not really caring either. “Take your bloody bag and be grateful we don’t confiscate it.”
Not that he understood a word, of course, until she calmed down long enough to translate a slightly calmer version. Crime. Murder. Locker involved. Police investigation. No damage. Thanks for your cooperation which is greatly appreciated. Etcetera.
All this in English, which the station master did not understand. Which was a pity. If he had, he might have been more sympathetic; as it was, he was more indignant about the smooth running of his station and was distinctly cool about answering Flavia’s questions.
He couldn’t go into details, he told her, because he was merely a standin while the real station manager was on holiday.
“Where?”’
“Vienna. The State Railway choir. They’re going on tour in Austria. Verdi’s Requiem. And some Palestrina. Signor Landini is a tenor.”
“Good for him. How is it that there are two keys? I have one, this American had one.”
He shrugged. Evidently one had been reported lost and replaced.
“When?”’
Another shrug. Such matters are always put in the book.
“Get the book.”
Reluctantly, he did. Flavia examined it with care. Nothing.
“You would have cut the new key sometime. Is there a record of that?”’
There was always a duplicate set, he explained. People lose keys all the time, and get very upset.
“So you have no idea when the second key came into operation? When the original went missing?”’
“No.”
“Can you tell if this is the original?”’ She handed over the key found in Burckhardt’s pocket. The station master looked at it and nodded. It was the original. You could tell by the numbering. She retrieved it, and looked so discouraged the man finally took pity on her, and picked up the phone.
“Lockers? Did Signor Landini ask you to get out any replacement keys in the past few days?”’
There was a pause. “Yesterday? The number? Good. No, everything’s in order. He forgot to note it in the book, that’s all. Holiday spirit, I suppose. He didn’t say anything about who lost the key? I thought not.”
He put the phone down. “Yesterday,” he said. “Someone came saying they’d lost the key yesterday.”
“I heard. They didn’t say when yesterday?”’
“No. Signor Landini reported it just before he left.”
Getting the necessary permissions to go into Burckhardt’s hotel room took the usual length of time. That is to say hours; he was on his own, there was no one to ask and official permission had to be sought from some legal nook and cranny. Left to her own devices, Flavia might well have just let herself in with a picklock, but the carabinieri were involved and they were terribly fussy about that sort of thing these days. They used not to be, but what with enquiries and investigations and assessments and all that, everyone was being awfully careful and punctilious about following the rules. Partly to avoid trouble, and partly to show to the powers-that-be that following rules was time-consuming and expensive.
So while they fussed around magistrates, and pathologists fussed around Burckhardt’s body, and Paolo went chasing after Mary Verney, Flavia was left temporarily with nothing to do. Instead she went back to San Giovanni, to see if Alberto had collared Menzies yet. There was no one around, so she saw Father Jean instead.
“What are all the flowers for? On the steps to the church?”’
The old man frowned. “They’re from the local population. Trying to persuade their Lady to return and forgive them.”
“What for?”’
“For neglecting her.”
Flavia thought back to her schooldays, and scratched her head. “Does that make good theology?”’
He smiled, and shook his head slowly. “It makes appalling theology. But what’s that got to do with it? They think she is displeased, and has withdrawn her protection. Frankly, it teeters on paganism. And, of course, we are being blamed. If we hadn’t cut her off by closing the doors … Do you know, one of us, Father Luc, was shouted at in a tobacconist yesterday? Told he was bringing disaster on the quarter? Can you believe it in this day and age?”’
“Hard.”
“Staggering. Father Xavier’s idea, you know. To shut the church. But none of us realized she was held in such affection. Anyway, the flowers and baskets of fruit are to woo her back. If it goes on, we’re going to be visited.”
“Who by?”’
“The parish overseer, and our Cardinal supervisor. This could cause trouble for us, you know. We will get criticized for shutting the church, and criticized for encouraging superstition. I know it. Signorina, you know, I’m too old for this.” Flavia looked at his old and lined face, and the slump in his shoulders and couldn’t do anything but agree. Fortunately, it was outside her province, although she thought Bottando would probably give useful, worldly advice. But he was fat and sixty, and could do things like that. She had her work cut out doing her own job, let alone telling other people how to do theirs.
“It’s about keys,” she said, to get the subject back on to more comfortable territory. Then paused for a long while. Father Jean sat patiently, waiting for her to elaborate.
“A man was seen coming out of the door of the church at six-thirty. Somebody on the inside must have opened it. How many keys are there? Who has them?”’
“To the big door? The one on to the street?”’
She nodded.
“There is only one,” Father Jean said.
“Can I see it?”’
“By all means. It hangs on a hook just inside the door.”
“I’d better check it’s there.”
He smiled. “There is no need, although you are more than welcome to do so if you wish. I saw it myself this morning. Have you arrested this man? It may be uncharitable, but if he attacked Father Xavier I will find it very hard to forgive him.”
She grimaced. Evidently no one had yet told them. “I’m afraid that this case is becoming rather complicated,” she said. “Mr Burckhardt was found in the Tiber this morning. He had been shot.”
“Oh, my goodness. The poor soul.”
“Indeed.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what all this is about.”
She looked at him sadly. “You are not the only one, Father, believe me. This is becoming very much more than the theft of a not very important work of art. It’s a nightmare. I hope that Father Xavier will help. Assuming we’re allowed to talk to him tomorrow.”
“You don’t think that he is in any danger?”’
She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t think anybody was. I was evidently wrong. I’ve had a guard put over him.”
“For some reason, I am not as reassured as I might be.”
“No,” she agreed flatly. “Nor am I.”
“I would like to send one of our more muscular brothers down to sit by him.”
“I’m sure that would be fine. What is it?”’
Father Jean was looking suddenly ill at ease, very much like someone who felt the need to say something but was too delicate to begin.
“Come on, you can’t surprise me. Nothing can surprise me today.”
“I was wondering when we would be seeing the General. I’m sure, of course, that you are more than experienced enough. Please don’t think that. But as General Bottando knows us from the last time … I like to think he and I struck up a rapport, you see, and I was looking forward to seeing him.”
“I’m afraid that’s unlikely,” she said. “I have been put in charge of the case. General Bottando is too—ah— preoccupied at the moment.” She did her best to avoid being irritated, and just about managed. It was, after all,
