Death's Door (41 page)

“Is there no end to this?” It was the voice of Monsignor Bruzzone, a white-handled knife grasped in his hand, feathers still clinging to his black shirt. He towered over me, his arm pulled back, ready to plunge the knife into my chest.

There was a thud, and Bruzzone sank to his knees, the knife dropping from his hand. His eyes rolled up as he wavered for a moment, then fell over.

“
There’s
an end for you,” Diana said from behind him, wielding a length of stout lumber from the scaffolding in the cemetery. O’Flaherty, with Kaz one step behind, came on the run and skidded to a halt in front of Bruzzone, a look of stunned admiration on their faces.

Kaz and O’Flaherty dragged Bruzzone’s unconscious hulk inside and up the stairs to the monsignor’s room. We needed some privacy. I limped behind them, Diana helping me along.

“Thanks,” I said. “You saved my life. Was that you I spotted earlier?”

“Yes. And I’m happy to return the favor,” she said, her arm tucked under mine. “I knew you would argue with me about waiting outside, so I decided not to mention it. It worked out well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Can’t argue,” I said. “Let’s call it quits though, okay? No more needing to be saved for either of us.”

“Deal,” she said, even though we both knew it might be a promise broken.

Kaz got Bruzzone trussed up in a chair while O’Flaherty cleaned the blood from his head. Bruzzone moaned, half conscious at best after Diana’s whack with a two-by-four.

“I cannot believe it of him,” O’Flaherty said. “Did you suspect him more than the others?”

“I was suspicious about his leaving the Vatican. Abe had made a crack about a heist and cutting in some German guards right after Bruzzone returned. It made me think about the reasons he might
have for sneaking out overnight. One possibility was to enlist the aid of the Krauts, to help him get away. It was the only thing that made sense, for a guy who had been afraid to step over that line for so long.”

“Aye, he refused to explain himself to me as well,” O’Flaherty said with bitterness as he threw a glass of water into Bruzzone’s face. “Wake up and explain yourself!”

“Let me go,” Bruzzone said thickly, blinking his eyes and wincing from the pain. “I have done nothing.”

“No,” I said. “You only happened to steal a knife, scale a balcony, and then shred a pillow in the room where we told you Severino Rossi was sleeping.”

“No, I was out going to prayers. Matins.”

“I saw you come out of the room,” Diana said. “I didn’t see you go in, but it was you plain as day coming out.”

“Hugh, are you going to take the word of these spies?” Bruzzone’s eyes were wide with fear, beseeching his comrade.

“Listen to yourself, Renato, my friend. You sound like Bishop Zlatko. What have you done, man? This isn’t the fellow I knew when we worked up north,” O’Flaherty said, moving in on Bruzzone as anger overcame him and his voice rose in a shuddering rage. “What happened to you? Who have you become?”

Bruzzone had started to put up a good front. Sometimes, in the face of overwhelming evidence, the best thing to do is deny everything, blame everyone else. I’d seen high-priced lawyers make that work in court. But this wasn’t a Beantown courtroom. This was a guy tied up in a chair in the dark hours of the night, blood trickling down over his white clerical collar.

I picked a feather from Bruzzone’s sleeve and let it drop in his lap. Then I held the knife in front of him, not threatening, just letting him see it.

“You were going to murder Severino Rossi, God rest his soul, with that very knife!” O’Flaherty yelled. “You, a priest, who has saved lives. How could you possibly take one?”

“I have done nothing,” Bruzzone said. He shook his head and
gazed down at the floor. I had the feeling he was speaking truthfully, but not about the murder.

“You betrayed Severino Rossi, didn’t you?” I asked, as gently as I could, trying to pry the truth out of that statement.

“Leave me alone, please,” Bruzzone said, his eyes avoiding mine.

“Renato, we all trusted you,” O’Flaherty said. “Tell him it cannot be true, for the love of God!”

Bruzzone faltered in the face of his friend’s anguish. His lip quivered, and I watched him begin to slowly disintegrate as his façade of respectability and innocence crumbled. The small quiver turned to a grimace as he tried to hold back the reservoir of emotion that had been dammed up for so long. I saw it shatter, the guilt and shame overflowing, wiping away his desire for survival, his ability to lie and scheme, to believe his own protestations. He burst into tears, like a child reprimanded by an angry but loving parent. I’d seen it before, in interrogation rooms and back alleys. The desire to be freed from a great and terrible burden overwhelming the instinct for self-preservation.

“Why did you do it, Monsignor?” I whispered. Bruzzone held his head in his hands, tears dripping through them. I pulled his hands away, holding them in mine, knelt in front of him, and asked again, eyeball to eyeball. “Why did you do it?”

“Because I was afraid,” he wailed. “I did not want to die. I did not want to suffer the pains they promised me. Do you understand? I am a coward, and I did not want to die!”

“Tell us how that led you here tonight,” I said, as soothingly as I could, coaxing him along like a recalcitrant child.

“Once I began, once I gave in, I was too ashamed to be found out for what I had become. I lusted for my own life, and sacrificed others. Forgive me,
scusami
.”

Tears without end seeped from his eyes, a constant flow that soaked into his black shirt.

“It began in Genoa, didn’t it? Where you first met Severino Rossi?” I asked.

“He is dead, truly?”

“Yes. After you had him turned over to the Fascist police, Koch
took him and tortured him for sport. We got him out, but it was too late.”

“Il mio Dio,”
he said. “Yes, in Genoa.”

“How did you know that?” O’Flaherty asked me.

“The diamonds,” I said. “Rossi was a jeweler by trade, and he came through Genoa, where Monsignor Bruzzone had been doing his good works. Soletto was paid off in diamonds for the cover-up, which he engineered for the killer. We found a single diamond in Corrigan’s room, when Bruzzone brought us there to search it. It’s my guess Bruzzone planted it there. Soletto wanted more for his part in the cover-up, and put the pressure on for more. But my guess is that there weren’t any more, that the killer had felt guilty about possessing them. Isn’t that right, Renato?”

“Yes, yes, I gave them quietly to the princess, to help with the food, never in a way that she could discover where the money came from. The one I left for you to find was the last of the accursed things. I did not want them, I didn’t want any of this.”

“How did this happen?” O’Flaherty roared. “Explain yourself, will you?”

“It began in Genoa, of course,” Bruzzone said. He took a deep breath, and seemed to relax. I’d seen it before, with even more brutal murderers. Once they began to tell their story, it was like a great weight had been lifted from their souls, and they became eager for an audience, to explain themselves, to rationalize their behavior, even to demonstrate their skills at evading discovery for so long. “Severino was there with his family, his father, mother, and sister. God help me, we had become friendly. They were kind people. His father was a jeweler and had taught Severino the trade. They gave me their diamonds for safekeeping. The elder Rossi said I should use them as a bribe to free his children if they were taken.”

“But you stole them,” I said.

“No, no, it was not like that at all,” Bruzzone said, eager to prove himself only a murderer, not a thief. “I had obtained identity papers for them, genuine Vatican passports, Hugh, like we gave to so many. I was on my way to the house where they were hidden when the
Gestapo took me. They had been watching Cardinal Boetto, and had seen me go in and out many times. They found the passports, and the diamonds.”

“They let you keep the diamonds?”

“First, they showed me the cells at Gestapo headquarters. It was horrible, the tortures they made me watch. Fingernails pulled out. Bones broken—my God, I can still hear the crack of a shinbone,” Bruzzone wailed. He looked at each of us, as if we might grant absolution. “They wanted to terrify me, and they did. Hugh, if I could have died quickly, I would have been glad to do so. But they are experts at deferring death and prolonging pain, greater pain than even our Lord endured upon the cross. They gave me a choice. They said they didn’t care about diamonds or priests, they wanted Jews. If I gave them Jews, I could go free, and take the diamonds.”

“Dear Mother of God,” O’Flaherty muttered.

“You have not seen what they do to the human flesh, Hugh.” Tears streamed from Bruzzone’s eyes, and O’Flaherty wept with him as we all felt the horror of what Bruzzone had carried within him. “I am not a saint, I found that out quickly. I have never felt such terror as I did then. And to give me a choice! It was diabolical. I begged, I prayed, but in the end I told them where to find the Rossi family. The next day, they let me go. They said the Gestapo in Rome would be in touch. I found myself on the street in Genoa, diamonds in my pocket and a stain upon my soul. I prayed that no one would ever find out what a coward I’d been. I felt sick with myself, and returned here as quickly as possible. I didn’t want the Gestapo in Rome picking me up. I knew I would do whatever they demanded, God help me.”

“Which is why you never set foot outside the Holy See again,” O’Flaherty said.

“Until the other day,” I said. I wanted to keep Bruzzone talking, telling us any detail that came to mind, so when we got to Corrigan’s murder the truth would be the only logical choice. “Where did you go?”

“Why, to the Gestapo, of course. I thought if you were to find
out I was responsible, I would need protection. I asked to have safe passage north, and offered to give them whatever information they needed. But they beat me and threw me out into the street. They laughed. They had no record of what happened in Genoa, and called me a fool. It is almost comical, yes, all this time to have been worried?” No one answered him.

“Yesterday, you tried another approach. You called Koch at his headquarters and told him about my rendezvous,” I said.

“I did. I thought if you were removed from the investigation, I would be safe. Since the Gestapo did not believe me or value my services, I thought Koch would.”

“Renato, I told you about that meeting in confidence,” O’Flaherty said, the hurt evident in his voice. “At Mass this morning, it was!”

“I am sorry, Hugh. We are not all paragons like yourself. A giant among men, the holy warrior, happy in his work. Sometimes I think you are the greatest fool of them all.”

“Tell us what happened with Monsignor Corrigan,” I said, feeling almost sorry for this pitiful creature.

“He came to me one day, and said Severino Rossi had been in Saint Peter’s Square, accusing me of betraying his family. Corrigan had met him in Genoa when they first went to Cardinal Boetto for help. I had no idea Severino had escaped. I was so ashamed of what I had done, I wanted only to forget. But Severino alive would not let me.”

“Corrigan believed him, didn’t he?” I asked.

“Yes, so I told him that I had evidence that would clear me of those charges, and that I would produce it that night. I said Rossi was crazed with loss and fear, and didn’t know what he was saying. I waited until I saw Severino in the square and told him to meet me at the Door of Death that night, to give him his diamonds as well as proof it had not been I who betrayed his family.” Bruzzone hung his head, shamed at his own admission.

“The sleeping pills,” I said. “You had sleeping pills in your room. You gave them to Severino.” I’d wondered why Rossi had stayed near the body, and now, remembering the sleeping pills in Bruzzone’s room, it all made sense.

“Yes, I gave him food with the ground-up sleeping pills mixed in. He ate it all, and I sat with him until he fell asleep. Then Monsignor Corrigan appeared at the hour we had agreed upon. It was more difficult than I thought it would be. There was so much blood, and he would not stop struggling.”

“The dying cling to life,” O’Flaherty said. “As do sinners.”

“Do you know was the irony is?” Bruzzone said. “The tortures I brought upon myself were far worse than the physical pain I would have felt at the hands of the Gestapo. There were times I yearned for the torture chamber.” He looked wistful at the thought of it.

“You had a deal with Soletto, right?” Kaz asked, getting us back on track.

“Yes. I knew he was a greedy man, that he would take care of things for a few of my diamonds. He agreed to arrest Severino and to insure Monsignor Corrigan’s body was found outside of Vatican jurisdiction.”

“But the monsignor managed to drag himself back to the steps under the Door of Death,” I said.

“I had never killed a man before,” Bruzzone said. “I could not believe he had any strength left. I stabbed him once, and thought that was all it would take. He fell, but asked me why, why was I doing this? I pulled the knife out and thrust it in again and again until he was quiet. I had no idea he had any life left within him, there was so much blood. Soletto came as soon as a guard found the body, and acted promptly. Severino was taken away and I thought it was over. But Soletto was insatiable. He wanted more, and he would not believe me when I told him all the diamonds were gone. I used my last one when I placed it for you to find in Corrigan’s room. I had hoped to implicate Rossi as the murderer.”

“So Soletto had to go, right?”

“If you understand logic, you know that once you set upon a course, you must keep to it. Otherwise, what is the point?” Bruzzone said. “As you pointed out, this is a place of absolutes.”

“You used the
misericorde
because you had access to the Swiss Guard armory,” O’Flaherty stated.

“It was the perfect weapon. It is what it was made for,” Bruzzone said, a note of defiance creeping into his voice. “And there are few weapons to be had.”

“Logical,” Kaz said.

“Yes, and it is logical that you must let me go,” Bruzzone said, taking a deep breath. The tears were gone now, he’d gotten everything off his chest and he felt better. Time to go home and put this all behind him. Strange, how the mind of a killer can rationalize every action, every thought, twisting everything to fit in with his own needs and desires.