The Devil Will Come

‘You see,’ Micaela whispered. ‘The same.’

Doctor Fiore, visibly shaken by the sight, overheard the remark. ‘Same as w – what?’

‘Just the same as I told her it would be,’ Micaela answered evasively.

It was as if the photo of the old man from Ulm had materialized incarnate.

The stubby tail hanging down to the fold of his buttocks like a dead serpent.

The numbers tattooed in three rings at the base of his spine.

Elisabetta took it in numbly. ‘I’ve seen enough,’ she said after a while.

She would have preferred a few minutes alone – perhaps a short respite in the hospital chapel – but it was not to be. There were more people in the basement hall and a heated contretemps had flared up. Zazo had arrived with Lorenzo and immediately got into an argument with Inspector Leone. Zazo started things by insisting that the convent intruder and the man on the slab were likely to be one and the same. Leone responded sarcastically that his investigation clearly demanded a higher level of proof than would satisfy the Vatican Gendarmerie.

The two of them argued and Micaela left to answer an urgent hospital page. Elisabetta was left alone with her thoughts until she felt a presence behind her.

‘Are you okay?’

It was Lorenzo, his arms folded across his front, two fingers gripping his major’s cap.

‘Yes, I’m all right,’ she said.

‘It was a terrible night for you, I’m sure,’ he said, looking down shyly at his feet.

There was something familiar about this. She saw Lorenzo but she felt Marco. The physical similarities weren’t so great. Marco was taller, darker, more handsome, at least in her mind’s eye. But here was another friend of Zazo’s, in uniform, making her feel safe just by his presence. And there was another similarity, she realized. The eyes. Both men had sympathetic eyes.

He glanced at Zazo and shook his head. ‘He’s fed up to here with the Polizia. They treated him like the criminal last night. Six hours of interrogation and that’s only the beginning, apparently. It’s complicated when you shoot someone.’

‘Have you ever …?’

Lorenzo answered quickly. ‘Never. I’ve never fired my gun in anger. Zazo neither – until now – but you know that.’

‘It’s an awful thing,’ Elizabetta said sadly. ‘I wish it hadn’t been necessary. I wish Professor De Stefano hadn’t been killed. I wish evil didn’t exist.’

‘Your family church,’ Lorenzo said. ‘It’s Santa Maria in Trastevere, isn’t it?’

‘Do you know it?’

‘In passing. Zazo’s mentioned it. Maybe when the Conclave is over and the dust has settled, maybe I can come and pray there with you.’

‘I’d like that.’ Elisabetta caught herself. ‘We all need to pray for Christ’s forgiveness.’

When the police got their turn in the morgue, Zazo came over to Elisabetta and Lorenzo. ‘These idiots have nothing. They’ve got a name, Aldo Vani, and that’s about it. He doesn’t have any employment records, no records that he ever paid tax. They searched his apartment and they say they came up empty. His mobile phone didn’t have an address book and the log of recent calls was empty. According to them, he’s a ghost.’

‘I worked in Naples as a young cop,’ Lorenzo said. ‘This guy is like a Camorra hit man with a life completely off the grid. But what’s with the tail? Whoever heard of something like that?’

Zazo looked protectively at Elisabetta. ‘We don’t know if this is relevant. Maybe yes, maybe no.’

Lorenzo’s phone rang. When he stepped aside to answer it Zazo asked her, ‘How are you holding up?’

‘I’m tired but still grateful to be alive.’

‘I told you not to leave Papa’s house.’

‘The professor called. He was so insistent, the poor man. He must have been threatened by that beast. At least I left a note, thank God.’

Zazo pointed at the morgue doors. ‘Jesus, Elisabetta. If you hadn’t it would have been you in there. I want you to go back to Papa’s and stay there. Don’t go out for anything. I’m going to try to get Leone to give you some police protection but I don’t think he’ll do it. He’s more focused on De Stefano and thinks you just stumbled into something. He’s not putting the pieces together.’

‘I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with him,’ Elisabetta said.

‘Don’t. It’s not in your best interests to tell him everything. Anyway it would blow the little fuse in his brain. He won’t even consider that the bastard in there was the same guy who tried to get you before. Christ, if the Conclave weren’t the day after tomorrow, I’d take a leave and protect you full-time myself.’

She touched his cheek. ‘You’re a wonderful brother.’

Zazo laughed. ‘Yes, I am. Listen, maybe it would be better if you went to stay at Papa’s farmhouse.’

Elisabetta shook her head. ‘I feel safer here. And I can go to my church. But Zazo …?

‘What?’

‘I’m neglecting my obligations and my devotions. I just want to go back to teaching and get my life back.’

‘Soon. I’m sure you’ll get it back soon. We’ll get to the bottom of this.’

Lorenzo and Micaela finished their calls at about the same time and joined them.

‘Inspector Loreti is having a stroke,’ Lorenzo says. ‘He wants us back at the Vatican right away. The place is crawling with red-hats and the media.’

‘Will you take her home?’ Zazo asked Micaela.

‘Inspector Leone said he wanted to speak with me again,’ Elisabetta said.

‘Then right after that, okay?’

‘I’ll take her,’ Micaela agreed.

A clatter of footsteps came from the direction of the elevators. Three monsignors were fast-walking towards them, trailed by an archbishop.

‘It’s Archbishop Luongo,’ Elisabetta told them, looking up. ‘The head of the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archeology.’

‘Okay, we’re out of here,’ Zazo said, putting his hand on Lorenzo’s shoulder. ‘I’ll call you at Papa’s.’

Elisabetta had an inkling that Lorenzo wanted to hug her goodbye or at least shake her hand but instead he simply smiled and left.

‘There you are,’ the archbishop called out. ‘How are you, my dear?’

‘I’m unhurt, Your Excellency.’

Luongo was tall, well over six feet. Elisabetta had seen him at the Institute once without a hat; his head was completely smooth and bald and he also lacked eyebrows and a five-o’clock shadow. Alopecia totalis, Micaela had told Elisabetta when she’d inquired about the condition. A completely hairless body. He was an ambitious man – everybody at the Institute said so – and the snippets of gossip that she picked up from the lunch room revolved around whether his malady would interfere with his patent desire to be elevated to cardinal.

He towered over Elisabetta. ‘Such a tragedy about Professor De Stefano. He was a marvelous man. I personally recruited him for the job, you know.’

She nodded.

‘Who would do such a thing? What are the police saying?’

‘They’re still investigating.’

The archbishop looked at Micaela over the top of his glasses.

‘This is Doctor Celestino, my sister,’ Elisabetta said.

‘Ah, how wonderful to be involved in the healing arts.’

Micaela managed a tight smile and to Elisabetta’s relief kept a lid on any snide retort.

‘I wonder if I might have a word with you personally,’ Luongo said to Elisabetta.

‘If it’s about the catacombs and the man who did this last night then you can speak in front of my sister. She’s signed a Commission confidentiality agreement. She knows everything about St Callixtus, Ulm and now this.’

‘Yes, yes, I recall – we brought you into the fold as a consultant, Doctor, did we not? Thank you for aiding the Commission and the Church. In that case, I’ll talk freely. Elisabetta, my message is short and hopefully it will be