’ he asked.

  The nurse didn’t smile. ‘It can be that,’ she said and left the room before Brunetti had time to ask her what else it could be.

  At three, he switched off the light and closed his eyes, but when his head fell forward on his chest, he forced himself to his feet and stood against the wall behind his chair. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  Sometime later, the door opened again, and a different nurse came into the darkened room. Like the one the previous night, she carried a covered tray. Saying nothing, Brunetti watched her as she made her way across the room until she stood beside the bed, just inside the pool of light cast by the bedside lamp. She reached up and moved the covers, and Brunetti, thinking it immodest to watch whatever it was she had been sent to do for the sleeping woman, lowered his eyes.

  And saw the marks her shoes had left on the floor, each wet footprint carefully stamped out behind her. Even before he was conscious of what he was doing, Brunetti launched himself across the space between them, his right hand raised above his head. While still a few steps from her, he saw the towel that covered the tray fall to the floor and saw the long blade of the knife hidden under it. He screamed aloud, a wordless, meaningless noise, and saw the face of Signorina Lerini as she turned toward this form hurtling out of the darkness toward her.

  The tray crashed to the floor and she turned toward Brunetti, knife slashing out in a purely instinctive arc. Brunetti tried to wheel away from it, but he was moving too fast and was carried within her reach. The blade slashed through the cloth of his left sleeve and across the muscles of his upper arm. His scream was deafening, and he repeated it again and again, hoping it would bring someone to the room.

  One hand grasped to the cut, he turned toward her, afraid that she would come at him. But she had turned back to the woman who lay on the bed and, as he watched, she pulled the knife back level with her hip. Brunetti forced himself toward her again, pulling his hand away from the cut on his arm. Again, he screamed the same wordless sound, but she ignored him and took a step closer to Maria.

  Brunetti made a fist with his right hand, raised it above his head, and slammed it down on her elbow, hoping to knock the knife to the ground. He felt, then heard, the shattering of bone but didn’t know if it was the bone of her arm or of his hand.

  She turned then, arm limp at her side, knife still in her hand, and started to scream. ‘Antichrist. I must kill the Antichrist. God’s enemies shall be ground down into the dust and they shall be no more. His vengeance is mine. The servants of God shall not be harmed by the words of the Antichrist.’ Vainly she tried to raise her hand, but as he watched, her fingers loosened and the knife fell to the floor.

  With one hand, he grabbed at the cloth of her sweater and pulled her savagely away from the bed. She offered him no resistance. He shoved her toward the door, which opened as he neared it, allowing a nurse and a doctor to push into the room.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ the doctor demanded, pausing at the door to switch on the overhead light.

  ‘Even the light of day shall not allow His enemies to hide from His just wrath,’ Signorina Lerini said in a voice made quick by passion. ‘His enemies shall be confounded and destroyed.’ She raised her left hand and pointed a shaking finger at Brunetti. ‘You think you can prevent God’s will from being obeyed. Fool. He is greater than all of us. His will shall be done.’

  In the light that now filled the room, the doctor saw the blood that dripped from the man’s hand and the flecks of spittle that flew from the mouth of the woman. She spoke again, this time to the doctor and the nurse. ‘You’ve tried to harbour God’s enemy, given her succour and comfort, even though you knew she was the enemy of the Lord. But one greater than you has seen through all of your plans to defy the law of God, and he has sent me to administer God’s justice to the sinner.’

  The doctor began to ask, ‘What’s going on . . .?’ but Brunetti silenced him with a wave of his hand.

  He approached Signorina Lerini and placed his good hand gently on her arm. His voice became an insinuating murmur. ‘The ways of the Lord are many, my sister. Another shall be sent to take your place, and all His works shall be fulfilled.’

  Signorina Lerini looked at him then, and he saw the dilated pupils and gasping mouth. ‘Are you too sent by the Lord?’ she asked.

  ‘Thou sayest it,’ Brunetti answered. ‘Sister in Christ, your former works will not go unrewarded,’ he prompted.

  ‘Sinners. They were both sinners and worthy of God’s punishment.’

  ‘Many say your father was a godless man, who mocked the Lord. God is patient and all-loving, but He will not be mocked.’

  ‘He died mocking God,’ she said, eyes suddenly filled with terror. ‘Even as I covered his face, he mocked God.’

  Behind him, Brunetti heard the nurse and doctor whispering together. He turned his head toward them and commanded, ‘Quiet.’ Stunned by his voice and by the lunacy audible in the woman’s, they obeyed. He returned his attention to Signorina Lerini.

  ‘But it was necessary. It was God’s will,’ he prompted her.

  Her face relaxed. ‘You understand?’

  Brunetti nodded. The pain in his arm grew from minute to minute, and looking down, he saw the pool of blood beneath his hand. ‘And the money?’ he asked. ‘There is always great need of it in order to fight the enemies of the Lord.’

  Her voice grew strong. ‘Yes. The battle is begun and must be waged until we have won back the kingdom of the Lord. The earnings of the godless must be given to do God’s holy work.’

  He had no idea how long he could keep the nurse and doctor prisoner there, and so he risked saying, ‘The holy father has told me of your generosity.’

  She greeted this revelation with a beatific smile. ‘Yes, he told me there was instant need. To wait could have taken years. God’s commands must be obeyed.’

  He nodded, as if he found it perfectly understandable that a priest should have commanded her to murder her father. ‘And da Prè?’ Brunetti asked, casually, as though it were only a detail, like the colour of a scarf. ‘That sinner,’ he added, though it was hardly necessary.

  ‘He saw me, saw me that day I delivered God’s justice to my sinning father. But only later did he speak to me.’ She leaned toward Brunetti, nodding. ‘He was a sinful man, as well. Greed is a terrible sin.’

  Behind him, he heard shuffling footsteps, and when he looked around, both the nurse and the doctor were gone. He heard running steps disappear down the corridor and, in the distance, raised voices.

  He profited from the confusion of their noisy departure to turn his questions back to da Prè and asked, ‘And those others? The people there with your father. What were their sins?’

  Before he could think of a way to clothe his questions in the rags of her lunacy, she turned puzzled, questioning eyes o
n him. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘What others?’

  Brunetti realized that her confusion bespoke her innocence, so he ignored her questions and said, ‘And the little man? Da Prè? What did he do, Signorina? Did he threaten you?’

  ‘He asked for money I told him that I had merely done God’s will, but he said there was no God and no will. He blasphemed. He mocked the Lord.’

  ‘Did you tell the holy father?’

  ‘The holy father is a saint,’ she insisted.

  ‘He is truly a man of God,’ Brunetti agreed. ‘And did he tell you what to do?’ he asked.