The major makes the sign of the cross as he enters the centre aisle and bows his head.
He has worshipped in this church.
He’s sat and knelt in here with his wife and children and he’s furious that he’s been forced to return in full combat gear with a gun dangling from his hip.
On the left-hand side of the church, a third of the way from the main entrance, he notices the pews have been disturbed.
Two of them are splayed open into a big V.
Between them is a pool of blood.
The furthermost pew is stained red.
He’s seen people faint in church – it isn’t that uncommon – but light-headed fallers get away with a bruise and a bump. They don’t bleed like a haemophiliac in a razor-blade factory.
Lorenzo’s radio crackles again.
He answers it, looking apologetically towards the altar. ‘Silvestri.’
His lieutenant comes online and has to shout over loud crowd noise and honking car horns behind him. ‘Major, we have a man outside who seems to have an explanation for all the trouble.’
Lorenzo looks to the giant crucifix over the altar. ‘Thank you, Lord, I was beginning to believe you had deserted me.’
105
They cover Valentina’s eyes.
Not in any sophisticated way. They don’t use a hood or a blindfold. They just throw a coat over her head and tie a belt around her neck to keep it there.
For a professional like Valentina, it’s the kind of action that gives away a lot of clues.
For a start, they seem more bothered about her not seeing where they’re going than the fact that she’s already had a good look at all their faces and can identify them.
She’s not sure if this is a good thing or not.
It’s good if they’re as disorganised as she hopes they are. If they’re simply coping with things as they blunder their way along.
But it’s bad – very bad – if they’re not so amateur. If they’re thinking that once they’ve questioned her about where Anna is, they’re going to kill her rather than let her go.
A sobering thought.
Only one thing brings Valentina some comfort. For now they want her alive.
She has time on her side.
Not much. But time enough.
Time to think. Time to bluff. Time to escape.
The coat over her head is doing a good job of stopping her seeing, but all her other senses are working overtime.
They’ve walked her downstairs, into the crypt, then walked her some more. Made her stand still. Turned her sideways on and then pushed her through a doorway.
Valentina’s memorised it all.
She can retrace her steps, follow her senses, if she has to. If she gets the chance to.
Now the air is colder.
It smells different too. Not of candle wax and church polish; of something earthier, something much baser.
Damp.
It has the metallic smell of damp and animal droppings, probably from mice or rats.
Someone grabs her shoulders, turns her round and holds her as she walks forward.
She’s guided down three or four wide steps.
They turn her left for a few steps and then right again before straightening her up.
They let go of her shoulders and allow her to walk along the flat again.
The twisting and turning has made her a little unsteady. She puts her hand out to avoid falling over.
It touches stone.
She’s sure it’s stone.
It’s rough, hard and lumpy. Totally unlike the plaster or marble of a church.
She rubs her thumb across her two fingers.
Wet and slimy.
The walls are damp.
She guesses she’s in some kind of underground passageway. Perhaps an ancient bolt-hole for priests or nuns at the nearby convent, a place they would hide from persecutors.
Or perhaps it’s something else.
Tom’s comments spring to mind. Pre-Christian cults, castrated followers of Cybele and Attis, ceremonies and rituals involving human sacrifices.
Is she in the midst of all that?
She remembers too the writing on the walls of the Sacro Cuore del Suffragio – DOMINA. DOMINUS. TEMPLUM. LIBERA NOS A MALO. Mistress. Master. Temple. Deliver us from evil.
Is that where she’s being taken? To the temple?
Valentina realises that she’s not gagged.
She wishes she was.
It’s not a good sign that they’re not afraid of her screaming or shouting for help.
Maybe it’s because the gun is still on her. Occasionally jabbing into her flesh and often accompanied by a command for her to hurry up. Or is it because they’re now so far underground that she could scream herself hoarse and no one would hear her?
She thinks it’s the latter.
She knows they’re already a very long way below and beyond Santa Cecilia, where her fellow soldiers are now no doubt swarming all over the church.
But that’s where her knowledge stops.
And that’s what frightens her most.
106
Lorenzo Silvestri lights Federico’s cigarette for him.
He has to.
The lieutenant’s hand is shaking too much for him to be able to do it himself.
Federico hasn’t been scared by the gunfire, the stabbing, the sudden influx of Carabinieri troops or even the fact that he now has to explain what he and Valentina were doing at the church.
He’s frightened that Valentina is dead.
He’s scared stiff that he misunderstood what she’d asked him to do and as a result she’s been killed.
‘So tell me,’ says Lorenzo, fresh from learning over his earpiece that Federico and his captain are suspended and shouldn’t be doing anything except staying at home and getting fat on cupboard snacks, ‘what were you and Morassi doing at Santa Cecilia?’
Federico tries to explain. ‘We’d both been working a case involving a psychiatric patient called Anna Fratelli. She’d been arrested in connection with a violent incident in Cosmedin. Subsequent enquiries based on what she said to us also resulted in a mutilated male body being found on the banks of the Tiber.’
Lorenzo senses this is going to get complicated. ‘Hang on!’ He pulls a small notebook and pen from a button-down pocket on the leg of his combat pants. ‘Right, continue.’
‘Anna Fratelli died in hospital last night. The doctor in charge of her, Louisa Verdetti, phoned Captain Morassi. It was a strange call. Valentina worked out that Verdetti was being held hostage by someone who wanted to break Anna out of the psych unit.’
The major’s mind is reeling. ‘I’m full of questions here. Who, what and why being at the front of that queue. But first, tell me, are we talking about someone who wanted to take Anna Fratelli’s dead body, or someone who wanted to kidnap her because they thought she was still alive?’
‘The latter.’
‘Okay. But why did this doctor…’ he glances down at his notes, ‘Verdetti, call your captain? Were they friends?’
Federico shakes his head. ‘No. Far from it. Verdetti was the one who got us suspended. She complained to our top brass that we’d pushed Anna too far during interviews and had made her sickness worse.’
‘And did you push her too far?’
Federico hesitates. ‘No, sir. I really don’t think we did.’
‘Explain something to me, Lieutenant. When my men checked with our control room, there was no record that you and Morassi were attempting this recovery operation. Had neither of you called it in?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘Sir, even before we were suspended there was bad blood between Captain Morassi and our commanding officer, Major Caesario.’
Lorenzo begins to see the picture. ‘Bad blood or not, you still should have called it in. I know what Caesario is like but you should have gone by the book.’
Federico looks penitent. ‘Yes, sir.’
Lorenzo stops him with the palm of his hand. It’s clear he’s taking a radio message in his earpiece. ‘ Grazie,’ he says to whoever is on the other end. He looks back to Federico. ‘One of my units has just found Doctor Verdetti. She’s fine. Panicky as hell, but she’s unhurt.’