“And your friend-Fina, you say?” He looked at Serafina. “Found out what, so far?”
Serafina interrupted. “And we sent for you, as soon as we heard. We didn’t know if you’d be here or in Catania. We’re told there’s been another uprising. The peasants are-”
“Well, I’m here but leaving shortly. Troops sent to Catania, most of my men with them. Only Colonna here!” He thumped his chest “Two others to help me keep the peace.” He gestured to the two uniformed men who followed him.
They nodded.
Colonna continued. “But we’ll manage. Loffredo should arrive any minute.” He turned to his men. “Get the artist.”
“Already sketching the body,” someone said.
“When he finishes, and Loffredo finishes,” Colonna said, gesturing to indicate the meaning of ‘finishes,’ “take the body away.” Another flourish. “In the meantime, La Signura and I will be in her office.”
Serafina saw the artist kneeling by the body. Several meters away, two hospital workers in black cassocks bearing a stretcher stood in silence, their eyes cast to the ground, hoods donned, waiting alongside a draped cart and mule in mourning headgear. They reminded her of that Sunday in October and a death so different. How Rosa had grieved, still does, for Bella. She must find this killer.
• • •
Serafina smelled Loffredo’s pomade and heard his distinctive step but continued talking to her son, feeling her cheeks burn despite the sea wind.
Dr. Loffredo removed his gloves and kissed Serafina’s hand. “Upsetting for you. And poor Rosa, a fourth victim.”
“Otto, you remember my son, Carlo. He goes to University. Home for Li Morti.”
“Doubt I would have recognized you. A man now, and the last time we met, you were a child. Hear good things about you from Professor Libertate. ‘Excellent doctor he’ll make,’ he tells me. Said you’re an exacting dissector.” He paused, looking closer at Carlo’s face. “You have your mother’s looks, her gift of persistence, your father’s scholarly bent, and your parents’ intelligence. If you’re not busy Monday morning, would you be so kind as to assist in the examination at the morgue? What I do here is preliminary.”
“I’ll be there, but I’d like to take a train Monday afternoon. Exam Tuesday morning.”
“Understood. Meet you at, say, nine o’clock?”
Breaking Free
“Pirricù, is it?” Serafina lifted an eyebrow. She sat across the desk from Rosa.
“Good riddance to that insolent goose of an inspector. One small look at the body, two big glasses of grappa, and in three minutes he’s gone.”
“Loffredo is here now, doing the preliminary examination with Carlo. They’ll continue in the morgue Monday morning. Strangled with her own scarf.”
Rosa shuddered. “Marsala?”
“Too early for me, but I could use another cup of tea or a caffè.”
Rosa pulled the cord. In a few minutes, the domestic came in with a tray and two cups of espresso.
“Too old for this business.”
Serafina said nothing. She took a cup and drank. In the past when she’d suggested that Rosa close the house, the idea was met with a sudden storm.
“I miss Tessa. Arcangelo picks her up this evening,” Rosa said, downing her espresso.
“Don’t you think Tessa should stay with us, in light of Gusti’s murder, just until we find the killer?”
Rosa opened her mouth to protest.
Serafina held up her hand. “Think about it. And after Loffredo leaves, you must wake the women. Need to talk to them.”
Rosa opened her mouth again.
“We interview the women, you and I together, in this room. Today. The killer has an accomplice, someone who knows the house well, the ins and outs, the front, the back, the comings, the goings. Is there a customer who knows the layout of this house so well? Consider the question before you answer,” Serafina said.
Rosa shook her head. “Then it has to be someone in the house, one of the girls. Unless it’s Falco or a maid.”
“Any record of his being here? Would Scarpo or the guards know? Any of his usual women?”
Rosa bowed her head and ran a finger back and forth on the desk. “Run of the house, Falco.”
“All the more reason to speak to the women. Gioconda will tell me. Proud of being one of Falco’s favorites. But what about the guards. Could it be one of them?”
Rosa threw her hands up. “Don’t be silly. Guards don’t know the inside of the house. Never inside, the guards.”
“So it’s one of your women, Falco, Scarpo or Turi.”
“Turi, no. Scarpo, never!”
“And I’m sure Gusti knew the accomplice, perhaps even the identity of the killer. Anyway, she knew too much. She had to be killed.”
“Should have given her more time last night. Oh, if I could only take it back!”
“And Gusti fought her killer,” Serafina said. “One of her nails broke. And I found, clutched in Gusti’s hand, a strand or two of hair, probably from the scalp of her killer. While we talk to the women, we’ll look for a scar somewhere on the face or neck. Maybe behind the ear.”
“I’ll wake them one by one. Who first?”
Serafina reached for her notebook and put it on the desk. “Her friends. They’ll be able to give us the most information about her.”
Rosa’s eyes were wet. “An outsider, Gusti. And the only friend she had-” She stared at Serafina and shifted in her seat.
“I’m listening, Rosa. And the only friend she had was?”
Rosa’s slowness must be the result of shock. Either her shock or her disbelief. Why is it so hard to pull information from her? Serafina tried to be gentle, but her patience was wearing thin.
“Not here.”
“What do you mean, ‘not here?’”
Rosa’s cheeks looked like jammed mule packs. “Carmela.”
Serafina slid her cup onto the tray. It teetered with a metallic sound, like the distant clang of swords.
“Did you hear what I said?” Rosa asked.
Serafina lost her patience. She spit out words like bullets in a gunfight. In an effort to summarize, she couldn’t help running her thoughts together. “We went to Palermo, interviewed the father. He’s innocent. We know that, still need to interview Bella’s business partner, she might have information about this monk of Bella’s. That haughty countess, in Paris when we need her. Why? Then there’s Falco. Now he’s a real possibility and, come to remember, I saw a monk’s habit hanging in his workshop. But, even more damning, he stands the most to gain from Bella’s death, and he has yet to account for his whereabouts on the evening she disappeared. Oh, a little excuse of a fitting, but not to cover the whole evening, especially since I hear he has the run of the house.” Serafina glared at Rosa.
“Changing the subject, slippery like the wet skin of a snake you are. Now you listen to me. You are Carmela’s mother. Her mother. Hear me? — issued from your womb. When she hears the word ‘Mama,’ a face flashes in her mind. Your face. She can’t help it, poor girl, she’s got no choice. She may think she hates you, but she cannot. She loves you with a love deeper than all the oceans piled one on top of the other. She must.”
A silence lay between them, minatory, voracious. All of the madam’s making.
“Look at me. I said Carmela was Gusti’s only friend. Now you need to do something with that if you want to find this killer. You cannot forget, you are the mother of Carmela, no matter what she’s said to you, no matter what she’s done. You must hold her ever in your heart. Carmela, I said. Carmela. Say the name. Say it!” She slammed the top of her desk. “Say it!”
Serafina hesitated. An image overwhelmed her. She was in the nursery with her mother and the twins, Carlo, black-curled, Carmela, with her ginger hair, her skin iridescent. Maddalena, wrinkling her nose, was teaching her granddaughter how to walk while Carlo made running circles round the pair.
“Carmela,” Serafina whispered.
“Again, louder.”
“Carmela! There, I said it.”
Rosa’s face was florid. The two women’s heads moved closer together, their bodies arcing across the desk. Serafina’s memory spanned the years. Again and again she said Carmela’s name, her voice growing louder as her face drew closer to Rosa’s, choking, hoarse, feeling the engorged arteries in her neck, forgetting to swallow, saliva mixing with the tears running down her cheeks. “Carmela, Carmela, CAR-MELLL-AHHH!” She collapsed back into the chair, curling into herself, sobbing, the pent-up dam broken.