The Fallen Angel

‘I still don’t see the bookmark. .’ Falcone began, fishing as always.

‘This is what Malise Gabriel was writing about in his book,’ Teresa explained. ‘All the Gods are Dead was a concerted argument for the idea that science could and should investigate and, if need be, destroy, anything in its path, however painful, however awkward, whatever the damage. The quest for knowledge was everything, and could accept no boundaries. The position of the Church was that unbridled curiosity was none of Galileo’s business, and it would take his life if he insisted it was. The Confraternita delle Civette, on the other hand, held that science and religion were separate fields, which could on occasion overlap, but without the need for conflict. Malise Gabriel kicked life back into one of the biggest and most bitter scientific debates there’s ever been. Without him we might never have had Richard Dawkins and Stephen Jay Gould going head to head the way they did. Gabriel was a wrecked genius, one rather more tragic than Galileo by the sound of it. But the odd thing is he ended up in the territory of. .’

She put down her knife and fork, unhappy with something.

‘I was about to say the territory of the enemy. But the Confraternita aren’t that. They’re just not as extreme as he is. They were always intent on reconciling science and religion. Not raising one to the heights and destroying the other. Odd place for him to fetch up. The middle ground. Not much room for that kind of thinking these days. We tend to be one thing or the other. I was amazed somebody had revived the old beast, to be honest with you.’

They went quiet. Then Agata said, ‘I remember some of that. Galileo stayed at the Palazzo Madama for a while, as Caravaggio had earlier. Science and religion weren’t enemies. Galileo believed he was pursuing knowledge in order to become closer to God. He wasn’t an atheist, like this man Gabriel.’

‘Given how things turned out, does that really make a difference?’ Teresa asked. ‘Truth is truth, whether you believe in a god or not. The earth isn’t flat. The sun doesn’t revolve around us and never has. People die and that’s it.’

They looked at one another, wondering who would have the courage to protest. It was Agata who spoke.

‘You don’t know about that final point,’ she said quietly. ‘No one does.’

‘Come and spend a day with me some time,’ the pathologist shot back. ‘See what you think then.’

Agata Graziano put down her knife and fork.

‘I’m out of my depth in these things. Why are we here? That poor girl in the street. . her father died. Whether he was controversial, or a man who got into some scandal, what’s it matter? Malise Gabriel was still with his wife and family twenty years later. He surely loved them. There, at least, he must have found something he could believe in.’

‘That’s true,’ Falcone agreed.

‘The photograph. .’ Costa began.

Peroni and Falcone began coughing simultaneously, glaring at him from across the table.

Agata watched them, then got up, saying, ‘Excuse me. I need a breath of fresh air.’

They were silent as she walked out, then Peroni nudged Costa’s elbow and murmured, ‘Go and have a word, will you?’

‘And say what? Sorry we insulted your faith and everything you believe in?’

‘Tell her the sweets are fantastic. That usually works with women.’

Teresa groaned and let her large head fall into her equally large hands. Falcone was holding his wine glass up to the light, muttering noises full of approval and a genuine surprise.

August, Costa thought.

FIVE

Agata was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, looking tired. A pretty young woman in her early thirties, doubtless worried about the job she’d start tomorrow, the first real employment she’d ever had. It was thoughtless of Falcone to invite her out, especially on dubious pretences. He’d clearly briefed Teresa fully before the meal, and was fishing for more information about Malise Gabriel and his background in the Confraternita delle Civette.

‘It’s stifling in there,’ Costa said as he joined her.

‘What is this?’ she asked with a touch of anger. ‘Why am I here? If you wish to have meals to discuss your cases, do so. But please tell Leo to leave me out of them. I saw enough of the world you live in two nights ago. I don’t want to meet it again. Not for a long time.’

He glanced at the piazza, and the Cenci building opposite.

‘It’s still there, though. “And yet it moves”.’

It was a very strange thing for someone to write on a bookmark.

‘You dragged me into one of your cases once before. I don’t want it to happen again.’

He took a deep breath and said, ‘I don’t recall that you needed much dragging. Nor is this my case. Or any case as far as I’m aware. Leo’s just. . being inquisitive. He’s interested in this man. And that message. These strange institutions. I can understand why he’d want to know more. Can’t you?’

‘It’s none of my business.’

‘I’ll let him know. Sorry. Can I walk you home?’

‘No,’ she murmured, looking down the street towards the Via Arenula and the way back. ‘Tell them thank you for the meal.’

‘Can I. . come by some time? To see how the job’s going? I am on holiday.’

‘You’re at a loose end?’ she said with a welcome smile.

‘Precisely.’

‘Well, I’m not.’

She took out her little phone and waved it at him. Agata was very well dressed for a hot Sunday night: grey slacks, a cream shirt, a necklace. Her curly black hair was no longer unruly, and once again her petite, dark face wore make-up. She looked beautiful and he wished this were the time to tell her so, though he felt scruffy and realized why both Falcone and Peroni had cast caustic glances at his oil-stained suit earlier.

‘Call first, Nic. You promise?’

‘Promise.’

She was gone so quickly there wasn’t time even for a friendly embrace. He watched her disappear back into the ghetto, the way Robert Gabriel had presumably taken when he fled after his father’s death. It seemed a distant and unreal event on a beautiful, lazy evening like this.

The rest of them tumbled noisily out of the door, Falcone and Peroni fighting each other for the privilege of picking up the bill.

‘Was it something I said?’ Teresa asked.

‘What do you think?’ Costa demanded abruptly. ‘She’s still a Catholic, you know.’

‘The truth hurts, I imagine. I still can’t believe what Ratzinger did. He tried to come back not long ago. The academic staff put a stop to that one. Wouldn’t even let him through the door.’

‘Well, there’s freedom of expression for you,’ he snapped. ‘None of this was Agata’s fault, was it?’

Teresa’s broad, intelligent face fell.

‘Oh dear. I’m sorry, Nic. I never meant to offend her. Anything but. It’s this awful heat. She doesn’t look like a nun any more. I thought. .’

She shrugged and looked very sorry.

‘She never was a nun,’ Costa pointed out. ‘And who cares about a speech from twenty years ago?’

‘When it tries to belittle the persecution of a brilliant man for telling the truth, I care. We all should,’ she insisted. Then she paused and asked, ‘Did we learn anything tonight? Really?’

The two older men stopped bickering and looked at him, waiting for an answer.

‘I learned that Malise Gabriel was an intriguing man who made enemies very easily,’ Costa said. ‘That he died in curious circumstances that may, if you look closely enough, prove to be suspicious. And also. .’ He thought about Mina Gabriel. ‘. . that he was a soldier in some kind of war, maybe. One most of us wouldn’t even understand. He must have lost all those jobs for a reason. That’s it. I’m a cop. What more do you expect?’

Teresa grinned, pecked him on the cheek and said, ‘Nothing. I wish I hadn’t upset Agata. I’ll call her and