“I will return shortly, gentlemen,” Bruzzone said. “My own rooms are down the hall and I cannot watch this any longer. I know you must, but forgive me, seeing you handling Edward’s things is too much.” He shut the door, and we heard him walking down the corridor.
“Emotional fellow,” I said.
“Southern Europeans are more emotional,” Kaz said. “Or I should say, they show their emotions. The farther north, the more contained we are. For me, I should be glad to have you search my effects if I am murdered.”
“Good to know, Kaz. But try and leave a clue or two, will you? Corrigan wasn’t much help in that department.” I put the cushions back, coming up with one five-lira coin and a ticket stub from the Teatro Reale dell’Opera. “Let’s go and put the monsignor out of his misery.”
As I went to open the door, I noticed a coat hanging from one of two hooks. I’d missed it when the door was open. When I checked, I felt something small and hard in the inside pocket. I knew right away that this was something which didn’t belong in the Spartan room of a priest.
“Kaz, do you remember what was listed as Severino Rossi’s occupation on his passport?”
“Yes, he was a jeweler. Why?”
“This is why,” I said, holding what to my eye looked like a flawless two-carat diamond. I’d seen a few diamonds in my time on the force, and I knew quality because thieves knew quality. No self-respecting thief went for the cheap stuff.
“What is it worth?” Kaz asked.
“Maybe a thousand smackers or so. If Rossi was a jeweler, he may have had more. The question is, why did Corrigan have this one?”
“Are you done?” Bruzzone asked from the hallway. I slipped the diamond in my pocket and signaled Kaz to keep mum. No need to spread the word around.
“Yes, all done,” I said as we left the room, thinking that Bruzzone had left just in time to avoid disappointment. “You can lock up now.”
“You found nothing?”
“No, Monsignor. Thank you for helping, though. I know it was difficult.”
“Life is difficult, when we are tested. And these days, the Lord tests us constantly.” He inserted the key, the old lock resisted, grinding metal on metal until it gave way and the bolt fell into place.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Kaz, snoop around and find out who’s in charge of keys around here. There’s got to be somebody who hands them out and keeps track of them.”
“Do you think someone planted the diamond?”
The wind whipped our cassocks against our legs and sent the spray from a nearby fountain across our path as we made our way back to the German College.
“Could be,” I said. “But first I’d like to know if there are other keys floating around out there. If there are, then the field is wide open. If not, it’s more likely Corrigan had the diamond, which would establish a relationship between him and Severino Rossi.”
“But the diamond could be for anything,” Kaz said. “A gift, or to buy food for other refugees. It does not mean Monsignor Corrigan was corrupt.”
“You’re right. Gems make for great portable currency. Easily hidden, always valuable. Nothing wrong in Corrigan having them, but it does link him to Rossi, which is something we didn’t have before.”
“Right. I will go back to the palace and see if there is a porter who may know about the keys. Where will you be?”
“Wherever Monsignor O’Flaherty is,” I said.
I found him right where the nuns at the German College said he’d be-at the top step leading up to Saint Peter’s Basilica, not far from Death’s Door. He wasn’t hard to spot, with his red-and-black monsignor’s outfit and wide-brimmed hat, not to mention his tall, athletic frame. He held an open Bible in his hands, his head bowed, but as I approached I could see his eyes traveling across the square, scanning the thin crowd.
“Good morning, Father Boyle,” O’Flaherty said. “What can I do for you?” His eyes flickered in my direction, then shifted to the people wandering through the square, glancing occasionally at the German paratroopers patrolling the white demarcation line.
“Waiting for someone, Monsignor?” I asked, avoiding his question for now.
“In a manner of speaking, yes. I wait here for two hours every day, in case some weary traveler needs my help. The time and place are known to those in Rome who help us, and they send the poor souls my way.”
“How many have come your way?”
“Hundreds. More, most likely, if I gave in to the sin of pride and kept count.”
“Are they all hidden within the Vatican?” I asked, as a cold breeze snapped at our cassocks.
“Oh no, they’d be hanging out the windows, Father Boyle. We bring them in, feed and clothe them, and then take them to safe houses in the city. As safe as can be, at least.”
“How do you feed them all? It must be tough.”
“That it is. We have couriers who bring money to the families who are hiding prisoners and to the religious houses that have taken in refugees and escapees. It’s a dangerous business, to be sure.”
“Monsignor, I have to ask you something, and I can’t explain much about it.” I hoped O’Flaherty wouldn’t ask too many questions. I trusted him, but it was dangerous for too many people to be in on this secret.
“Go ahead, son. No reason you shouldn’t add to the mysteries of the world.”
“Is there a Sister Justina among those who help you?” That was the name Diana used, taken from a nun she’d met from Brindisi who had taught her the local dialect.
“Ah, so that is why you are so curious about any nuns who have been arrested, is it?”
“Yes, Monsignor.” I didn’t know what else to say. I needed O’Flaherty’s help, but I couldn’t explain why. It wouldn’t make sense anyway, and he might think it too dangerous to take a chance on a phony priest he’d just met.
“You are a spy, Billy.” He said it softly and simply. Not an accusation, merely a statement.
“I am not who I say I am, yes. But within these walls, I don’t think of myself as a spy.”
“Outside, the Germans would. And they would shoot you for it.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Of course. Any spy would be aware of the consequences.” He let the words hang there, his gaze fixed on mine. He knew. Maybe not the details, but he knew. Which I didn’t mind, since there was no pity in his eyes, which meant Diana was not dead. Yet.
“I love her,” I said, whispering as if in the confessional. “Tell me how I can help her.”
“Do you now, lad? Really love her? In this time of killing and desecration, you hold love in your heart? Or is it guilt, or lust, or any of those other terrible sins that drive men?”
“Monsignor, I was brought up to respect the Church and those who serve her,” I said, barely containing the fury building within me. “But even given your faith and your good works, who are you to question me like that?”
“A poor sinner who wonders at his own motivations, late at night, when sleep won’t come, when I wonder if my actions have caused others to suffer and die.” O’Flaherty rubbed his eyes, as he must have done in those small hours of the morning, awake with his thoughts. “Do you ever have such thoughts, Billy?”
“No,” I said. “What keeps me awake is the thought that I might not do enough, or worse yet, nothing at all. Maybe it is guilt.”
“Not at all, lad. Guilt is for what you’ve done in the past. Fear is what you suffer from now. Fear of what may come, regardless of your efforts.”
“What I fear most may have already happened.”
“No, it hasn’t,” O’Flaherty said in a low voice that the wind nearly carried off. “Look there, do you see that fellow in the brown coat and cap?”
I was dumbstruck, wanting to ask more, but his voice held an urgency that I couldn’t resist. I followed his gaze and spotted the man amidst a crowd of older women.
“Yes,” I said. “Are you sure, about Sister Justina?”