The Lost Girls of Rome (30 page)

‘Do you get to see her often?’

Schalber’s face clouded over. ‘She lives in Vienna. I’m not on good terms with her mother, who resents the fact that I wouldn’t marry her.’ He laughed. ‘But whenever I get the time, I go and see Maria and take her riding. I’m teaching her to ride, the way my father taught me when I was her age.’

‘That’s very good of you.’

‘Every time I go to see her, I’m scared it won’t be the same. That during my absence, our relationship will have cooled. Maybe she’s still too young now, but what’ll happen when she wants to go out with her friends? I don’t want to become a burden to her.’

‘I don’t think that’ll happen,’ Sandra said. ‘Daughters usually reserve that treatment for their mothers. My sister and I were crazy about our father, even though his work often took him away. In fact, that was probably why we doted on him. Whenever we knew he was coming home, there was this really happy atmosphere in the house.’

Schalber nodded, grateful for the reassurance. Sandra stood up and gathered the plates, ready to put them in the dishwasher. He stopped her. ‘Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll clear up.’

‘If we do it together it’ll only take a moment.’

‘Please, I insist.’

Sandra stopped. All this attention made her uncomfortable. She’d got out of the habit of having someone take care of her. ‘When you called me on the phone, I immediately hated you. I could never have imagined that two nights later we’d actually be having dinner together, let alone that you’d cook for me.’

‘Does that mean you don’t hate me any more?’

Sandra turned red with embarrassment. He burst out laughing.

‘Don’t joke with me, Schalber.’

He raised his hands in surrender. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

At that moment, he seemed genuinely sincere, and a very long way from the disagreeable image she’d had of him. ‘Why are you so keen to stop the penitenzieri?’

Schalber turned serious. ‘Don’t make that mistake, not you too.’

‘What do you mean, “you, too”?’

He seemed to regret having expressed himself badly, and tried to correct it. ‘I’ve already explained: what they’re doing is against the law.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t buy that. There’s more to it, isn’t there?’

From the way he hesitated, she knew that the stuff he’d told her about the penitenzieri that morning was only part of the story.

‘All right … It isn’t much of a revelation, but I think what I’m about to tell you might explain why your husband died.’

Sandra stiffened. ‘Go on.’

‘The fact is, the penitenzieri shouldn’t exist any more. After Vatican II, the Church disbanded their order. In the 1960s, the
Paenitentiaria Apostolica
was reorganised with new rules and new people in charge. The archive of sins was marked as confidential, and the priest-criminologists were told to put a halt to their activities. Some went back into the ranks, others objected and were suspended
a divinis
. Those who refused outright were excommunicated.’

‘So how is it possible that—’

‘Wait, let me finish,’ Schalber interrupted her. ‘Just when history seemed to have forgotten them, the penitenzieri reappeared. It happened a few years ago, which made some people in the Vatican suspect that many of them had simply feigned obedience to the Pope’s dictates while continuing their work covertly. And it was true. At the head of this closed group was a simple Croatian priest: Luka Devok. It was he who ordained and taught the new penitenzieri. It’s possible that he in his turn answered to somebody in the upper echelons of the Church who had decided to reconstruct the penitenzieri. In any case, he was the sole depository of a great many secrets. For example, Devok was the only person who knew the identities of all the penitenzieri. Everyone answered to him alone, and they had no idea who the others were.’

‘Why do you talk of him in the past tense?’

‘Because Luka Devok is dead. He was shot in a hotel room in Prague about a year ago. That was when the truth came out. The Vatican stepped in to put an end to a situation that might have become a serious embarrassment.’

‘I’m not surprised: there’s nothing the Church hates more than scandal.’

‘It wasn’t just that. The mere idea that someone high up in the Church had covered for Devok all those years frightened a lot of people. Disobeying a Papal order is tantamount to creating an irreconcilable schism.’

‘So how did they regain control of the situation?’

‘Well done,’ Schalber said. ‘I see you’re starting to understand how these things work. They immediately replaced Devok with someone they trusted, a Portuguese priest named Augusto Clemente. He’s very young but very good. The penitenzieri are all Dominicans, whereas Clemente is a Jesuit. The Jesuits are much more pragmatic and less inclined to sentimentality.’

‘So this Father Clemente is the new head of the penitenzieri?’

‘His task is to track down all the penitenzieri ordained by Father Devok and bring them back to the Church. So far, he’s discovered only one: the man you saw in San Luigi dei Francesi.’

‘So the ultimate aim of the Vatican is to pretend that there hasn’t been any violation of the rules?’

‘Precisely. They always try to heal any splits. Look at the followers of Archbishop Lefebvre, who’ve been negotiating for years to be allowed back into the mainstream of the Church. The same holds true for the penitenzieri.’

‘The duty of a good shepherd is not to abandon the stray sheep and try to bring it back to the fold,’ Sandra said ironically. ‘But how do you know all these things?’

‘The same way David did. But we had different visions, that’s why we quarrelled. When I asked you to not make the same mistake, not to think of the penitenzieri too leniently, I was referring to what David thought.’

‘Why makes you right and David wrong?’

‘Someone killed him because of what he had discovered, whereas I’m still alive.’

This wasn’t the first time Schalber had said something disrespectful about her husband, but Sandra had to admit that it was the truth. His version of the facts was convincing. She couldn’t help feeling guilty. This lovely evening had helped to relieve the tension, and it was thanks to Schalber. Not only had he opened up to her about his personal life, he had also answered her questions without asking anything in return. She, on the other hand, had lied to him, omitting to mention her second encounter with the priest.

‘How come you never asked me why it took me so long to come back here after seeing Zini?’

‘I told you, I don’t like liars.’

‘Were you afraid I wouldn’t tell you the truth?’

‘Questions give liars an excuse to lie. If you’d had anything to tell me, you would have done so of your own accord. I don’t like forcing things, I prefer you to trust me.’

Sandra looked away. She walked to the dishwasher and turned on the tap. The sound of the water running filled the room. For a moment she was tempted to tell him everything. Schalber was a few steps behind her. As she got ready to wash the dishes, she became aware of him coming closer, casting his protective shadow over her.
Then he put his hands on her sides and moved even closer so that his chest touched her back. Sandra let him. Her heart was pounding and she had the temptation to close her eyes. If I close them it’s over, she said to herself. She was scared, but she couldn’t summon the strength to push him away. He leaned over her and moved her hair away from her neck. She felt the warmth of his breath on her skin. Instinctively, she tilted her head back, as if to welcome that embrace. Her hands were motionless under the jet of water. Without realising it, she raised herself slightly on tiptoe. Her eyelids yielded to a gentle lethargy. With her eyes closed, and her body quivering, she leaned in to him, searching for his lips.

Over the last five months, she had lived with memories.

Now, for the first time, Sandra forgot she was a widow.

11.24 p.m.

The door of the house was open and banging. Not a good sign.

He put on his rubber gloves and pushed open the door. Zini’s cats came to greet their new visitor. Marcus understood why the blind ex-policeman had chosen cats to keep him company.

They were the only animals who could live with him in darkness.

He closed the door behind him, shutting out the storm. After all that noise, he expected silence. Instead, he heard a shrill, intermittent electronic sound, somewhere close by.

He went further in, following the sound. After a few steps, he saw a cordless telephone, standing on its base, next to the refrigerator. That was where the signal was coming from, an indication that the battery was running out.

The same telephone had rung unanswered when he had called Zini’s number from Federico Noni’s house. But it wasn’t its constant ringing that had exhausted the battery: somebody had cut off the current.

What reason did Figaro have to turn the lights out in a blind man’s house?

‘Zini!’ Marcus called. But there was no answer.

He advanced along the corridor that led to the other rooms. He was forced to take out his torch. As soon as he lit it, he saw that there were some items of furniture barring the way, as if someone had put them there while trying to run away.

Had there been a chase?

He tried to reconstruct what had happened. Blindness had opened Pietro Zini’s eyes: he had understood. It had been the anonymous email that had put him on the right track, perhaps reviving an old suspicion.

He is not like you.

The body at the Villa Glori had provided confirmation of that. So he had phoned Federico Noni. Perhaps there had been an argument, and Zini had threatened to turn him in.

Why hadn’t he done so? Why had he given him the time to come there and kill him?

Zini had tried to escape, but obviously Federico – who, as a former athlete, was not only stronger, but also, and above all, sighted – hadn’t let him get away.

Marcus knew for certain that someone had died here.

Preceded by the cats, he headed for the study. He was about to go in when he noticed that the cats all gave a little jump as they entered the room. He aimed the torch and saw something shining a few inches from the floor.

It was a nylon cable stretched across the doorway. Only the cats could see it in the dark.

He had no idea why that obstacle was there. He stepped over it and entered the room.

The wind was blowing hard outside the house, looking for a crack through which to enter. As Marcus moved the torch around the study, the shadows danced. All except one.

But it wasn’t a shadow. It was a man lying on the floor with a pair of scissors in one hand and another pair planted in his neck. One cheek lay in a pool of dark blood. Marcus bent over Federico Noni, who stared up at him with lifeless eyes, his mouth twisted in a grimace. Suddenly he realised what had really happened within these walls.

Zini – a man of justice – had chosen revenge.

It was Zini who had insisted on Marcus meeting the policewoman. While they had been at the Museum of Purgatory, Zini had taken advantage of their absence to put his plan into operation. He had telephoned Federico Noni and told him that he knew the truth. But it was basically an invitation. And Federico had fallen for it.

While waiting for him to arrive, Zini had prepared obstacles, including the nylon cable. By cutting off the electricity he had put them both on an equal footing. Neither would be able to see the other.

Zini had acted like a cat. And Federico had been the mouse.

Zini was bigger and more capable in the dark. He knew the place, he knew how to move about in it. In the end, the advantage had been his. Federico had tripped over the cable, and Zini had plunged the scissors into him. It was a kind of retaliation.

An execution.

Marcus stood for a while longer looking at the corpse’s hypnotic gaze. He had made another mistake. Once again he had been the one to provide the missing piece of the puzzle, leading to an act of revenge.

He turned and looked back, but realised that the cats had gathered in front of the French window that led to the little garden.

There was something outside.

He opened the window wide and the wind rushed into the room. The cats ran to the deckchair on which Pietro Zini was sitting, just as he had been the first time Marcus had met him.

Marcus aimed his torch at the absent eyes. He wasn’t wearing his dark glasses. He had one hand in his lap, still clutching the gun with which he had shot himself in the mouth.

He should have been angry with Zini. The man had used him, had led him on a wild goose chase.

Federico Noni has already suffered enough. Years ago he lost the use of his legs. Becoming blind at my age is a blow you can learn to accept, but losing the use of your legs when you’re a young athlete! Then his sister was brutally murdered, practically in front of his eyes. Can you even imagine something like that? Think how powerless he must have
felt, think of the guilt he must still feel, even though he didn’t do anything wrong.

The ex-policeman could have turned Federico Noni in, established the truth, released the innocent man imprisoned in Regina Coeli. But Zini was convinced that Nicola Costa had been on the verge of taking a fatal step when they had arrested him. He wasn’t just a compulsive liar, he was a dangerous psychopath. The attention he had received since his arrest had appeased his instinct for the moment. But when you came down to it, it was merely a palliative. There were several sides to his character. The narcissistic side would eventually lose out to the homicidal side.

And for Zini it was also a matter of pride. Federico Noni had played with him, striking him in his weak spot. Because of his own imminent blindness, Zini had felt empathy with the young man. It had been his compassion that had led him astray. He had forgotten the first rule of every policeman: never believe anyone.

In addition, Federico had committed the most outrageous of crimes by killing his own sister. What kind of creature strikes his own nearest and dearest? The young man would stop at nothing. That was why, according to Zini’s law, he deserved to die.