guess Bruzzone planted it there. Soletto wanted more for his part in the cover-up, and put the pressure on for more. But my guess is that there weren’t any more, that the killer had felt guilty about possessing them. Isn’t that right, Renato?”
“Yes, yes, I gave them quietly to the princess, to help with the food, never in a way that she could discover where the money came from. The one I left for you to find was the last of the accursed things. I did not want them, I didn’t want any of this.”
“How did this happen?” O’Flaherty roared. “Explain yourself, will you?”
“It began in Genoa, of course,” Bruzzone said. He took a deep breath, and seemed to relax. I’d seen it before, with even more brutal murderers. Once they began to tell their story, it was like a great weight had been lifted from their souls, and they became eager for an audience, to explain themselves, to rationalize their behavior, even to demonstrate their skills at evading discovery for so long. “Severino was there with his family, his father, mother, and sister. God help me, we had become friendly. They were kind people. His father was a jeweler and had taught Severino the trade. They gave me their diamonds for safekeeping. The elder Rossi said I should use them as a bribe to free his children if they were taken.”
“But you stole them,” I said.
“No, no, it was not like that at all,” Bruzzone said, eager to prove himself only a murderer, not a thief. “I had obtained identity papers for them, genuine Vatican passports, Hugh, like we gave to so many. I was on my way to the house where they were hidden when the Gestapo took me. They had been watching Cardinal Boetto, and had seen me go in and out many times. They found the passports, and the diamonds.”
“They let you keep the diamonds?”
“First, they showed me the cells at Gestapo headquarters. It was horrible, the tortures they made me watch. Fingernails pulled out. Bones broken-my God, I can still hear the crack of a shinbone,” Bruzzone wailed. He looked at each of us, as if we might grant absolution. “They wanted to terrify me, and they did. Hugh, if I could have died quickly, I would have been glad to do so. But they are experts at deferring death and prolonging pain, greater pain than even our Lord endured upon the cross. They gave me a choice. They said they didn’t care about diamonds or priests, they wanted Jews. If I gave them Jews, I could go free, and take the diamonds.”
“Dear Mother of God,” O’Flaherty muttered.
“You have not seen what they do to the human flesh, Hugh.” Tears streamed from Bruzzone’s eyes, and O’Flaherty wept with him as we all felt the horror of what Bruzzone had carried within him. “I am not a saint, I found that out quickly. I have never felt such terror as I did then. And to give me a choice! It was diabolical. I begged, I prayed, but in the end I told them where to find the Rossi family. The next day, they let me go. They said the Gestapo in Rome would be in touch. I found myself on the street in Genoa, diamonds in my pocket and a stain upon my soul. I prayed that no one would ever find out what a coward I’d been. I felt sick with myself, and returned here as quickly as possible. I didn’t want the Gestapo in Rome picking me up. I knew I would do whatever they demanded, God help me.”
“Which is why you never set foot outside the Holy See again,” O’Flaherty said.
“Until the other day,” I said. I wanted to keep Bruzzone talking, telling us any detail that came to mind, so when we got to Corrigan’s murder the truth would be the only logical choice. “Where did you go?”
“Why, to the Gestapo, of course. I thought if you were to find out I was responsible, I would need protection. I asked to have safe passage north, and offered to give them whatever information they needed. But they beat me and threw me out into the street. They laughed. They had no record of what happened in Genoa, and called me a fool. It is almost comical, yes, all this time to have been worried?” No one answered him.
“Yesterday, you tried another approach. You called Koch at his headquarters and told him about my rendezvous,” I said.
“I did. I thought if you were removed from the investigation, I would be safe. Since the Gestapo did not believe me or value my services, I thought Koch would.”
“Renato, I told you about that meeting in confidence,” O’Flaherty said, the hurt evident in his voice. “At Mass this morning, it was!”
“I am sorry, Hugh. We are not all paragons like yourself. A giant among men, the holy warrior, happy in his work. Sometimes I think you are the greatest fool of them all.”
“Tell us what happened with Monsignor Corrigan,” I said, feeling almost sorry for this pitiful creature.
“He came to me one day, and said Severino Rossi had been in Saint Peter’s Square, accusing me of betraying his family. Corrigan had met him in Genoa when they first went to Cardinal Boetto for help. I had no idea Severino had escaped. I was so ashamed of what I had done, I wanted only to forget. But Severino alive would not let me.”
“Corrigan believed him, didn’t he?” I asked.
“Yes, so I told him that I had evidence that would clear me of those charges, and that I would produce it that night. I said Rossi was crazed with loss and fear, and didn’t know what he was saying. I waited until I saw Severino in the square and told him to meet me at the Door of Death that night, to give him his diamonds as well as proof it had not been I who betrayed his family.” Bruzzone hung his head, shamed at his own admission.
“The sleeping pills,” I said. “You had sleeping pills in your room. You gave them to Severino.” I’d wondered why Rossi had stayed near the body, and now, remembering the sleeping pills in Bruzzone’s room, it all made sense.
“Yes, I gave him food with the ground-up sleeping pills mixed in. He ate it all, and I sat with him until he fell asleep. Then Monsignor Corrigan appeared at the hour we had agreed upon. It was more difficult than I thought it would be. There was so much blood, and he would not stop struggling.”
“The dying cling to life,” O’Flaherty said. “As do sinners.”
“Do you know was the irony is?” Bruzzone said. “The tortures I brought upon myself were far worse than the physical pain I would have felt at the hands of the Gestapo. There were times I yearned for the torture chamber.” He looked wistful at the thought of it.
“You had a deal with Soletto, right?” Kaz asked, getting us back on track.
“Yes. I knew he was a greedy man, that he would take care of things for a few of my diamonds. He agreed to arrest Severino and to insure Monsignor Corrigan’s body was found outside of Vatican jurisdiction.”
“But the monsignor managed to drag himself back to the steps under the Door of Death,” I said.
“I had never killed a man before,” Bruzzone said. “I could not believe he had any strength left. I stabbed him once, and thought that was all it would take. He fell, but asked me why, why was I doing this? I pulled the knife out and thrust it in again and again until he was quiet. I had no idea he had any life left within him, there was so much blood. Soletto came as soon as a guard found the body, and acted promptly. Severino was taken away and I thought it was over. But Soletto was insatiable. He wanted more, and he would not believe me when I told him all the diamonds were gone. I used my last one when I placed it for you to find in Corrigan’s room. I had hoped to implicate Rossi as the murderer.”
“So Soletto had to go, right?”
“If you understand logic, you know that once you set upon a course, you must keep to it. Otherwise, what is the point?” Bruzzone said. “As you pointed out, this is a place of absolutes.”
“You used the misericorde because you had access to the Swiss Guard armory,” O’Flaherty stated.
“It was the perfect weapon. It is what it was made for,” Bruzzone said, a note of defiance creeping into his voice. “And there are few weapons to be had.”
“Logical,” Kaz said.
“Yes, and it is logical that you must let me go,” Bruzzone said, taking a deep breath. The tears were gone now, he’d gotten everything off his chest and he felt better. Time to go home and put this all behind him. Strange, how the mind of a killer can rationalize every action, every thought, twisting everything to fit in with his own needs and desires.
“Why?”
“What crime have I committed on Vatican ground? The mutilation of a pillow?” He smiled, wiping away the dampness on his cheeks.
“You have just confessed to murdering Monsignor Corrigan,” Kaz said.
“I was present, yes. But the crime occurred outside the boundary, as determined by the Lateran Treaty. And the Vatican Gendarmerie has already turned the murderer over to the authorities in Rome.”
“Soletto,” O’Flaherty said. “He was murdered well inside the walls.”
