The colonnello stubbed out his cigarette. "Allora. A revenge killing, someone from the community. The killer wanted to make this pedophile suffer for what he had done. Hence the burning, then the shot to the heart. It explains everything."
"It would seem so."
A long silence.
"And yet," said Pendergast, almost to himself, "it's too perfect. If you wanted to kill someone, Colonnello, but it made no difference who it was, who would you choose? A man exactly like this: guilty of a heinous crime but never punished for it. A man with no family, no important connections, no job. The police aren't going to exert themselves to find the killer, and the townspeople will do all they can to hinder the investigation."
"That is too clever, Agent Pendergast. Never in my life have I dealt with a criminal who would be capable of such sophisticated planning. And why kill someone at random? It is like something out of Dostoevsky."
"We are not dealing with an ordinary criminal, and our killer had a very specific reason to kill." Pendergast laid the file down and gazed at D'Agosta. "Vincent?"
"Worth pursuing."
"May I have a copy of the report of the medico legale ?" Pendergast asked.
The colonnello murmured to the officer, who had just returned with the coffee. The man took the folder to a photocopy machine, returning with the copy a moment later.
The colonnello handed it to Pendergast, then lit a cigarette, his face creased with irritation. "I hope you are not going to ask me for an exhumation order."
"I'm afraid we are."
Esposito sighed, smoke dribbling out of his nostrils. "Mio Dio. This is all I need. You realize how long this will take? At least a year."
"Unacceptable."
The colonnello nodded. "That's Italy." A thin smile worked itself into his face. "Of course . "
"Of course what?"
"You could always go the unofficial route."
"You mean, grave robbing?"
"We prefer to call it il controllo preliminare . If you find something, then you do the paperwork."
Pendergast rose. "Thank you, Colonnello."
"For what? I said nothing." And he made a mock bow. "Besides, the place is out of my jurisdiction. A satisfactory arrangement for all concerned-save perhaps Carlo Vanni."
As they were leaving, the colonnello called after them. "Do not forget to pack panini and a good bottle of Chianti. The night, I fear, will be long and chilly."
{ 70 }
The church where Carlo Vanni was interred lay in the foothills of the Apennines above the town of Pistoia, at the end of a winding road that seemed to climb forever through darkness. Their replacement Fiat wound back and forth, the headlights stabbing into darkness at each turn.
"We should be prepared for company," said Pendergast.
"You think they know we're here?"
"I know it. A car's trailing us. I glimpsed it a couple of times three or four switchbacks down the mountain. He'll have to park below the church, and I don't intend to be surprised. Are you familiar with the move-and-cover approach to an objective?"
"Sure."
"You'll cover me while I move, then I'll signal you to follow, like this." And he gave a low hooting sound indistinguishable from an owl's.
D'Agosta grinned. "Your talents always manage to surprise me. Rules of engagement?"
"We're dealing with a potential killer, but we can't shoot first. Wait for the first shot, then shoot to kill."
"Meanwhile, you're down."
"I can take care of myself. Here we are." Pendergast slowed, making the final turn. "Check weapons."
D'Agosta removed his Glock, ejected the magazine, made sure it was at its maximum fifteen-round capacity, slammed it home, and racked the slide. Pendergast drove past the church and parked in a turnout near the end of the road and exited the vehicle.
The smell of crushed mint rose around them. It was a chill, moonless night. There was a scattering of bright stars above the dark line of cypresses. The church itself stood below, faintly silhouetted against the distant glow of Pistoia. Crickets trilled in the darkness. It was a perfect place for a tomb robbing, thought D'Agosta-quiet and isolated.
Pendergast touched his shoulder and nodded toward a dark copse of trees about a hundred yards downhill. D'Agosta crouched in the shadows of the car, gun drawn, as Pendergast darted silently down toward the copse, disappearing into the darkness.
A minute later, D'Agosta heard a low hoot.
He rose, moved quickly toward the trees, and joined Pendergast. Beyond stood the church: small and very ancient, built of stone blocks with a square tower. The front entrance-a Gothic arch over a wooden door-was closed.
Pendergast touched D'Agosta's arm again, nodded this time toward the entrance. D'Agosta retreated into the shadows, waiting.
Pendergast shot across the courtyard in front of the church. D'Agosta could just make out his silhouette, black against black, before the door. There was the sound of a locked door being tried. This was followed by the faint scraping of iron against iron as Pendergast picked the lock, and then a dull creak as the door opened. Pendergast slipped quickly inside. Within moments, another hoot of an owl. Taking a deep breath, D'Agosta ran across the open piazza and past the door. Pendergast immediately closed it behind him and, inserting a narrow device into the keyhole, relocked it.
D'Agosta turned, crossed himself. The interior of the church was cool and smelled of wax and stone. A few candles guttered before a painted wooden statue of the Virgin, throwing a dim orange light across the small nave.
"You take the left side, I'll take the right," said Pendergast.
They moved down opposite walls of the ancient church, guns drawn. It was empty save for the statue of the Virgin, a confessional with a drawn curtain, and a rough altar with a crucifix.
Pendergast crept up to the confessional, took hold of the curtain, jerked it aside.
Empty.
D'Agosta watched him put his gun away and glide to a small, rusted iron door set into a far corner. He bent over the lock and-with another rattle and scrape-opened it to reveal a descending stone staircase. Pendergast switched on his flashlight and probed into the murk.
"This isn't the first tomb I've disturbed," murmured Pendergast as D'Agosta drew up beside him, "but it promises to be one of the most interesting."
"Why was Vanni buried down here, and not in a cemetery outside?"
They passed through the doorway, and Pendergast gently closed and locked the door behind them. "Because of the steep hill, the church has no outside camposanto . All the dead are buried down in the crypts, cut into the hillside underneath the church."
They descended the staircase to find themselves in a low, vaulted space. D'Agosta's nostrils filled with the smell of mold. To the left, the flashlight revealed some medieval sarcophagi, several with the bodies of the deceased carved in marble on the lids, as if asleep. One was shown in a suit of armor; another was dressed as a bishop.
D'Agosta followed Pendergast to the right. This passageway led past more old tombs, decorated with sculptures and relief, ending in another iron door. In a moment, Pendergast had it open.
The flashlight disclosed a much cruder tunnel beyond, fashioned out of the rock itself. Shelves were cut into the rude walls, each with its own pile of bones, a skull, and bits of rag. Some of the skeletons had rings on their bony fingers, or bits of jewelry and necklaces scattered among the rib cages. There was the faint rustling of mice, and a few furry bullets shot across the dirt floor, heading for cover. Farther on were rows of newer tombs, narrow edge out, as in a mausoleum. Each niche was covered with a marble plaque.