Il Pane Della Vita (20 page)

The monastery was not quiet. Monk
s sat in the balmy air of the two courtyards, reading or talking while they waited for dinner.

“Follow me,” said Sister Angela, leading the chief detective into the administrative office first. “Hello, Brother Pascal. Have you seen Detective Loria or Brother Salvatore?”

“Yes, Sister, the detective left soon after they arrived. Brother Salvatore went up to shower. He should be down any minute. They both looked frightful.”

“How do you mean? When did they come back?”

“Less than a half hour ago. They walked up the mountain, you know.”

“Yes. That was this morning. What took them so long?”

“I don’t know. Oh, there’s Brother Salvatore now.”

The door flew open
, and the young monk limped in.

“What happened to you?” asked Sister Angela.

“We got it. We found the knife.”

“Where’
s Loria?”

“I sent him home. He’s in worse condition than I am. H
e started to get sick halfway up the mountain, and it took us way longer to get to the waterfall than I expected.”

“And why are you limping?”

“I slid on one of the rocks and ended up in the stream. Draco helped me out but needed to rest before heading down again.”

“Where’s the weapon?” asked Sister Angela.

“In a bag in my room. I’ll go get it. It was behind the waterfall under some sludge like I said it would be. There were kilometers of forest to bury the damn thing, and the killer hid it in plain sight.”

“
I wouldn’t have known to look there,” said Morena.

“Well, every brother on the mountain has used that shelf as a secret hiding place. Does that mean Father Pietro’s killer wasn’t a monk?”

“Possibly, but some monks might not have been here long enough to have heard the mystery of the waterfall,” said Sister Angela.

“Anyway the pattern on the knife handle looks familiar. I need to go upstairs and get it because we should pass it by Brother Alonzo to see if he recognizes
it.”

“No, Brother, you should give it to me so we can check for fingerprints. I promise to get you a drawing of the knife first thing tomorrow. Sister Angela, check your email in the morning for the drawing.”

That evening, Sister Angela went to dinner but lingered to go over her notes. Brother Salvatore dropped a folded tablecloth over the chair next to her.

“I thought you were excused from doing your duties, Brother. You need to rest your leg, don’t you?”

Brother Salvatore slumped into another chair. “I know you and the abbot think I’m ready to become the next ecclesiastical detective, but I’m not sure I’m that talented.”

“You probably don’t know what you really want to do. Pat yourself on the back. You found the knife.”

“But the knife wasn’t really hidden. It was in an obvious place. Any monk at Santo Velo would have known it was hidden there.”

“That’s ju
st it. Clues are always obvious. You only have to understand them. You need the rest of the work to do that.” The nun hesitated. “You must be saying that the killer has to be a monk because the hiding place was known to all of them?”

“I’m not sure what I
mean. I think I mentioned I came to the opposite conclusion. Why would the monk leave the knife in a place that has concealed communications from monk to monk for centuries?”

“Explain.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to write notes to each other. I was pretty young when I first joined the monks here. I had a lot to figure out but was embarrassed to talk about it aloud. I would write to the monks and leave the notes behind the falls, and some of them would answer me.”

“Did any of the hermits answer you?”

“Yes, on occasion.”

“Is it still used as a conduit for talking to other monks?”

“Not really. Most of the monks are more mature now. I think most of us are resigned to the fact that we like it here and want to spend our lives here.”

“And did you pick through the muck around the knife. Could there have been a note in there too?”

“Yes, and I couldn’t feel anything else.”

“So if there was activity behind those falls, what does that say about the culprit?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a detective.” He hesitated. “Maybe he didn’t know the history of the hiding place.”

“And who wouldn’t ha
ve known about the hiding place?”

“Anybody who wasn’t a monk,” said
Brother Salvatore. “It could have been a monk if he had entered the monastery more recently.”

“Don’t tell me you aren’
t a detective when you think like one. Remember, nothing is obvious until all that boring information we collect fits into place. I didn’t even include you in a lot of the investigation, and you haven’t asked for my notes recently.”

“Did you
and Morena learn anything new?”

“Monte and I went through the tapes, bit by bit. It didn’t reveal anyone coming through the back gate like I hoped, but we watched the recessional more closely.”

Salvatore leaned forward.

“I told you
the camera at the gate off of the courtyard showed Brother Donato trekking up the hill to his cottage, didn’t I?”

“No, but you told me Brother Donato said he held the gate open for Brother Pietro. Did you see that?”

“That wasn’t in the camera’s field of vision. But whether he held open the gate for Brother Pietro or not, a monk did follow Brother Donato up the hill.”

“You mean an
eremita
.”

“The camera was looking at this other fellow from behind.”

“Did it have to be a man?”

“No, you’re right. But it could also have been a monk. From behind, your robe and hood make you look like any of the hermits.”

“But if the killer was there, are you saying he kidnapped Brother Pietro by himself and then set off the explosion? That doesn’t sound plausible. Where could they have gone when the cameras don’t see them leaving through the perimeter fence?”

“Okay, there are still h
oles. But we learn from the video that there was a monk or someone dressed to look like a monk who followed Brother Donato…”

“All the way up the path? The figu
re could have veered off. He could have been just another
eremita
who lived in a cottage near the top of the community.”

“No, the camera shows that when the path branched out the final time, the figure continued to follow Br
other Donato. There are only two cottages at the end of that path.”

“Brother Donato must have
noticed the stranger behind him,” said Brother Salvatore.

“He said he heard the footsteps but assumed it was Broth
er Pietro because he thought he had seen Brother Pietro at the gate.”

“Yes, I see holes. If
Brother Pietro didn’t follow the mysterious monk and the monk didn’t escort Brother Pietro down the hill, then why did Brother Pietro descend the hill? Where’s the motive?”

“
Perhaps you should get caught up on my notes tonight,” said Sister Angela. “Do you think Brother Alonzo will excuse you after you finished redoing the tables?”

“I’ll ask.”

“I wouldn’t have invested all this time in you if I didn’t see your talent, Brother Salvatore. One has to possess a certain frame of mind to slog through all the information to find clues. It takes years to even recognize that you have a clue. It isn’t easy. Your vocation within the Church will make it difficult. There will be long periods in between cases. But the longer you work with Chief Detective Morena and Detective Loria, the more they will value your input and include you in other cases.”

“So you don’t think I’ll have to choose between my life as a monk and my police work?”

“Your superiors in the Church might try to convince you otherwise, but you also have friends in the Church who will try to help you realize that God has given you special gifts—gifts that you have to develop and exercise if you ever want to solve cases often.”

“What about my colleagues here?
Brother Enrico has already complained to me and to the abbot that I don’t do my jobs here?”

“No, you have permissi
on to work on the case. Tell Brother Enrico that and trust your abbot. Don’t be a wuss, Brother Salvatore. It’s not about you. It’s about all those poor souls who didn’t get to fulfill their dreams on earth.”

Brother Salvatore smiled. “That was the first English word I learned, Sister. Someone called me a wuss, and I punched him in the nose.”

“Hopefully not here at the abbey. I’m leaving you my notebook. For heaven’s sake, please don’t lose it or let anyone else read it. Finish setting the tables and then go to bed. I need you strong tomorrow. We have much more to do. I’m going up to read my email. I haven’t received too many. Monte said he would send me a drawing of the pattern on the knife. You’re going to need that so you can see if it was stolen from the kitchen on the mountain. Hopefully Brother Bruno dropped by to look at my connection. I need to receive and print that out. I wonder if Father Sergio has sent me a note. He’s awfully quiet. Too quiet.”

The great piazza endured the drizzle of a winter rain. The old church was cold and silent, save the dripping of water that echoed through the empty nave. Together with her father, the bride draped her gown over her arm and carefully stepped up to the entrance. She smiled at him but got no response. With no music to time their steps, the father and daughter walked slowly up the aisle. But the bride did not hear silence. Her heart thumped the rhythm. She saw her love, standing in front of the altar. Fabri left Ciana beside him and walked back down the aisle to disappear in the shadows of the narthex.

Dante smiled, his straight white teeth spa
rkling. Ciana shivered. She dreamed of this day over and over. It was like he was greeting her into their home. She tried to listen to the priest, but barely saw him, her mind whirling. When the priest prompted her, she repeated the words the best she could but only looked at the man she loved. And then it was over. Through the empty nave, Dante lead her out the doors and onto the empty street.

They drove off to their new apartment
in a small village south of Rome. Dante maneuvered the car into a quiet side street. Under an umbrella, the two avoided the puddles and ducked into the front door of an unremarkable building. He led his bride up several flights of stairs to a tiny room on the fifth floor. Still in a dream, Ciana let him carry her to the bed, just inside the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her ear. “It’s all I could find. Did your father say anything?”

“Not a word. The last thing he said to me was at the announcement.”

“Then tomorrow morning, I’ll leave early and see if I can find a job. I used some of our savings to
fill the tank. I may have to find a company.”

“Why don’t you find something around here?”

“What could I do? This is farm country. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“What about one of the shops?”

“I’m not sure I could pay for this place with what I would be paid here. I was hoping to earn enough to make our child’s life worth it. And maybe you could go back to school. You were so close to finishing. That would be better.”

“
Perhaps. But first I have to make sure our baby is born. I can’t think about anything else now.”

Dante was gone for a week. When he returned, he found Ciana sipping the last of the soup she had made their wedding night.

“I have a bit of cash here. I’ll try to get to the store and buy some more supplies. Has your father’s company released my last paycheck?”

“Nothing yet, but let me call Pap
à.”

“No. We can do this o
n our own. I did attend Sunday Mass at the church. Father Valerio said that he might have a clerk position available. It isn’t enough to find a new place, but we’ll have food.”

“Look at your hands. What did you do for this money?”

“I took care of a farmer’s horses and slept in his stable. I fed them and brushed them.”

“Why did you come back?”

“Because I was fired when I told him that one of the horses needed more care. The horse was sick. The farmer shot it.”

“I’m so sorry, Dante. We shouldn’t have married.
Papà might have taken care of me if I hadn’t insisted on the wedding.”

Dante cradled her head on his chest. “We’ll be okay. I’ll take the job at the church until I can find a small electronics company somewhere. I already have
some names. Unfortunately, few around here need to hire anyone, especially another manager.”

“Good morning, Father
Valerio,” said Dante, after a month working with a budget and counting the money the small church brought in.

“You’re a Godsend, Russo,” said the vicar, a rotund man with little hair to comb. “I think you should come to the service on Sunday. The parishioners are interested in you, and it doesn’t look good when your ignore them.
”

Dante looked up at him.

“We will expect you at the eleven o’clock service. We have students at the seminary in Roma who also come to the services, and it would be good if you got to know them.”

Dante studied the middle-aged man. “You sound like you want our little church to be noticed, Father.
Do you have plans for this parish or yourself that I don’t know about?”

The priest smiled. “I can tell you we don’t want to be closed. We have to appear to be robust and the presence of young men and women coming to the services will
tell our bishop that we are thinking about survival.”

Dante pointed to the total of
income from the Sunday collection plate. “How do you explain this?”

“We are a poor town and even poorer church. I can’t assure our survival because we have to come up with new ways to promote ourselves.
Maybe you and the seminarians can talk about it over a drink before their return to the seminary. That would be nice.”

“I come from a business background, Father. Perhaps we can come up with some ideas. What do you want?”

“If you can bring in a younger crowd, perhaps people who are actually working, it would probably increase our income. I like how you think of the long term. If you and the student priests could help me more at the altar, we could put on a more splendid show of the Eucharist. I think people want to see the finery the Catholic Church offers, don’t you?”

“Do we have an organist?”

“We can’t afford an organist.”

“So we have little to work with.”

“Like you said, we’re thinking long term. What do you believe? Can you use your business background to draw in those students?”

“If you promise to use them, maybe.”

“Perhaps it would help if I got you more involved in the actual service too. I don’t know how much time you spent in church when you were a boy. Were you an altar boy?”

“No. I attende
d church but not regularly. I’m willing to learn—at least until I find a job that fits my background better.

“I’ll pray for you
, Russo.”