L'Oro Verde (18 page)

“What do you think of Gisella Lupoi?”
DiMarco asked.

“I think it’s none of my business. My
son is a man. He can marry whomever he chooses.”

“Then why is the ceremony a secret,
Vitali?”

“I admit I’m not proud of his choice.
They are both young. I worry that she and her family are after money. Don’t tell
me she was having an affair with Bernardo. I have my doubts about her, but that
isn’t one of them. She did like him as a friend, however. She even helped him
get a job.”

“She got him the job at Garibaldi’s?”
Sister Angela asked.

“I’m almost certain she did. I suppose
you thought that was my doing too. I find it difficult to believe you two also
think I murdered my own son.”

“You didn’t go to the funeral, Vittorio.
I saw your daughter but didn’t see you.”

“No. Nor was I at the cemetery. I didn’t
want to make Mr. and Mrs. Reni uncomfortable. It would have been intrusive.’

“But Nicola attended,” the nun said.

Vitali looked up. “She worked with him,
didn’t she?” His voice cracked.

Sister Angela heard it. Afraid the
suspect would break down, she glanced at DiMarco. The inspector did not seem to
have noticed.

“Is there anything else we need here? Do
you still require the DNA? He has already confessed to the illegal adoption.”

“Yes. We’ll need the DNA, Sister. But
I’ll wait outside if you wish to speak with him more. He can come to the
station sometime today or tomorrow morning, I suppose.”

The inspector stepped out onto the patio
and sat on the rim of the fountain. The nun watched him remove a cigarette, light
it, and inhale deeply. He had not smoked in months and told everyone he had
quit. But this interview had been more troublesome than he thought it would be.
Surely he did not want to break the man, especially since it sounded like he
was innocent. But Vittorio was clearly aware of more than he was sharing. And
what he knew, pointed to other suspects.

The nun placed her hand on Vittorio’s
shoulder. “You look troubled. I got the impression you already knew about everything
we told you today. Was any of it a surprise?”

The man put his hand over hers and
looked up into the kind woman’s eyes. His were brimming with tears.

“I didn’t know about Nicola. I didn’t
know she knew him,” he said, dropping his head and letting the tears stream
down the front of his shirt. “God forgive me, but I was too blind to protect
them. I let my own daughter unknowingly come in contact with her brother—all
because I was too proud to admit he wasn’t as broken as I thought and that we
should give him up. Thank God nothing happened—that they were just
acquaintances. I can still hear Mariella crying. She had to be sedated when the
nurses came in to take him away. She kept repeating that she blamed herself,
even years later.”

“Did she have an accident during the
pregnancy that would make her feel it was her fault?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I never asked
her what she meant. I was always stoic in order to give her strength. I never let
her know how much pain I was in too.”

“Would you like me to send your friend,
Father Sergio, to reassure you?”

Vitali looked up. Sister Angela thought
she saw something in his eyes. Was it pride?

“Or maybe I can check the rectory.
Perhaps Father Domenic has returned from his retreat.”

“That would be fine,” he said. “But if
he’s still away, I have my children here. I’m sure they’ll comfort me.”

Sister Angela closed the sliding door to
the patio and turned to fetch the inspector.

I’m not so sure, Vittorio
, she said to herself.
Unfortunately,
this makes Carlo the chief suspect.

The short trip back to the station was a
quiet one. Neither DiMarco nor Sister Angela wanted to talk. When they arrived,
DiMarco went for a cup of coffee, and the two sat down in the interrogation
room.

“You don’t think he’s guilty, do you?”
he asked.

“It depends. There were a few
inconsistencies.”

“So what do we have? He admitted to
being Bernardo’s father and confirmed that Carlo will marry Gisella on Saturday.”

“He says he left something to Bernardo,”
Sister Angela said. “If so, he didn’t plan to kill him.”

“But that doesn’t mean he didn’t do it
in a fit of rage.”

“Let’s talk about that. What would put
him into such a rage? What if Bernardo really did have an affair with Nicola
like the graffiti implied? Vittorio says he didn’t know about it if she did.”

“When did he say that?”

“After you left.”

“What about the theory that Bernardo had
an affair with Gisella?” DiMarco asked. “I don’t think Vitali would care. I
believe he would rather have seen her heading down the aisle with Bernardo.”

“If we both come to the same conclusion,
then he must be innocent of the murder. But I didn’t believe everything he told
us,” she said. “He pointed out that only a handful of people knew about the
arrangement. Word must have leaked out somehow.”

Inspector DiMarco began to write out a
list of those who probably knew about the switch at birth. The list was not long.
“Okay, I have Vittorio and Mariella Vitali, Giuseppe and Valeria Reni, the
Ferros, the Gianninis, and maybe some hospital employees.”

“Then there’s the person who helped
Vitali buy a casket, maybe someone at the graveyard and most likely Vittorio’s lawyer,”
she said, trying hard to think of anyone acquainted with the victim. “And don’t
forget Father Augustus or someone else at San Benedetto,” she said. “A church
official had to accept the infant for baptism without a birth certificate. That’s
rarely done.”

“Like the housekeeper?” he asked.

“Mrs. Torrisi? Possibly.”

“So let’s split up. Do you know where
Father Augustus lives now?”

“In a rest home for retired clergy in Petraggio.”

“I can drop you off if you would like.
Then I’ll visit Eduardo Adriano, Vitali’s lawyer, on the other side of town. Do
you want me to pick you up again?”

“No. I’ll get the bus back. Stefano
keeps asking me when I’m going to ride next,” she said. “But I’m not sure the
priest will remember anything about the baptism. The last I heard, his
condition was deteriorating.”

*

The block of single story apartments
where the inspector dropped her off was on the outskirts of town near the
turn-off for the A1. Sister Angela clutched a basket of bread and a bottle of
wine. She hobbled across the busy street and scanned the mailboxes for his
name. He was at home, or at least someone was. A young woman in a white uniform
came to the door.

“Good afternoon. My name is Sister
Angela from San Benedetto Church. I wonder if I could speak with Father Augustus.”

“Well, I’m not sure. We just got back
from a stroll, and he seems awfully tired,” she said politely.

Sister Angela could see his feet in
front of the television. She watched the nurse bend over him to adjust his
blanket.

“Come in, Sister. I’m not sure he’ll
remember you, but you can try,” she said, walking the nun into the small room. “Augustus,
look. Sister Angela has brought us a gift. I think we’ll save it for a little
later.”

Sister Angela was shocked. He looked so
small in his wheelchair. The bright blanket had been pulled up around his chest,
making his gaunt face appear even grayer.

“Hello, Father. I have come to give you
news from San Benedetto.”

The priest said nothing, staring blankly
at the nun’s face. She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.

“Father Domenic sends his regards,” she
said. “He has been away on a retreat, and I hear he’s looking quite fit. Do you
remember Father Sergio? He often speaks fondly of you. Sister Daniela and I
were cleaning out the basement of San Benedetto the other day. We found all
sorts of items that reminded us of you. The old potbelly stove is still
working. Do you remember the stove, Father?”

The old man smiled and placed a hand on
her knee. “We were straightening out that closet with the certificates in it,”
she continued, ignoring him. “Oh, what a mess it was. I’m surprised no one has
been in there recently. Anyway, we found some odd papers about the boy, Bernardo
Reni. You recall him, Father, don’t you? He was your altar boy for so long.”

“Yes. Bernardo,” he said, nodding his
head slowly. “Mariella said she didn’t have the right paperwork. She begged me
to make some up.”

“I think you mean Mrs. Reni, don’t you
father?”

“Ah yes, Valeria. What a beautiful girl
she was. She and Giuseppe were so much in love. I married them, you know.”

“And she wanted you to give the boy a
baptismal certificate even though she had no proof of birth.”

“I told her I couldn’t do that.”

“Then why was he baptized, and a certificate
included in the file?”

“Valeria went and got her friend,” he
said. “Mariella told me there had been a mix-up at the hospital. The wrong name
was on the birth certificate.” He paused to watch a commercial on the
television. “It would take weeks for them to straighten it out. I thought she
gave me a copy months later, didn’t she?” His brows were knitted, making him look
somewhat concerned.

“You mean that the certificate had the
names of Vittorio and Mariella on it instead of those of the Renis?”

“No. Bernardo was adopted so Valeria and
Giuseppe would never have their names on the birth certificate. Oh. That was a
secret. Please don’t tell anyone, Sister. I wasn’t supposed to tell the others about
it.” Agitated, he raised his arm limply to get his nurse’s attention.

“Oh no, Father. I already knew he was
adopted,” she said, trying to reassure him and quickly continuing. “But then
whose name was incorrect on the birth certificate? Why did Mariella need to
have it changed?”

“The certificate was wrong,” he snarled.
“Mariella said that Vittorio’s name was misspelled.”

The nurse came running into the room.
“Oh my, Sister, you’ll have to leave now. Father Augustus is very tired. I’m afraid
he’s a little cross today. I hope he hasn’t upset you.”

“No, he hasn’t,” the nun said,
hesitating. Sister Angela wished he would calm down so she could ask him more questions,
but he did not. “I hope you are well, Father,” she said, finally standing.
“Everyone sends their greetings. I can see myself out. Thank you.”

*

DiMarco waited nearly half an hour for
Eduardo Adriano to emerge from his office.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I was
on the phone. Please come right in,” he said, leading him through the doorway.
“Nina, hold my calls. What can I do for you today, Inspector?”

“As you are aware, Bernardo Reni was
murdered a few weeks ago,” DiMarco said, letting his eyes scan the room.

The office furnishings were exquisite,
the billowing curtains like tapestries, only in vivid shades. The carpet was the
color of red wine, and the desk, very old.

“Fifteenth century,” the lawyer
commented, undoubtedly noticing the inspector’s eyes grow large. “And the
chairs are French, fourteenth century, including the one you are sitting in.”

“The paintings look like the ones in the
Vatican. Are they valuable?”

“No, they’re copies,” he said. “I had to
take the originals down and put them away. You see, Inspector, I do think of security.
It makes both our jobs easier. Would you like some coffee?”

“No,” the inspector insisted.

“Yes. I’m aware of the death of Bernardo
Reni,” Adriano said. “In fact, Vittorio Vitali phoned me about an hour ago
wanting to update his will.”

The inspector smiled. “Had he called you
before this?”

“About the will? No. He hasn’t changed
anything for years.”

“Did you know Bernardo was the son of
Vittorio and Mariella Vitali?”

“Yes. I drew up the first will,” the
lawyer said. “It was about two years after the baby was given to the Renis.”

“And the paperwork for the adoption?”

“Ah, no. I’m afraid I wasn’t involved in
that.”

“Because it wouldn’t have been legal,”
the inspector said.

“Because I was never approached. I would
have made certain that it
was
legal had I been involved.”

“When did you find out Bernardo was
their son?”

“When I made up the will,” Adriano said.

“Do you have a copy of the birth certificate?”

“No. That wasn’t necessary. Vittorio’s
request to bequeath money or property to the boy didn’t require proof that the
boy was his.”

“Then why did he tell you?”

“As a courtesy, I suppose.”

“And who have you informed about the
circumstances surrounding the boy’s birth?”

“You surprise me, Inspector. I’m sure
you are aware that I can’t reveal that information to anyone. It’s classified,
as is the will.”

“Has anyone ever asked to see it?”

For the first time, the counselor looked
uncomfortable. “I don’t remember if anyone asked. I suppose it’s possible, but I
have so many clients it’s difficult to keep track of visitors I send away
disappointed.”

“I’m sure Nina keeps track of them for you,
counselor. Isn’t that the procedure?”

“That isn’t my procedure, Inspector. You
can ask her if you’d like, but she’s very vigilant about keeping secrets. That’s
why I hired her. I don’t think she’ll tell you anything.”

“Thank you, sir. I suppose my visit is
over.”

“May I give you a piece of legal advice,
Inspector DiMarco?” Adriano said, standing to accompany the inspector to the
door. “Next time you come, you might want to have instructions from the court
first. That way I know you are on more than a fishing expedition.”

*

Sister Angela got to the bus just as it
was starting to pull out of the stop. She rapped on the door. “Oh sorry,
Sister,” Stefano said. “I didn’t see you.”

The nun fell into the seat directly
behind the driver. “Thank you, Stefano. I don’t know what I would have done had
I missed this bus,” she said, still out of breath. “I ran all the way from the
retirement home where Father Augustus lives.”

“Is he well?”

“He was able to talk to me, although he
sometimes got confused.”

“Yes, I remember Father Augustus. He
baptized two of my children. Such a nice man,” he said, smoothly pulling the
bus into traffic and accelerating. “I remember driving you to L’Oro Verde on
Sunday. Did you enjoy the party, Sister?”

“Yes. Carlo took me on a tour of the
orchards. It was beautiful.”

“I once knew the Vitalis pretty well,”
he said. “That was when I worked for Mr. Garibaldi.”

The nun’s ears perked up. “What did you
do for Mr. Garibaldi?”

“I was his chauffeur for five years.
Then I met my wife and decided that I needed to get another apartment. That’s when
I got this job.”

“When was that?”

“About twenty to twenty-five years ago
now. Time goes by so fast, no?” He sped up as they drove through the straightaway.

“I agree. Mrs. Vitali was having a hard time
then,” Sister Angela said. “Had you heard about that?”

“You mean the miscarriage? Oh yes. I was
there.”

“It was in Bologna, wasn’t it?” The
nun’s heart raced.

“Yes, Santa Teresa Hospital. It was very
sad. Mr. Garibaldi was such a help, you know.”

“Did he assist with the burial?”

“Yes. Poor Mr. Vitali was in such a
state. I drove Mr. Garibaldi and him to get a casket, and Mr. Garibaldi helped him
again when Mr. Vitali had to sign all the papers to get the body buried at the
cemetery.”

“San Felipe Cemetery?”

“Yes. That was it,” he said, adjusting
the mirror.

“I was unaware that Mr. Garibaldi knew
the Vitali family personally,” she said. “Did he go to L’Oro Verde often?”

“No. Not with me, anyway. Maybe we went
once or twice for business.”

“Then how did he know to go to Bologna
because Mrs. Vitali was in labor?”

“Someone called the house, I think.
Elena was working for Mrs. Vitali when I worked for Mr. Garibaldi. Ah yes, Elena—quite
a woman. I would have married her if she had noticed me. I think she eventually
ran off to Napoli with the gardener.”

“Someone called the house and…”

“Someone called Elena, or at least she
picked up the phone,” he said. “She called Mr. Garibaldi at work and told him
to go to Santa Teresa Hospital. He was very agitated, you know. He kept telling
me to hurry. I had never seen him that way,” he said, leaning forward to open
the door. “This is the last stop, Sister, unless you want me to take you back
to Petraggio. Time goes fast when we talk. I like it when I have somebody to
talk to.”