Il Pane Della Vita (15 page)

“Yes, but the cameras at the back had been knocked out by
the explosion. I only have video of the door from the chapel.”

The nun leaned into Loria’s ear and asked if there was water for the witnesses. He rose and went to retrieve some.

“You called it either a kidnapping or an ascension a few questions ago. If you didn’t see anything, why did you call the incident that, Mr. Bauer?” asked Sister Angela.

“I heard it from the other
eremiti
.”

“What did you hear? Please be specific.”

“One of the brothers said that was what it looked like.”

“Which one did it look like?”

“An ascension.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Was it Brother Donato or Brother Orsino
?”

“I don’t think so. It might have been one of the servers.”

“And why did you call it a kidnapping?”

“Because I talked to some of the police that night and was told they couldn’t find a body.”

“Is this the first incident in which you’ve been involved as long as you’ve been a security guard?” asked Morena.

“No.”

“What was the other incident and when did it happen?”

“When I was at the bank, there was a robbery. The culprits had guns and made us lie on the floor.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No.”

“And were they caught?” asked the nun.

“Yes. They
were identified using the bank camera shots as part of the evidence.”

“Did you testify at the trial?”

“Yes. They’re both in prison. Sister, as I said. We shot all of the action as long as the cameras were working. The police have access to the videos. Perhaps they can find something on them. I can’t.”

“Is that all?” asked Morena. “Does anyone else have any questions?”

Loria poured each guard and their lawyer a glass of water. Sister Angela watched Mancini throughout the questioning. Not once had the lawyer looked up from his phone below the edge of the table. What was he doing? Texting? Were the questions that boring?

“I have a question,” said Loria. “
You two have theories about the bomb and also how the gas leaked into the cottage, don’t you? Are you saying that Brother Pietro set it up himself?”

“Not at all,” said Costa. “We’re just as interested in finding out how this was done. The experience is very helpful to securing places like this in the future. It’s just that we had eyes on the whole perimeter until the explosion. We saw the monks go into and out of the church and watched them open the gate and go to their cottages…”

“Then you possessed the video that shows Brother Pietro going to his cottage and enter it,” Sister Angela said, interrupting.

“Pres
umably we do,” said Costa. “We’re anxious to see if the video shows us what you want to see.”

“Thanks you, Mr. Costa, Mr. Bauer. We expect the tapes at the station later this afternoon,” said Mancini.

Sister Angela followed the chief detective to his office.

“Mr. Loria can return you to the monastery now, if you want.”

She leaned against the door frame. “Yes, please. I hope I didn’t take over in there. I have a tendency to be full of questions.”

“You were very professional, Sister. You asked what needed to be asked.”

“But I have one request of you. Do you have an artist who works with you?”

“Why?
”

“Even though I don’t possess a list of visitors, several witnesses have pointed out that a woman often visited the hermit at his cell. I thought it might be a good idea to send the artist to the hermitage to talk to those witnesses and get sketches of the woman they saw.”

“Do you know who those witnesses were?”

“I don’t know them all, but I jotted a couple down on a piece of notepaper.” She dug deep into her pockets and finally presented the notepaper to the chief detective. “Perhaps we’ll be able to id
entify her. If she visited often enough and no one questioned her being there, perhaps she was able to add the few items to the brother’s cottage without anyone noticing.”

“I’m not sure she would have stuck around, Sister, but we have very little evidence to help us find the culprit
. If nothing else, she might give us a glimpse into what the brother had been planning.”

Sister Angela relaxed and rested her head on the pillow. She had made it so far. It was a whole day. The first stop would be in Florence. Bassi picked her up before breakfast and drove her to the station in Avalle. She inhaled the fumes as the train pulled out of the station in Avalle, and the familiar clickety-clack of the wheels soon picked up speed. In Florence she would transfer to the Trenitalia to Rome. That excited her. She had not been on a high-speed train before. In Rome, she would transfer back to a regional train toward the east to Pescara—the location Father Sergio had emailed her the night before.

The train arrived in Pescara in the late afternoon. Exhausted, the nun made her way to the information booth and asked how she could get to the cathedral.
Glancing at her watch, she knew she would have to hurry to get to the offices before closing time.

The city bus dropped her off in front of the cathe
dral. Sister Angela did not slow down. She had little time to get to the Archbishop’s office. A security guard showed her the entry, and winded, she entered a finely decorated lobby.

“How can I help you?” asked a woman at a desk along the back wall.”

“I’m Sister Angela from Montriano. The archbishop is expecting me.”

“Please sit down.”

No sooner had she made herself comfortable than a young priest walked toward her.

“
Good afternoon, Sister. My name is Father Torre. The archbishop asked me to see what I could do to help you.” He sat down beside her.

“Good afternoon, Father. I’m here as a detective for the diocese of Firenze. There has been an incident in the Santo Velo monastery, and I’m investigating it. One of hermits there seems to have changed his name when he entered the hermitage.”

“Yes, that’s common.”

“His former name was Father Teo.”

“The name was raised by the archbishop who was informed you were coming. Please bear in mind that the archbishop is new. His predecessor, Bishop Emeritus Trombetta is in his summer house in Otessi. The actual transfer was made by his office, but I’m not sure he would remember it because the transfer was made at least twenty years ago.”

“And Father Teo’s parish?”

“It was San Mattia in Salvi.”

The nun began to stand. The priest put his hand on her arms, and she sat down again.

“We aren’t trying to be evasive. The new Church laws require we keep better records of the careers of our priests, but alas, we didn’t do that for anything over ten years ago.”

“
How do I get to Salvi?”

“There are buses to all the towns and villages around here.”

“Are we sure this is the same Father Teo that became a monk in the mountains above Avalle?”

“We did
n’t find that name. I don’t know how your bishop found it. I can’t guarantee that this is the one. Do you have a picture of the monk with you?”

“No. I didn’t thin
k I would need that. I can request one and inform you by email.”

“It’
s late, Sister. Why don’t we find a place for you to stay? We have a convent, Suore di Santa Rita, nearby. Perhaps we can find a bed there.”

“I’m not sure I have enough funds with me.” She wriggled in her seat, embarrassed that she had to mention it. Father Sergio should have provided her with the necessary cash.

“This convent isn’t open to the public, Sister Angela. We house women there when we do business with them. The nuns will be excited that they have such an noted guest. A nun detective is a rarity here in Italy. I hope you have enough funds for the bus fares.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, relieved and tired.

The sky was blue and the sea breezes glorious as the nun boarded the bus for Otessi. Sister Angela would visit the bishop emeritus first, though she doubted he could help her. When she arrived, she saw that the little town would be easy to navigate. Otessi was a hill town like Montriano. She walked into a small grocery store and asked the clerk about directions to the address. The buildings were tall and straight, almost leaning against the side of the hill. The church was farther up the top of the hill like a star atop the Christmas tree. It glittered in the sun.

His building was
rundown, the outside paint peeling to reveal a brick base, but wrought-iron balconies made the place look quaint. She hiked up the front steps and looked for his name next to the doorbells. A woman answered her buzz.

“Hello,” the nun
said. “I’m looking for Bishop Emeritus Trombetta. Does he live here?”

The door bu
zzed, and the nun walked into an enclosure with a running fountain in the middle of the tile floor.

“Up here,” called
the woman from the third floor.

Sister Angela glanced around for the elevator, but there was none. Frowning, she started up the stairs.

“I have cold water for you,” she told the nun. “I’m his friend, Mrs. Corti. Bishop Trombetta is on the balcony in back. He can’t really see you and is hard of hearing.”

The old woman tottered out the back door. “Father, this is… Who are you?”

“Your Excellency, I’m Sister Angela from Montriano.”

“Oh?” he said, holding his glass of juice up for Mrs. Corti to refill. “You are who?”

The nun saw right away that this might be a problem. The courtyard was enclosed on all sides by other apartments, and her voice echoed as s
he tried to speak loud enough. “Sister Angela.”

“Are you a nun?”

“Yes, Your Excellency. It’s so nice out here on the balcony.”

“Speak up.”

Mrs. Corti brought out the water and juice and placed them on a little table beside the old man. The nun took a sip and was thankful. “Mrs. Corti, how long have you known the bishop?”

“Years and years. I was his housekeeper when he was a priest.”

“When did you marry?”

“He
married my husband and me before he became a bishop, but I still worked for him. My husband has been dead fifteen years now so I have more time to nurse Bishop Trombetta.”

“If you were with the him
when he was a bishop, then you might know of a Father Teo.”

The old woman scrunched up her eyes as she thought. “No. I don’t remember him.”

“He was assigned to San Mattia in Salvi.”

“I can’t even remember my husband’s first name half the time. How do you expect me to remember one of the dozens of priests in the churches of the archdiocese?”

The nun smiled. “I understand. What about the bishop? Do you think he would remember?”

“I don’t know. Last week, his niece came for a visit. I told him she was coming and made a cake for the occasion. He told her he was not hearing confessions today and asked her to come back on Saturday.”

“I see. Perhaps it would be best if I let myself out. Thanks for the water. It hit the spot.”

Exhausted,
Sister Angela returned to the convent where the other nuns had prepared a wonderful meal for her.

“What are you investigating?” asked Sister Ines, stirring sauce in a large pot.

“I am trying to find out more about a local priest. His name was Father Teo, and I believe he was a parish priest in Salvi maybe twenty or so years ago.”

“Sister Nella was from Salvi, I think. You should ask her about this priest.”

“Will Sister Nella be here for dinner?”

“Yes.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“No, dinner will be in a half hour. You might want to freshen up in your room.
”