A very special triangle.
34
Father Brancati goes wild when he sees the graffiti.
‘ Vandali! ’ he shouts. ‘They have no respect. They steal. They wreck things. Not even the Church is sacred any more.’
‘A little strange,’ Tom points out, more quietly, ‘to find vandals who write in Latin.’
Until then the priest hasn’t noticed. He’s so familiar with the old language that he subconsciously translated the text as automatically as reading a prayer book. ‘Yes, I suppose it is. Very strange.’ He moves to touch the lettering with his fingers, to feel the imprint of whatever rough tool was used to scrape out the plaster.
Valentina grabs his hand. ‘Please don’t touch it. It’s a crime scene and will need to be photographed.’
He looks shocked. ‘Crime scene? What? Why?’
She gently leads him out of the confessional. ‘As I mentioned when I phoned you, we’re investigating a violent incident, and there is a link to your church that we have to look into.’ She eases him round and walks him part way down the aisle. ‘You’ve been very kind and helpful, Father. Would you mind waiting in the sacristy until I have finished here?’
Brancati minds very much, but still does as she says.
He’s worried about what’s going on.
Worried about the publicity, the effect on the mission, what his superiors might say. He heads for the sacristy and goes straight to the bottle of brandy he keeps in the cupboard alongside the altar wine.
He’ll find his mints later.
Tom takes a snap of the writing with his camera phone while Valentina makes a call to the station.
She reappears moments later. ‘Federico is sending a photographer and CSI; they’ll take shots, and dust and spray everything and anything all around here.’ She points at the triangle. ‘That’s identical to the pendant we found on the prisoner. She even wrote about it in a story, said she’d had it stolen from her while she was being persecuted in ancient Rome. Does it mean anything to you?’
Tom is on his knees, peering closely at the symbol. ‘Maybe it’s a scalene.’
‘A what?’
‘Scalene. It means that none of the sides are the same length and none of the angles match. It’s the only triangular shape where none of the sides or angles are equal.’
‘Geometry wasn’t my strong subject at school.’
‘What was?’
‘Boys,’ she says cheekily. ‘Aside from the boring geometry, does it mean anything?’
Tom stares at it while he thinks. ‘Triangles have always had immense symbolic power. The Nazis used a whole range of them to pick out and persecute minority groups in their concentration camps. Red for political dissidents, green for criminals, purple for Jehovah’s Witnesses, brown for Gypsies, black for lesbians and pink for homosexuals. I believe the famous six-pointed star was invented because gay Jewish men had to wear a pink triangle overlapping the yellow one that denoted their religion.’
‘Triangle overload,’ observes Valentina.
Tom isn’t put off by her interruption. ‘Indeed. Jewish communists had to wear overlapping red and yellow ones. Modern homosexual communities still use pink triangles as a symbol of gay and lesbian liberation.’
Valentina tries to make a connection to her case. ‘So, the Latin – Deliver us from evil – and the references to suffrage and souls in purgatory: we take all this as some cry from persecuted souls beyond the grave?’
Tom doesn’t answer at first. ‘Symbols gets hijacked,’ he says finally. ‘They’re often misinterpreted. You’ll have to be careful that this particular one doesn’t mislead you. For example, within cosmic geometric symbolism, triangles are also used to signify a connection between heaven and earth.’
‘Purgatory again?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. Egyptians used a triangle with an eye in it to symbolise the sun god Horus and his all-seeing ability. It became the basis of charms to ward off evil. Then again, if you go back to the Greeks, the triangle was a very positive symbol; it represented the vulva of the Mother Delta. And for the Hebrews it was a symbol of truth.’
‘Truth, as in the Bocca della Verita – the Mouth of Truth.’ Valentina scratches her hands through her hair. ‘There are too many coincidences now. A woman with an ancient sword talking as though she is possessed or living centuries ago; brutal violence in a famous church linked with rituals about the public acclamation of truth; and now symbols and souls in a chiesa dedicated to suffrage and Purgatory.’
‘And that’s not all.’ Tom stands up and stretches.
Folding his six feet three inches into a cramped confessional hasn’t been a comfortable experience.
‘There’s the obvious connotation of the triangle. The one we haven’t mentioned.’
Valentina looks duly annoyed that she has to ask. ‘Which is?’
‘The occult one. The one Satanists protect. The pentagram. Five interlocking triangles representing the elements of earth, wind, fire and water, plus a fifth component, the supernatural spirit. It’s a symbol that has different powers according to how it’s drawn and where the spiritual segment of the triangle is located. Drawn pointing down, it is used in occult rituals to direct specific forces and energies against people. Drawn pointing upwards, it is used for protection.’
‘You learn something every day.’ Valentina throws her hands open. ‘But this leaves us where? How can I make sense out of it all?’
‘You can’t,’ says Tom. ‘We know there’s only one person who can do that.’
35
Once the photographer and CSI have been briefed, Valentina leaves the evidence-gathering at the church to a junior officer called Paulo Benchabo. A man who smells strongly of garlicky pasta and more than just the first glass of red wine.
She and Tom are about to return home when Louisa Verdetti calls her.
The medic still sounds edgy. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, it’s just that I know you’re chasing a deadline and I have just had quite a session with Suzanna.’
Valentina traps the phone between her ear and shoulder as she zaps the Fiat open with her key fob. ‘Did she tell you what happened at the church, where the blood on her clothes came from?’
‘No. No, I’m sorry she didn’t.’ Louisa sounds stressed. ‘Listen, I don’t want to raise your hopes; this may be something or nothing. I just thought you should know what happened.’
‘Thanks.’ Valentina slips into the Punto and quickly opens the door for Tom. ‘What exactly did she say to you?’
‘It’s complicated. She became yet another personality, another alter. More riddles, I’m afraid.’
Valentina holds her head in her spare hand and jams the keys in the ignition slot. This is the last thing she wants. ‘Hold on, I’ll get a pen and paper.’
‘Better you come and see. I videoed it. This new alter manifested while I was doing a routine recording of a diagnostic session.’
Valentina starts the engine. ‘I’m on my way. I’ll be with you within the half-hour.’
Both she and Tom know that’s optimistic. The journey is less than seven kilometres, but traffic is always bad around the Piazza del Popolo and Viale del Muro Torto.
By the time they’ve battled their way through and parked, it’s closer to forty minutes.
Louisa Verdetti is alone in her office, blinds half drawn, desk lamp on. She looks up as Valentina knocks and enters. ‘ Buonasera.’ Her expression shows she’s drained.
‘ Buonasera. Doctor, this is Tom Shaman, he’s a friend and has been unofficially helping me.’
‘ Buonasera.’ Tom shakes Louisa’s hand and smiles warmly. ‘I hope you don’t mind me being here. I can wait outside if you prefer.’
That’s not what Valentina wants. ‘Tom is a former priest. He and I worked together in Venice on a serious crime case, and I can vouch for his confidentiality.’
Louisa looks too tired to argue. She waves a hand at the sofa and picks a DVD off her desk. ‘Please sit down. Let me play this for you. Would you like a drink?’