The Sect of Angels Page 12

  “So, then, Captain, shall we add things up? All of these pregnant girls assiduously frequented their respective churches. The only men they ever met with face to face were their priests. So, what’s in the cavagna?”

  “What is a cavagna?”

  “It’s a small wicker basket shaped like a cannolo but closed at one end, whose only purpose is to contain a small amout of ricotta cheese. So let’s try again, Captain. What’s in the cavagna?”

  “Ricotta,” Montagnet replied through clenched teeth.

  “So we agree,” said Teresi. “But we have no proof.”

  “But there is something we could do, just to get started,” said the captain. “The overseer’s daughter is also two months pregnant, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like the other three.”

  “Have you questioned the fourth girl as well?”

  “No. She’s a legal adult. The matter is out of my hands. And I can’t tell you her name. But there is a very specific question we must ask: What happened in the churches of Palizzolo two months ago?”

  “If we could only find out . . . ”

  Montagnet had an idea. He got up, opened the door, and went out. He returned five minutes later.

  “I’ve just spoken with Marshal Sciabbarrà.”

  “Is he going to conduct an investigation?”

  “Unofficially. A sort of home-cooked investigation. His wife is very devout and goes to church every day.”

  “I’m sorry, Captain, but if his wife is so devout, maybe she’s not the right person for the task.”

  “No, I think she’s fine. She’s fifty years old and she’s . . . not very attractive.”

  “Let’s assume the woman tells us what happened. Surely she will not have been present when it happened. So we will have an additional element, but still no concrete proof.”

  “That’s true. But I don’t think it’s going to be so easy to find any concrete proof.”

  “So we’ll have nothing to show for our efforts.”

  “Perhaps we should do something to alarm the culprits and then await their next move. Know what I mean?”

  “Perfectly. But what can we do to alarm them?”

  Montagnet gave a sly smile.

  “You’re a journalist, aren’t you?”

  “Wait a second. If I write what’s really been happening I’ll be hit with at least eight or nine lawsuits for libel.”

  “But who ever said you should write what’s really been happening? It’s up to you and your skill to hint, make allusions, let it be surmised that . . . You journalists are masters at that sort of thing. The point is to set the alarm bells ringing, that’s all.”

  This was also true. There was a knock at the door, and Marshal Sciabbarrà came in and gave a military salute. Only the captain asked questions.

  “Did you speak with your wife?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “She said she’d heard mention, but she couldn’t remember by whom, that there’d been a select gathering at the Benedictine convent, which has been empty for the past year.”

  “Did this event take place two months ago?”

  “More or less.”

  “What was its purpose?”

  “It was a kind of award given to the most devout women of the parish.”

  “What did it involve?”

  “A half day of spiritual exercises conducted by the priests from the parishes in town.”

  “And did the priests have the convent reopened for the specific purpose of this gathering?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you tell me anything else?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Forgive me, but I must ask you a personal question, Marshal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How is it that your wife, who seems to me an extremely devout woman, wasn’t invited to this gathering?”

  “The gathering was limited to young women only, married and unmarried, between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five.”

  2A Sicilian saying, the literal translation of which is: “Bend, reed, until the spate passes.” It means, basically, “give in to adverse cirumstances while awaiting better times.”

  3Is there no third possibility? (Lat. loc.)

  CHAPTER X

  THE LAWYER LAYS A TRAP

  Teresi left the station well after Vespers had rung, and headed for Piazza Garibaldi, where the church of San Cono stood. When he got there the church door was already locked. He looked at his watch: almost seven o’clock. It was just then starting to get dark. The parish priest, Don Filiberto Cusa, had told the captain that Rosalia arrived just as he was closing up, and that she’d left just after confessing herself. Calculating that she’d taken half an hour to tell the priest what Salamone the brigand had done to her, it must still have been light outside when she came out. This made it unlikely she’d run into any troublemakers, as the captain had conjectured. That wasn’t yet the hour for troublemakers to come out on the street. There were still too many people about at that time of day; all those who had fled because of the cholera scare were returning. The house of Giallonardo the notary was barely fifty yards away.

  The grocery shop directly opposite the church was still open, and a man, perhaps the owner, was sitting on a wicker chair right beside the entrance . . .

  Perhaps he was also there the same accursed evening Rosalia went into the church? There was no harm in asking. He had nothing to lose. The sign over the shop entrance said: GERARDO PACE GROCER.

  “Good evening, Signor Pace.”

  “Good evening,” the man replied, looking confused.

  There was nobody inside the store. On the counter Teresi saw three or four rounds of tumazzo and other cheeses, including a caciocavallo. It must have been a house specialty.

  “I’m looking for some caciocavallo di Ragusa. My good friend Giallonardo, the notary, just told me you might have some.”

  The man stood up. He was fat and sweaty.

  “Of course I’ve got some. I’m the only person in town who’s got it.”

  He went into the store, with Teresi following behind.

  “How much would you like?”

  It was best to get on his good side.

  “A whole round, if that’s all right.”

  Gerardo Pace’s eyes glistened. He probably didn’t do a great deal of business. Clearly this lone sale would make up for the whole day.

  As the grocer was weighing the cheese, Teresi was racking his brains trying to figure out a way to broach the subject. But then Gerardo Pace asked him a question that took him by surprise.

  “Do you know if there’s any news about Rosalia?”

  Since Teresi had said he was a close friend of the notary, it only stood to reason that . . .

  “I’m very fond of that girl,” the shopowner continued. “She does all her food shopping here. What do they say at the hospital?”

  “They’re not saying anything yet.”

  “I knew it was probably something serious! I walked her back to the notary’s house after I saw her come out of the church.”

  “You saw her come out of the church in front?”

  “She didn’t really come out of the front door, but out the little door to the side, the one that leads to the sacristy. And, believe me, the girl couldn’t stand up! And she wouldn’t talk. I asked her over and over: ‘What’s wrong, Rosalì?’ And she’d say nothing! Poor kid, I felt so bad for her!”

  “Do you remember what time it was?”

  “It was probably round eight-twenty, something like that, ’cause I always close at eight-thirty, and I remember that after I walked her home, I came back here and closed up. Will you be needing anything else?”

  “Yes,” Teresi said on impu
lse. “Another whole round, this time of sweet provolone. And give me that leg of prosciutto as well.”

  “But how are you going to carry all this stuff? Want me to help you carry it home?”

  Signor Pace would have attracted more attention than a brass band, walking him home with so much food.

  “Tell you what. Please wrap it all up for me, I’ll pay for it, and tomorrow morning my nephew will drop by and pick it all up. But tell me something. Where does Don Filiberto Cusa live?”

  “He’s got three rooms above the sacristy. There’s a wooden staircase leading straight up there from the sacristy.”

  *

  “Do you know Don Filiberto Cusa?” Teresi asked Stefano as they were eating with Luigino, who by now was getting up out of bed whenever he felt like it. Dr. Palumbo had said that he could go home to Salsetto in two days’ time.

  “No. He doesn’t know me and I don’t know him. Who is he?”

  “The priest of San Cono parish. Do you know at least where the church is?”

  “Yes, that I know.”

  “Good. Do you have a piece of black cloth?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Cut a strip of it and sew it onto the left sleeve of your jacket.”

  “Mourning?”

  “Yes indeed. And if you have a black tie, put that on, too.”

  “So I’m in mourning.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “So who died?”

  “Your cousin, Rosalia Pampina, the daughter of your mother’s sister. She killed herself while she was staying at the hospital.”

  “Why’d the poor thing kill herself?”

  Teresi told him everything about the girl, and even told him about the talk he’d had with the grocer.

  “What Pace told me confirms the captain’s and my suspicions. Rosalia suffered two sexual aggressions: first at the hands of the brigand Salamone, and second, at the hands of Patre Filiberto Cusa.”

  “Inside the church?” asked Stefano, who couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

  “I found out that you can go upstairs to the priest’s apartment directly from the sacristy. He must have taken her home.”

  “And what do you want me to say to the priest, all dressed up in mourning?”

  “I want you to wait for him to finish saying the Mass, then go into the sacristy and, observing him very carefully, tell him that Rosalia killed herself. Once he’s swallowed this news, you must tell him you want to talk to him in private, in a safe place, because you have something important to tell him. Try to get him to take you upstairs to his apartment. Then, when you’re alone, you’ll reveal to him that the night before she threw herself out the window, Rosalia talked to you and told you everything. And say there was also a nurse present.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then you’ll blackmail him. You’ll say that, for starters, he must give you two thousand lire.”

  “And what if the guy’s innocent and calls the carabinieri?”

  “He won’t, rest assured. If, at any rate, that were to happen, I’ll explain the whole thing to Captain Montagnet.”

  At this point Luigino, who hadn’t uttered a word throughout, said:

  “I want to go with Stefano.”

  “And who will you be?”

  “I’ll be the nurse who heard what Rosalia said to her cousin. I’ll be Stefano’s accomplice. That way it’ll all be more believable, I’m sure of it.”

  “All right,” Teresi consented.

  “And at what time should we go to the church?”

  “At six in the morning, for the first Mass.”

  “Shit, why so early?”

  “Because it’s dangerous, Stefano. If, for example, Signora Giallonardo in the meantime goes and tells the priest that Rosalia is dead, we’re screwed. Ah, and since there’ll be two of you, there’s a grocery shop right in front of the church, and I want you go there to pick up a round of caciocavallo and another of provolone, and a leg of prosciutto.”

  *

  At a quarter to six the following morning, the two young men left the house to go to church. Teresi accompanied them to an appointed intersection. He was too nervous to sit tight at home waiting for them; it would have driven him crazy.

  He went to the Burruano pastry shop and scarfed down three ricotta cannoli fresh out of the oven. In fact he’d wanted to eat only one, but the aroma was so heavenly he couldn’t resist. When he came back out he had the feeling that if someone stuck a finger down his throat, they would touch the creamy ricotta with which he’d filled his stomach.

  If I don’t drink some coffee right away, I’m going to get heartburn so bad it’ll kill me, he thought.

  But all the cafés in town were still closed at that hour. He had no choice but to go home and make his own coffee. When he was done, he fired up a cigar and started wondering whether or not he should inform Montagnet of the trap he’d set for Don Filiberto. But he came to the conclusion that it would be best to talk to him afterwards and present him with a fait accompli. It was ninety-nine percent certain he wouldn’t agree with the idea; he would say it was illegal.

  But Teresi couldn’t stay at home. He felt like he was suffocating. He glanced at his watch. An hour had gone by without him even noticing. He decided to leave, and as soon as he was out the door, he saw Stefano and Luigino at the far end of the street, returning home. He went back inside and, feeling his throat parched, drank a glass of water.

  “It’s done!” Stefano cried out loudly.

  It was all Teresi could do not to start dancing.

  “Did he give you the money?”

  “No, Zio. He didn’t have that much, which makes perfect sense. He said to come back later, around one, and he would have it for us.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  Stefano did the talking.

  “When the priest went into the sacristy, we followed him and approached him just as he was taking off his vestments. As soon as he saw us he said: ‘If this is going to take a while, please come back in an hour. I have to give last rites to a dying man.’ I replied that it wouldn’t take but a minute. ‘Then go ahead and speak,’ he said. But with a glance I let him understand that I didn’t want to talk in front of the sacristan. He immediately got my message and ordered him to leave. As soon as it was just the three of us, I simply said: ‘Rosalia killed herself.’ He didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask when or where. Nothing. I got the impression he already knew. He leaned against the back of a chair with both hands, hung his head, and stayed that way for a minute, still without saying anything. I said I wanted to talk to him, but not in the sacristy, because other people might come in.”

  “And how did he react?”

  “Want to know something strange, Zio? He didn’t even ask what I wanted to talk to him about. He just nodded ‘yes,’ and walked towards the staircase, still keeping his head down.”

  “So he already knew! I’d bet the family jewels he already knew!” said Teresi.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” said Luigino.

  “When we went upstairs, I told him that Rosalia had said what had happened first with Salamone and then with him. And when I finished, before I could even ask for the money, and without raising his head, he asked: ‘How much?’ I was so shocked I couldn’t answer.”

  “So I answered for him,” said Luigino. “‘Two thousand,’ I said.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said simply: ‘Come by later at one o’clock. I’ll have the money for you. Now please leave by way of the sacristy door, and when you return, come back the same way.’ And that was all. We went back down the stairs, but the priest stayed where he was.”

  Teresi sat there, looking pensive.

  “What is it, Zio?”

  “There’s a problem that just occurred to me. From what
you’ve just told me, it’s clear the priest feels responsible for the girl’s death. Caught by surprise, he agreed to give you the blackmail money. But can we trust him? If he talks about it with any other priests, they’re sure to make him change his mind. And that’s what could ruin us all. Or else he could change his mind on his own.”

  “And not give us the money?”

  “He might even give it to you. But when I weigh in by writing an article about the whole thing in my weekly, he can still claim you guys made the whole thing up, that you tried to blackmail him, but he didn’t give you one lira because he had nothing whatsoever to do with Rosalia’s death. And if he finds out that you, Stefano, are not Rosalia’s cousin but my nephew, and on top of that, that Luigino has never worked as a nurse at Camporeale hospital, then all three of us will end up in jail.”

  “So, what should we do?” asked Stefano.

  “I’m going to tell the whole story to Montagnet. That should give us cover. Did you bring back the cheese and other stuff?”

  Stefano slapped himself in the forehead.

  “Damn! We completely forgot!”

  *

  Teresi dashed off to the carabinieri station, but Marshal Sciabbarrà told him the captain had just left for Camporeale, where he’d been summoned to report to the provincial commander, Colonel Chiaramonte.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “I can’t really say.”

  “I’m sorry, but is it some sort of state secret?”

  “No, sir, but the fact is that the colonel summoned him to a meeting in the early afternoon, and the captain decided to take advantage of the situation to drop in and see his family.”

  Teresi balked. Montagnet had a family? Seeing him always in uniform, with never a button out of place, elegant, impeccably groomed, inflexible, polite but aloof, Teresi had come to think of him as a kind of machine, not a man capable of the same feelings as other men.

  “Is he married?”

  “Yes, and he has two children. The boy is seven, the girl five. Is there anything I should tell him when he returns?”