Tom can see that whatever trust she had in him is evaporating as fast as a waft of frankincense at morning Mass. ‘ I do know, Anna, but I need you to tell these other people.’ He gestures to Louisa and Valentina. ‘They won’t believe me if I tell them; it has to come from you.’
Anna starts breathing deeply.
Very deeply.
Panting hard.
Louisa wonders if she’s starting to hyperventilate.
Anna stretches her arms wide and pulls her shoulders back, like a swan opening its wings.
Valentina moves to the edge of her seat.
Something’s going to happen, and this time she’s going to be prepared. There’ll be no surprise head-butting, and no bust lips.
‘The Mother is all we are!’ shouts Anna.
Only she’s no longer Anna.
Tom stands and takes a step towards her.
‘Mater, who is all, is within us.’ She tears at the bandage on her cut arm.
Louisa jumps from her seat and tries to stop her.
‘ Mater, who is all, is with us every day.’ She pushes Louisa away and claws at the stitches.
Valentina is now on her feet and has reached the bed.
‘From Her we are – and to Her we go!’
She grabs Anna’s wrists and restrains her.
‘From Her we are – and to Her we go!’ The nonsense is no longer being shouted, it’s being screamed. ‘From Her we are – and to Her we go!’
Only one person in the room understands what’s happening.
Tom Shaman sits silently and listens.
It makes perfect sense to him.
66
The whole place stinks.
Federico wonders if he’s going to get ill from just being here. No way was he going to let that androgynous son-of-a-bitch loose on the streets until he’d personally been to where he lives and found out what he’s hiding.
It’s filthier than the Black Hole of Calcutta.
But he can’t find anything incriminating.
No drugs. No weapons. No stolen goods.
The search team has already tossed Guilio Angelis’s squalid apartment in the Aventine more thoroughly than a Michelin-starred salad, but Federico’s determined to shake it some more.
He holds a handkerchief to his nose as he joins an officer in a tiny bathroom with a postage-stamp window smeared in green mould.
The stench from the toilet makes him want to hurl.
It’s never seen bleach.
Correction: by the look of it, it’s never been flushed.
‘Show me the cistern again,’ instructs Federico. ‘Let’s make doubly sure there’s nothing bagged and hidden in the water.’
The young officer drops the seat cover, steps up and lifts off the heavy white ceramic top of the water tank.
Federico climbs up on the adjacent sink and cracks his head on the ceiling. ‘ Madonna porca! ’ He rubs it. Static crackles off his latex gloves and makes his hair rise. He inches forward and peers down into the brown water around the ballcock and flush lever. He grimaces as he plunges his hand into the murky soup and fishes around. ‘Why is the water here so filthy?’
‘Bad plumbing. Rusty pipes,’ says the officer from below. ‘You drink this stuff and you’re either dead or immortal within the hour.’
‘No kidding.’
Federico jumps down. ‘Nothing.’ He strips off his glove because water’s seeped in and looks at the sink. ‘Don’t tell me, this dirty pig doesn’t even have a bar of soap? I can’t believe it.’
‘We’ve got some sterile wash in a kit bag, sir.’
‘Get it.’ Federico shakes the water off his hand and then remembers his manners, ‘ Scusi, per favore.’
While he’s waiting, he wanders back to the small lounge.
No TV.
How can anyone live these days without a television?
No balls and no TV.
What the hell does this guy do for fun?
Federico looks around.
There are no books either.
He doesn’t read, doesn’t watch the tube, doesn’t have sex, doesn’t even jerk off.
He does nothing.
This guy is Mr Nothing.
Federico wanders into the next room.
The bedroom doesn’t even have a bed. Only a mattress on the floor.
No sheets.
He pulls open a small built-in wardrobe.
The search team have already stripped it of clothes and shoes.
It’s empty, except for some old sheets of newspaper lining the bottom.
He lifts some up.
They’re not old papers.
They’re pages from bibles.
Hundreds and hundreds of pages from dozens of different bibles.
67
‘It’s all going to be okay. I can help you. God will protect you.’
Tom moves his chair so that Anna can only see him and is not distracted by Louisa or Valentina. ‘I know you believe in God, that you pray to Him and that you trust in Him.’
Anna holds his hand as tightly as she can, but it’s a grip of fear rather than reassurance. She’s on the brink of tears.
Stress is building rather than subsiding.
‘Are you all right?’ asks Tom gently.
‘They’re going to kill me.’ The first tear rolls down her left cheek. ‘Please don’t let them kill me.’
Tom strokes the back of her hand. ‘No one’s going to hurt you.’
‘They have to. They say they have to.’
‘Who, Anna? Who has to?’
‘The Galli and the Sisters.’ She sniffs and reaches towards a box of tissues. ‘I know they’ll kill me.’
Tom stretches, picks up the box and hands over several of the soft white tissues. ‘No one’s going to harm you, I promise.’
Her mood changes.
She looks angry and speaks in a strange and hostile voice.
