Death and Restoration (27 page)

“Food?”’

“Old custom, I’m told. More southern than Roman, but it seems to survive here. If you ask a saint for something, you bring a present in return. Food, or money, sometimes even clothes.”

“What do you do with it?”’ Flavia asked as they’d looked enough and turned to walk down the street.

“Give it to the poor, what else? Some of us are shocked, but I have no intention of discouraging it. Where are we going?”’

“Nowhere. We’ve arrived. It’s in here, I think,” Argyll replied. They were a few hundred yards down the road. It was a ugly run-down block, old and disintegrating. The main door should have had an intercom, but it had long since stopped working. Instead, the door was roughly propped open with a brick. Argyll checked the names on the buttons. “Third floor.”

The lift didn’t seem to be working either, so they walked up, then along the narrow corridor of the floor, until he peered at a bell, then pressed it. To make sure, he knocked firmly on the door as well.

The television inside stopped abruptly, and was replaced by the sound of a child crying. Then the door opened.

“Hello,” Argyll said gently. “We’ve come for your Lady. She’s perfectly safe now.”

Signora Graziani nodded, then opened the door. “I’m so glad,” she said. “Do come in.”

Flavia gave Argyll a strange look, then followed him in. Father Paul, quite impassive, brought up the rear. The little living room was cramped and overstuffed with television, washing and grandchildren; the furniture was old and battered, the walls covered with crucifixes and religious pictures.

Flavia was a little perplexed by all this but, as it seemed that Argyll knew exactly what was going on, was content to stay in the background and keep quiet for fear of saying the wrong thing.

“You are sure it’s safe?”’ Signora Graziani said with a burst of anxiety.

“Quite sure,” he replied. “The picture will go back to its proper place and stay there now. Father Paul is determined to keep her and give her the honour she is due. Aren’t you, Father Paul?”’

Father Paul nodded.

“I’m so glad,” she repeated. “When I heard what was to happen I said, “This is not right. This is a bad man, to do such a thing.””

“You were cleaning, and overheard? is that it?”’

“Of course. Wednesdays I get there early, because I have to work in the market at eight. I had just prayed and was getting my bucket, when I heard Father Charles—such a good, kind person, poor soul. He was almost in tears, pleading with the superior not to sell the picture. He said the order had to guard her. Foolish, of course; everybody knows it is the other way around and that she guards them. But Father Xavier said it was too late and said, very cruelly, that Father Charles was a superstitious and sentimental old man.”

She looked momentarily terrified, lest Argyll impute evil thoughts. “I prayed to My Lady to defend herself, and offered what help was needed, as my family has always done. And she told me I had to stop this man. She told me; I had no choice, you see.”

“I hit him, with my broom. I didn’t mean to hurt him, really. But my hand was guided, and he fell and hit his head on the stone steps. That wasn’t me, you see. I scarcely hurt him at all. It was her. When she chastises, she can be very severe. She was out of her normal place on the altar and looked so forlorn and lost. And I knew, it was almost as if someone told me, that I had to hide her away until she was safe.”

“So you took her home?”’ Flavia asked. Signora Graziani looked shocked.

“Oh, no. She must never leave the building. I wrapped her in a plastic bag and put her in my little room across the courtyard. Where I keep all my cleaning equipment. In a large empty packet of soap powder.”

“And you left Father Xavier …?”’

“I did, and I’m sorry for it. I didn’t realize he was so hurt. But I left for a while, to tell the people at the market I couldn’t work today, then came back. I was just going to make sure he was all right …”

“Thank you,” Argyll said. “You have done your duty, as you were ordered.”

“I have,” she said with satisfaction. “I do believe I have. We have served her faithfully for as long as I know. What else could I have done?”’

“Nothing,” Father Paul said. “You did exactly the right thing. You kept your word better than we did.

“I will put it back myself,” he continued. “And we will have a mass tomorrow to celebrate. I hope very much you will come, signora.”

She brushed away a tear from her eye, and bobbed her head in gratitude.

“Thank you so much, Father.”

“Bloody hell,” Flavia said angrily once they had left the apartment and the door had shut. “You mean to tell me this whole thing was caused by a stupid old woman with delusions …?”’

“That’s one way of looking at it. Personally, I believe her.”

“Believe what?”’

“That a member of her family has been charged with looking after that picture for ever and a day. Or at least since the servant Gratian left the monastery when his master died. It’s what? Twenty generations? A blink of the eye for this city. An old neighbourhood. Quite possible.”

“Jonathan …”

“There’s a family in the city called the Tolomei, you know. Claims it goes back to the first Ptolemy, illegitimate half-brother of Alexander the Great. Nearly seventy generations, that. It’s possible for a family to have stayed more or less in the same neighbourhood for a few hundred years. Perfectly possible. Assuming they survived the sack of Rome in the 1520’s, not much else has happened in Rome since. If it was charged with enough importance, there is no reason why the family practice shouldn’t continue as the name of Gratian slowly got italianized into Graziani. It’s just very rare to have some sort of independent confirmation. Not rational and police-like enough for you?”’

“No.”

“Thought not. But effective enough to find the icon, nonetheless.”

“Assuming it’s there.”

“It’ll be there. How are you going to deal with its reappearance?”’

Father Paul shrugged. “I can’t say where it was, because that would involve explaining how it got there, which would be a pity. So maybe the best thing would be just to put it back.”

“And I will have to make out a report,” Flavia said.

“Oh,” Father Paul said with disappointment. “Do you have to?”’

“Of course I have to. We can’t just have the thing turn up.”

“Why not?”’ Argyll asked.

“What do you think, why not?”’

“Well, if you make out a report, then you also have to say that Signora Graziani stole it, that Xavier had planned to sell it illegally, that the order had got itself up to the eyes in debt. Lots of scandal, just as Father Paul here is taking over, poor fellow. Then whoever shot Charanis might come back for the real thing. Whereas if we quietly put it back, and were as surprised as anyone that it was there tomorrow morning, then you could forget about the whole thing. Apart, of course, from putting it around that it was probably a copy to replace the lost original or a piece of tiresome absent-mindedness on the part of the monastery. Then everybody would be happy and you could have the weekend off and we could go away for a few days.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes while Flavia turned this over in her mind. “I’m not happy.”

“If I were asking you to surrender a great success that would bring credit on the department, then I would never dream of suggesting it. But it’s really just a scruffy painting that went missing for a few days. No big deal, really. Then you could make out that the Charanis business was nothing to do with your department at all.”

“Well …”

“Why don’t you ask Bottando when he comes back tomorrow morning? Get him to decide.”

She thought again. “Oh, very well. It’s got to go somewhere, I suppose.”

“It was there?”’ Bottando asked.

“In a packet of washing powder. Non-biological. Quite undamaged. What do we do now?”’

“I think your Jonathan has the right idea,” Bottando said, swinging in his chair as he listened to Flavia finish her account of the previous evening. “Minimize our involvement. There is a time, you will discover, to advertise our activities, and a time to keep your head down. Let’s keep it all as undramatic as possible, shall we?”’

“Undramatic?”’ Flavia said incredulously. “I’ve just had Father Paul on the phone. That icon’s reappearance has triggered a major religious revival. It was bad enough before, but when it turned up overnight, the entire neighbourhood went crazy. Father Paul ordered the doors opened and a mass celebrated and they had two hundred people in there. Standing room only. More people than they’ve had since the cholera epidemic in the nineteenth century.”

“Not a police matter,” Bottando said mildly. “I have always been of the opinion that people get the miracles they deserve. As these things go, this is a perfectly agreeable one. Besides, it will make them look after it more carefully. is Jonathan right about what this thing is?”’

She nodded. “Possibly. I haven’t seen any of the evidence and you know how he gets carried away sometimes. But it is perfectly possible.”

“In that case it will be very much better if it is kept out of circulation. Better that it should work miracles in Rome than around the Black Sea. So leave it be. Are the carabinieri content? They’re not going to cause a squall?”’

“The man responsible is dead, so they’re happy to close the book.”

“That’s good. I’m glad. Now, more important matters; have you decided what you are going to do?”’

Flavia took a deep breath, and nodded.

“And?”’

“I’ll stay here and run this place.”

Bottando beamed. “I’m so glad. I would have hated to hand over to anyone else. You’ll do wonderfully. By far the best person.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh, yes. You just have to learn a few tricks of the policing business. Like lying, cheating, that sort of thing. I’ll be around, after all. You can consult me whenever you want. After all, I will still be nominally in charge.”

And he smiled fondly at her. “Thank you,” he said.

Flavia grinned back. “Thank you. Would it be setting the wrong tone if I started by taking the weekend off?”’

“You can do whatever you want.”

“Advice?”’

“I think it would set the tone perfectly. Go away and refresh yourself. As long as you have a really good time.”

And she left, shaking his hand, then giving him a kiss on the cheek as well. She could have sworn there was a slight moisture in his eye as she left.

Because Flavia had been in a hurry to get to the office to see Bottando, she’d left the apartment early. Because of that, she’d missed the post. Because of that, she missed the last detail as well.

Argyll, in contrast, caught it all, mainly because of his idle habits and insistence on greeting each new day in a slow and methodical fashion. Up, coffee, shower, coffee, newspaper, coffee, toast. After the second coffee he went out to get the paper and collected the mail on the way back in. Two bills, one circular and a thick white envelope in an unfamiliar hand. Being a believer in getting the bad news out of the way first, he opened this last. Inside was a key and a short note with the heading Rome Airport.

Dear Jonathan,

You will forgive me, I hope, for writing to you in such a hurried fashion, but I have a small favour to ask and am anxious to leave Rome as swiftly as possible. I am going on holiday to Greece for a while; I’m sure you understand. The icon is now in the hands of its rightful owner, to whom Father Xavier originally agreed to sell it. In order that this matter be brought to an end once and for all, and so that there should be no further recriminations or enquiries, he is anxious that the order should be paid, in full, the agreed price. This was $240,000, and was due to be delivered to Father Xavier before he was attacked. Peter Burckhardt deposited it in a left-luggage compartment at Ostiense station, and it is now in the Central Terminus. How I came across the key need not detain you here, but I would be grateful if you would discharge the duty of delivering the bag of money to the order as quickly as possible. I am writing to you to preserve the purchaser’s anonymity.

I’ve no doubt that your opinion of me is now even lower than it was when I arrived last week. For this I am truly sorry. Now is not the time to explain my involvement in this business, although I hope one day to do so. I do want you to understand that I had very good reasons which had nothing to do with any personal gain. I am glad to say that the result seems to have been as good as I could have hoped, and I am now able to return to retirement —this time, I hope, forever.

Please give my very best wishes to Flavia, and apologize to her on my behalf for causing so much trouble. I would have been more cooperative had it been in my power.

With fond regards,

Mary Verney.

PS: The bag containing the money is due to be removed from the left luggage compartment at the terminus at eleven a.m. on Wednesday. Could you make sure you collect it by then? Otherwise someone might open it and steal it. You know how dishonest some people are.

Argyll read it through twice, thought it over, and ended by grinning broadly. He had a strong suspicion that the woman had planned to take the money herself, but her hurried exit from Rome made it impossible to collect. So she had turned necessity into graciousness. Quite neat. He looked at his watch, and started up. It was twenty-five to eleven. He might just make it with a bit of luck and if he didn’t wait to tell Flavia.

He walked out of the apartment to give final proof to Father Paul that miracles do indeed happen.

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