So while they fussed around magistrates, and pathologists fussed around Burckhardt’s body, and Paolo went chasing after Mary Verney, Flavia was left temporarily with nothing to do. Instead she went back to San Giovanni, to see if Alberto had collared Menzies yet. There was no one around, so she saw Father Jean instead.
“What are all the flowers for? On the steps to the church?”
The old man frowned. “They’re from the local population. Trying to persuade their Lady to return and forgive them.”
“What for?”
“For neglecting her.”
Flavia thought back to her schooldays, and scratched her head. “Does that make good theology?”
He smiled, and shook his head slowly. “It makes appalling theology. But what’s that got to do with it? They think she is displeased, and has withdrawn her protection. Frankly, it teeters on paganism. And, of course, we are being blamed. If we hadn’t cut her off by closing the doors … Do you know, one of us, Father Luc, was shouted at in a tobacconist yesterday? Told he was bringing disaster on the quarter? Can you believe it in this day and age?”
“Hard.”
“Staggering. Father Xavier’s idea, you know. To shut the church. But none of us realized she was held in such affection. Anyway, the flowers and baskets of fruit are to woo her back. If it goes on, we’re going to be visited.”
“Who by?”
“The parish overseer, and our Cardinal supervisor. This could cause trouble for us, you know. We will get criticized for shutting the church, and criticized for encouraging superstition. I know it. Signorina, you know, I’m too old for this.” Flavia looked at his old and lined face, and the slump in his shoulders and couldn’t do anything but agree. Fortunately, it was outside her province, although she thought Bottando would probably give useful, worldly advice. But he was fat and sixty, and could do things like that. She had her work cut out doing her own job, let alone telling other people how to do theirs.
“It’s about keys,” she said, to get the subject back on to more comfortable territory. Then paused for a long while. Father Jean sat patiently, waiting for her to elaborate.
“A man was seen coming out of the door of the church at six-thirty. Somebody on the inside must have opened it. How many keys are there? Who has them?”
“To the big door? The one on to the street?”
She nodded.
“There is only one,” Father Jean said.
“Can I see it?”
“By all means. It hangs on a hook just inside the door.”
“I’d better check it’s there.”
He smiled. “There is no need, although you are more than welcome to do so if you wish. I saw it myself this morning. Have you arrested this man? It may be uncharitable, but if he attacked Father Xavier I will find it very hard to forgive him.”
She grimaced. Evidently no one had yet told them. “I’m afraid that this case is becoming rather complicated,” she said. “Mr Burckhardt was found in the Tiber this morning. He had been shot.”
“Oh, my goodness. The poor soul.”
“Indeed.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what all this is about.”
She looked at him sadly. “You are not the only one, Father, believe me. This is becoming very much more than the theft of a not very important work of art. It’s a nightmare. I hope that Father Xavier will help. Assuming we’re allowed to talk to him tomorrow.”
“You don’t think that he is in any danger?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t think anybody was. I was evidently wrong. I’ve had a guard put over him.”
“For some reason, I am not as reassured as I might be.”
“No,” she agreed flatly. “Nor am I.”
“I would like to send one of our more muscular brothers down to sit by him.”
“I’m sure that would be fine. What is it?”
Father Jean was looking suddenly ill at ease, very much like someone who felt the need to say something but was too delicate to begin.
“Come on, you can’t surprise me. Nothing can surprise me today.”
“I was wondering when we would be seeing the General. I’m sure, of course, that you are more than experienced enough. Please don’t think that. But as General Bottando knows us from the last time … I like to think he and I struck up a rapport, you see, and I was looking forward to seeing him.”
“I’m afraid that’s unlikely,” she said. “I have been put in charge of the case. General Bottando is too—ah—preoccupied at the moment.” She did her best to avoid being irritated, and just about managed. It was, after all, something she was going to have to get used to.
“I am sorry. I mean, I didn’t wish to imply for a moment …”
“I know. But there it is. So if there is anything to say, you’ll have to tell me, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, dear. I don’t wish to seem doubtful. It’s not about you, but simply because I don’t know you, you see.”
Flavia gave him an exasperated look. So much dithering. It was obvious he’d disgorge eventually. Why couldn’t he just get on with it?
“I’m afraid that in the last day or so I have discovered certain things which I find deeply distressing.”
“And which you don’t want anyone else to know about?”
He nodded sadly.
“I’m quite able to forget something if it is not directly relevant,” she said. “My job is to find a thief and a murderer. Not to spread other people’s dirty laundry around the world.”
He grunted, took a deep breath, then began. Or almost began. A few circumlocutions to warm up first.
“You’ve gathered, perhaps, that Father Xavier and I did not always see eye to eye on many matters?”
She nodded. “Something like that.”
“Not very long ago, I was effectively the second in command here to the superior general, Father Charles. He was probably the best leader this order ever had. That’s not just loyalty on my part; he kept us going through the rough times of Vatican Two and its aftermath, and had a way of quelling arguments and gently persuading people. It is a rare skill. I’d known him all my life, virtually. He was a few years older than me, and I loved him like a brother. A real brother, you understand.”
She nodded.
“And he got ill. He was old, had a good life and got ill and could no longer discharge his duties. We elected Father Xavier to replace him. You may think it unfair of me, but I think he is a weak man; he has little certainty in his soul, so borrows the appearance of it, if you see what I mean.”
He glanced at her, and she shook her head. Not a clue.
“When he decides to do something he doesn’t feel he is right, in the way that Charles did. He persuades himself, and because he is so doubtful, he presents his ideas with much more dogmatism and fervour than if he was really convinced. When he has an idea, he is determined to stick to it, for fear of revealing his own weakness to himself. He confronts rather than persuades, and angers rather than conciliates.
“He wishes to rebuild the order from top to bottom. He is probably right; we can’t go on like this. Something has to change. But, you see, I hated him, and even though I knew it was wicked of me, I could do nothing about it. He is an easy person to dislike. He was not Father Charles, and his urgency was an implicit criticism of what Charles did. He had replaced the irreplaceable. He was not as wise, or as kind or as saintly.
“So every time he has proposed something, I have found myself opposing it. He wanted to raise money, to build up our teaching in the Third World, and I voted against simply because it was not his place to propose changes to what Father Charles had done. And when he proposed selling some of our possessions, I was the one who led the opposition again, and had the sale voted down. Do you understand what I am saying?”