‘I’ll take her,’ Micaela agreed.
A clatter of footsteps came from the direction of the elevators. Three monsignors were fast-walking towards them, trailed by an archbishop.
‘It’s Archbishop Luongo,’ Elisabetta told them, looking up. ‘The head of the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archeology.’
‘Okay, we’re out of here,’ Zazo said, putting his hand on Lorenzo’s shoulder. ‘I’ll call you at Papa’s.’
Elisabetta had an inkling that Lorenzo wanted to hug her goodbye or at least shake her hand but instead he simply smiled and left.
‘There you are,’ the archbishop called out. ‘How are you, my dear?’
‘I’m unhurt, Your Excellency.’
Luongo was tall, well over six feet. Elisabetta had seen him at the Institute once without a hat; his head was completely smooth and bald and he also lacked eyebrows and a five-o’clock shadow. Alopecia totalis, Micaela had told Elisabetta when she’d inquired about the condition. A completely hairless body. He was an ambitious man – everybody at the Institute said so – and the snippets of gossip that she picked up from the lunch room revolved around whether his malady would interfere with his patent desire to be elevated to cardinal.
He towered over Elisabetta. ‘Such a tragedy about Professor De Stefano. He was a marvelous man. I personally recruited him for the job, you know.’
She nodded.
‘Who would do such a thing? What are the police saying?’
‘They’re still investigating.’
The archbishop looked at Micaela over the top of his glasses.
‘This is Doctor Celestino, my sister,’ Elisabetta said.
‘Ah, how wonderful to be involved in the healing arts.’
Micaela managed a tight smile and to Elisabetta’s relief kept a lid on any snide retort.
‘I wonder if I might have a word with you personally,’ Luongo said to Elisabetta.
‘If it’s about the catacombs and the man who did this last night then you can speak in front of my sister. She’s signed a Commission confidentiality agreement. She knows everything about St Callixtus, Ulm and now this.’
‘Yes, yes, I recall – we brought you into the fold as a consultant, Doctor, did we not? Thank you for aiding the Commission and the Church. In that case, I’ll talk freely. Elisabetta, my message is short and hopefully it will be clear. We have to balance our responsibilities to the secular world and to the Church. I’m sure you will do your duty to be helpful to the police to assist them in finding out why this man …’ Luongo whispered the next few words ‘… who I understand has a tail – why this man committed these terrible acts. But at the same time, I’m sure you will be sensitive to the situation we are in. The Conclave is upon us. The entire world is focused on the somber grandeur of what we as a Church will be doing to choose our next Pope. We cannot pollute the proceedings by permitting any lurid talk of St Callixtus and men with tails. For this reason we have the complete cooperation of the secular authorities in imposing a news embargo on last night’s unfortunate events. And, I must emphasize, despite the odd coincidence of the anatomical abnormality of the man who attacked you and Professor De Stefano, there is no clear link between the two situations.’
Micaela was becoming red-faced and Elisabetta grew worried that she was going to give the Archbishop a piece of her mind. She tried to preempt her by saying, ‘I understand, Your Excellency.’
It wasn’t enough. Micaela seemed to struggle to keep her voice at a hospital-appropriate level. ‘Coincidence? No clear link? You must be joking! You find these skeletons in the catacombs, then all of them disappear, then someone breaks into my sister’s convent, then the professor is murdered and Elisabetta, only by the grace of God, not to mention my brother, is saved. And you want her to stay quiet?’
Elisabetta didn’t know Luongo well. She’d only seen him a few times. But now a terrifying change came over his face, a blowback of rage that rendered even Micaela mute. ‘Let me make myself completely understood,’ he fumed in a hot, whispered discharge like steam escaping from a boiling kettle. ‘You are both under the most strict rules of confidentiality. Our secrecy agreements are drafted by the finest law firm in Rome and I can assure you ladies that if these agreements are breached, you will find our lawyers more fearsome than any men with tails.’
In time the hallway outside the morgue thinned out as police and clergy left the scene. The Chief Pathologist departed too and a single mortuary assistant tended to paperwork beside Aldo Vani’s draped corpse.
There was a knock at the morgue door and the assistant begrudgingly answered it.
He saw a gangly priest towering over him.
‘Yes, what is it?’ the assistant asked gruffly.
‘My name is Father Tremblay. I am here to inspect the body.’ He thrust forward a letter. ‘I have been given the highest permission.’
The Domus Sanctae Marthae hugged the lines of a gentle slope of Vatican City adjacent to the Basilica. It was a plain five-story building, modest in its ambitions, a symbol of reserve and austerity. It was no more than a dormitory providing basic accommodation for visiting clergy. Its usual occupancy rate was low but it was notably different from every other hotel in the world: it was designed for Conclaves and on the rare occasions when it was full it meant that there was a sad vacancy of the Apostolic See.
The first floor of the dormitory had a private chapel with a steeply peaked latticed ceiling and a small pipe organ donated by the Knights of Columbus. About two-thirds of the cardinals had arrived in Rome and they assembled in the chapel for a private Mass led by Cardinal Diaz, one of the countless duties during the mourning period for the Dean of the College of Cardinals.
The old boxer towered over the lectern, making it look as though it was meant for a child. The acoustics were perfect and his voice carried to the back without any need for a microphone.
‘Dear Brothers, the Basilica of St Peter’s, a witness to many meaningful and important moments in the ministry of our dearly departed Father, looks out today on those gathered in prayer who in a special way have had the responsibility and the privilege to be close to him as his direct collaborators, sharing in the pastoral care of the Universal Church.
‘In these days of mourning and sadness, the Word of God enlightens our faith and strengthens our hope, assuring us that he has entered into the Heavenly Jerusalem where, as we hear in the Book of Revelation, “God shall wipe away every tear, death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore.”
When Mass was over, Diaz strode from the Domus in the company of Cardinals Aspromonte and Giaccone. ‘Come back to my office,’ Diaz told the other two. ‘I’ve had private conversations with some of our fellow influence-makers. I’d like to share them with you.’
‘Electioneering?’ Aspromonte asked, making Giaccone snicker.
‘Don’t laugh, Luigi,’ Diaz said. ‘You’re the one everyone is talking about.’
Aspromonte looked deflated. His large bald head bobbed forward as if its weight had become too much for his neck. For his part, Giaccone closed his eyes and shook his head, setting his jowls into motion. ‘We must put a stop to this. I don’t want the job.’
The three cardinals passed through several rings of Vatican Gendarmerie charged with sealing off the guest house. Zazo and Lorenzo, on their way to inspect their men, bowed to the triumvirate and continued on to confer with a pair of corporals at the entrance of the Domus.
‘What time are the sniffer dogs coming back through?’ Zazo asked the men.
‘Six o’clock,’ one of them answered.
‘Give me a report when it’s done.’
The corporals looked as though they wanted to ask about the previous night’s shooting. Everyone was desperately curious and rumors were running rampant among the Corps. But to raise the subject would have amounted to insubordination and Zazo wasn’t about to volunteer any information.