The Fallen Angel

in the distant garden.

Costa cursed his own stupidity. He told the uniformed officers to stay by the gate. Then he strode on through the courtyard, beneath the arch, through the exquisite garden, to the Casina delle Civette.

The ground-floor door was open. He took the stone steps of the circular staircase two at a time. They were in the living room of the second-floor apartment, silent, grim-faced, seated awkwardly around Mina. The harsh midday sunlight fell through the arched windows. The girl blinked at him, shielding her eyes against it, as he entered.

‘Nic?’ Falcone began, standing up as Costa entered.

‘What is this?’ Costa asked, waving at him to stay seated.

Cecilia Gabriel was a little way from her daughter, distraught, face puffy with tears, a tissue in her hands, her eyes fixed on the floor.

‘We’re trying,’ Toni Grimaldi said, ‘to bring this matter to some kind of conclusion.’ He sounded exasperated. Costa wondered how long they’d been here, throwing questions at the girl again. ‘To get Mina to tell us just a little of the truth so that we can close this case for good. Unfortunately without some degree of co-operation, the evidence we have is too strong to be ignored.’

‘What evidence?’ Costa demanded.

‘The photographs,’ Grimaldi said, as if the question was ridiculous. ‘The email to her brother-’

‘The photos aren’t what you think,’ Costa interrupted. ‘The email’s a fake.’ He glanced at Falcone. ‘If you’d only left your phone on, Leo. If you hadn’t tried to take this case on to your own shoulders. .’

Falcone’s lean, tanned face flared with fury.

‘I am the inspector here,’ he declared. ‘I will decide the course of action.’

‘Not now,’ Costa cut in.

He pulled up one more chair from the dining table and set it next to the hunched young figure in the childish pyjamas, hugging herself in silence in the centre of the room, trying to pretend none of this existed.

Then Costa sat down, very close to her, tried to catch her eye, did so eventually and said, ‘I know, Mina. I know. Not all of it. Not yet, and maybe I don’t want or need to know everything. But I know enough. I know you told us the truth when you said your father loved you. I know enough, I think, to understand your brother was not what we thought.’

‘Aren’t you the clever one?’ she murmured in a thin, petulant voice.

‘Not really. Not at all. I’ve been stupid. Blind. I just saw what I wanted to see. What you wanted me to see sometimes. And sometimes, mostly maybe, what I felt like seeing myself.’

She clutched herself and rocked backward and forward, staring into the space in front of her with damp, unfocused eyes.

‘Where’s your uncle?’ he asked.

Costa watched both of the Gabriels avidly. Mina didn’t react, didn’t say anything, but Cecilia Gabriel’s head came up and her acute eyes were clear and sharp with shock.

‘I know it was him, Mina,’ Costa continued. ‘I understand, I think, the kind of pressure he must have placed on you. Why you felt you couldn’t tell us, even though-’

‘Even though what?’ she snapped.

‘Even though he killed your father.’

‘Mina!’ Cecilia Gabriel shrieked. The woman stood up, a tall, skinny picture of despair. The girl put her hands to her ears, closed her eyes, let her mouth droop in an expression of teenage disdain that didn’t suit her, didn’t seem real for a moment.

Cecilia Gabriel came and knelt in front of her daughter, taking hold of her hands, trying to unwind the tight fists.

‘What’s he talking about? What. . your uncle?’

The two of them were so close, they seemed to be a single person.

‘You weren’t supposed to know,’ Cecilia whispered. ‘None of that. You weren’t supposed to. .’

‘Know what?’ the girl yelled, her eyes suddenly alive and desperate, her face full of fury. ‘That the mythical Uncle Simon in England didn’t exist? I’m seventeen, mother. Do you not understand that?’

‘Darling. .’

‘I wasn’t supposed to know he lived here all the time, paying to keep us alive. And in return? Fucking you and Joanne and anything else that moved and you didn’t dare say no, did you, because then. . then. .’

Her features contorted until they were those of an infant gripped by agony.

‘Children shouldn’t use words like that, should they, Mummy? Not a baby like me. Bright Mina. Obedient Mina. The good daughter. The one who was never any trouble.’ She laughed and it was a dry, dead sound. ‘You never saw me in my room with Bernard. He never got round to showing you those pictures he took. Not yet. He was going to. That was what came next. You and me. With him. Maybe Joanne. Robert. Daddy too if he was still alive. That would have been fun, wouldn’t it?’

She leaned forward, stared into her mother’s face and asked, ‘Did he hurt you too? Not just here. .’ She snatched away her hands and tapped her fair hair. ‘I mean hurt?’

‘Oh God,’ Cecilia Gabriel moaned. ‘Oh God.’

Costa watched them both, wishing he was somewhere else.

‘You could have told me,’ Cecilia Gabriel murmured. ‘You are my child. I would have done something.’

‘What?’ Mina shouted. Then, more quietly, ‘What?’

Her fingers went to her mother’s face.

‘He owned us. You. Me. Robert. Daddy. We were just his playthings. We didn’t have a voice. We weren’t even human beings, were we? Just things. Do this or Daddy doesn’t get his treatment. Do this or you’re on the street.’ She fell quiet, staring at her mother, then said very quietly, ‘Things. Not people. You. Me. Robert. Joanne. Daddy. All of us. We were just his toys. And when he did it. .’

The girl closed her eyes. ‘He saw Daddy, didn’t he? He imagined Daddy’s pain, not ours. That was all it was about. Hurting him. Killing him.’

‘What made your uncle hate his own brother so much?’ Costa asked.

Cecilia blinked away the tears, then brushed at her hair.

‘Because Malise was the brighter one. The happier one. Because, whatever problems we had, we were a family. Simon could never have that. He’s a hateful, spiteful, avaricious man. Everything that Malise stood for — honesty, virtue, decency — appalled him.’ She gazed at her daughter, trying to see something that wasn’t there, and said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘For the same reason you never told me,’ Mina replied. ‘Or Daddy. Because I was frightened. Because I was ashamed.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Because I am ashamed.’

She shook her her head as if wishing away the memories.

‘Daddy found out in the end. About me. Bernard told him. Bernard boasted. He couldn’t stop himself, could he? All his conquests.’

‘Stop it!’

Falcone sat stony-faced and shocked in his chair. Grimaldi had a hand to his florid face, thinking. Costa listened to every word, every syllable, making the links.

‘Where is Bernard Santacroce now?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Cecilia Gabriel murmured, shaking her head. ‘Really I don’t.’

‘He can hear,’ the girl said. ‘Everywhere. He can hear us. He knows.’

‘No, Mina,’ Costa told her. ‘He can’t harm you.’

‘Really?’ The child again, scared, resentful. ‘He said he’d kill Daddy and he did. He said he’d kill Robert and he did.’ She looked at her mother. ‘Then you. Then me. If I told. . If I told. .’

Gently, Costa took both her arms and tried to look into her lost, damp eyes.

‘He’s never going to harm anyone again,’ he said. ‘I promise.’

TEN