Il Pane Della Vita

by Coralie Hughes Jensen

  Sister Angela finished her meal and waited for the abbot’s prayer that would dismiss them so they could begin their daily tasks.

  He finally approached her. “Sister, there is a car outside. It is waiting to take you to the scene of the explosion at the eremo.”

  “Would you like to tell me something, Father? Is there anything I might expect from the police who have already investigated the scene?”

  “I was told I wasn’t to interfere,” he said quietly. “We can’t withhold information from the police. I wouldn’t want the Church to lose control over the buildings and lands here because we didn’t allow the authorities to come to their own conclusions. Inspector Morena will be there, of course.”

  “In the case of murder, it would be essential that we turn over any evidence to both parties. My intention is to present alternatives to those of the Church. But you and I remain on the same team, Father. If something untoward happened up the mountain, we would both want to make the hermitage safe by working with the local police detective to solve a crime.”

  “You are correct, Sister. Any activity on the mountain that does not involve prayer and contemplation is not welcome. I believe you will find the chief detective quite easy to work with.”

  Satisfied that the abbot understood her completely, she grabbed her red-striped bag and rose from her chair. She followed him around the colorful courtyard to the front door. “I shall want to talk to some of the witnesses here either this afternoon or in the morning, Father.”

  “And they’re eager to speak with you. If you have any problems on the mountain, come to me when you return, and I’ll help set up your interviews.”

  The dusty road that twisted into the clouds was indeed narrow. The nun glimpsed down the steep slopes beside the car and felt queasy.

  “Don’t worry, Sister,” said the driver, passing her his card over the front seat. “I drive this road all the time to take supplies to the chefs and housekeepers above. In fact, I’m making a delivery to them today. When the road is dry, like it is now, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “But surely you don’t make the rounds in the winter, Mr...”

  “Bassi. Ignazio Bassi. Please call me Ignazio. Everyone down below helps dig the eremiti out when it snows. I think a muddy road is harder to drive than a frozen one.”

  I’m not so sure, the nun said to herself, sneaking a peek over the ledge of the steep slope that disappeared in a fogbank about halfway down.

  Sister Angela let out a sigh of relief when she was able to step out onto firm ground near the mountaintop. The driver parked the car in a small lot outside the plastered walls and opened her door. The nun surveyed the lot and recognized an Avalle police car and truck parked side by side. She turned toward the wall that lined the little lot. Directly above its top, she could make the towers of the chiesa.

  “The door is in that tiny chapel. I called the doorman who’s inside so it should be open for us,” said the driver, carrying a couple of grocery bags he had pulled out of the trunk. “Everyone must already be inside.”

  “It wouldn’t be so difficult to climb this wall. Perhaps anyone could get in easily.”

  Bassi pushed the button and the doorman immediately opened it. They passed through the doorway into a large courtyard, surrounded by tall buildings and the church.

  “Are these their cells?” asked the nun.

  “No. This is the gatehouse. It has offices for those who oversee the needs of the eremiti. There, beyond the church and wrought iron fence are the cells.”

  At the far end up the hill, more than a dozen houses with walled gardens dotted the landscape like candy.

  “Those are larger than I thought,” she said.

  “Each cottage has a sitting room, a place for prayer, and a bedroom. The meals are delivered. There’s a pass-through near each door for their meals. Each cottage also has private outdoor space where the eremiti can garden if they wish.”

  The nun was impressed.

  “Follow me. This gate to the cottages is usually locked, but since the police are here …”

  Sister Angela followed Bassi along one of the paths. It twisted up the low hill to a grouping of cottages near the back fence.

  “It’s the last cottage before the back fence. Beyond the perimeter, the forest begins again.”

  The nun tried to peek into some of the gardens, but Bassi was walking too fast. In front of them, a man approached.

  “Sister, this is Inspector Morena.” said Bassi. Leaving the nun in the inspector’s capable hands, the driver retreated to the gate and disappeared into a building abutting the gatehouse.

  “How do you do, Sister Angela? We’ve been waiting for you. Inspector DiMarco tells me you’re on a mission. He also mentioned that you’re a good detective. I look forward to working with you. Let me show you the crime scene.”

  The final dwelling sat at the end of the walkway with its side front door facing a wrought-iron fence. Beyond the fence, the forest rose to eventually crown the mountain.

  She examined the shorter fences that enclosed each house and yard. Was there a gardener, or did the hermits create their own gardens? She leaned over the neighbor’s stone fence to take in the aroma of the numerous blooms.

  “This spot is where we start,” said the inspector.

  “There’s still a cell here?”

  “Without most of the tile roof, yes, Sister. It was identical to all the others.”

  “And the body?”

  “We have found no human remains. With an explosion this size, one would still expect a body. If the fire ran hot enough there would be at least a skeleton. My men are sifting through the rubble inside and out. The size of the explosive shouldn’t have burned the body of the inhabitant beyond the skeletal frame. Breakdown of the human tissue would be unlikely here because the blast, necessary for the disintegration, would also have leveled the hermit’s neighbors. No one has found ashes, which makes tissue breakdown doubtful. A larger debris field, partly inside the walls, should contain some evidence. As you probably already know, Sister, the resident was a Brother Pietro. I was under the impression you would supply us with Brother Pietro’s real name. I have spoken to a few others around here. They claim they don’t know that information. But we’ll need it in order to inform the family.”

  “What are you going to tell them? At the moment, we can’t tell them he’s dead.” Sister Angela sighed. “The brothers probably wouldn’t have been told. I’ll find out for you. We have no victim yet and certainly can’t inform the family until we know he’s dead. You mentioned the explosion. Aside from the lack of human remains, what do you know about it?”

  They walked into the cottage. As Bassi had described to her, it seemed to have been four rooms, though the soot made it difficult to tell which room was which.

  A uniformed man walked into the cottage’s shell to speak with Morena. Morena turned to the nun, who was staring intently at the gray sky through the damaged roof. “Sister Angela, this is Assistant Detective Draco Loria.”

  “I’m very happy to meet you, Sister. I hear that your detective work is superb.”

  The nun glanced at Morena, hoping he wasn’t offended by the praise. After all, Loria did work for Morena. “Your theory, inspector?”

  “I believe this was a gas explosion.”

  “An accident?”

  “No,” said Morena. “If the gas was left on or there was a leakage from the pipe, there would need to be something that would spark it. The resident could have lit a cigarette or ignite a spark some other way. Then we would probably have found a body. There was no lightning or enough heat to cause a natural combustion of the materials. If the victim didn’t light it himself, then something else had to cause a spark.”

  “And there’s evidence to support that theory, inspector,” said Loria. “There are cuts in the pipe leading into the gas fireplace, and we found some sort of electrical device on the floor. It looks like someone set a timer for a mechanism to ignite t
he gas. There’s a timer on it, see? Even though that most likely did the trick, we also found a bomb.”

  The Inspector’s brow shot up. “I have heard no such report. Did it go off?”

  “It was just found under the rubble. Yes, it was a cylinder or pipe like a rocket at a fireworks display.”

  “In that case, this definitely wasn’t an inadvertent error made by the inhabitant.”

  “He could have set it himself and fled,” said Sister Angela. “Perhaps he wanted to make us think he was dead.” She considered it for a moment. “Why cause the gas to ignite with a thingamabob and detonate a bomb? I’m not sure which went off first. If the bomb was supposed to ignite the gas, that would have a purpose, correct? But I can think of no other reason for a bomb.”

  Loria cleared his throat. “The explosive was pointed upward.”

  “Like it was on its end?” asked Morena. “But it could have landed that way. The explosion could have shoved it into the ground so that it looked like it was standing up.”

  “Possibly, but it was attached to a block with metal hinges. The block of wood is now charcoal, but it’s clear that the cylinder was still connected to it.”

  “So that it wouldn’t fall over…” said Morena, obviously lost in thought. “And there was nothing else left from it?”

  “There were parts found on the floor and even stuck to the brick facings. They need to be examined. One of them might contain a manufacturing code or something to help us identify the producer.”

  “I definitely want to know about the results of any tests on what you’ve found,” said Sister Angela. “If you can give me a day or two to get started, we might be able to meet in Avalle and exchange any new information.” She walked to the door and paused. “Inspector, why did the explosion blow up and not out. I’m not an expert, but I would expect the walls to go and the roof to drop.”

  “Probably because the walls are constructed with bricks held in place by metal rods. The roof, on the other hand, is built with wood and tiles that are not mortared together. The pressure increased until it found the easiest way to escape. The rafters flew up, scattering the tiles.”

  “I know you’re both aware of this already, but to me it’s important which explosion happened first—the bomb or the detonation of the gas,” said the nun. “I’ll try to get that information from the witnesses. I mean, if someone was trying to murder the hermit, he would set the thingamajig to a certain time to make sure it went off after Brother Pietro returned from Compline.”

  “And time enough for the perpetrator himself to escape,” said Loria.

  “He must have expected the explosion to ignite the pipe bomb. But I still don’t understand why that bomb was needed.”

  “There’s plenty of time to speculate, Sister,” said Morena. “We’ll get this evidence to the lab. My men can search the wide swathe of ground around the eremo, looking for a body, while you do a round of interviews.”

  The nun took a pad out of her striped bag and began to make a list. “Yes, I’ll start with those who had the closest access.”

  “His neighbors, the other hermits?”

  “No, his keepers. They have much more access to the hermits than anyone. I want to know how the system works—who delivers what when and how one gets access to interview the hermits themselves.” The nun turned to step over the threshold into the sun that was quickly melting away the clouds. “Yes, finding a body is important, chief inspector. I’m afraid if we can’t find the monk alive or dead soon, they’ll send us all home, claiming that someone is on his way to becoming a new saint.”

  Loria led her along the wrought-iron perimeter fence until they found a gate to the back woods. She met some of the policemen trying to unearth more evidence.

  “Have you found anything yet?” she asked two of them, combing through the low brush.

  “Not yet. We spent the morning looking for ash or bones closer to the fence. We didn’t find anything like that. I hear they discovered some charred bushes and a tree limb farther along the hillside. At least they have something to report.”

  “I assume you were looking for the skeletal remains of whomever was in the house?”

  “Yes. That’s also why we were looking for ash. We figured that if we waited, the birds or forest animals would help themselves. I’m sure the others that found the charred bushes were doing the same. It would be odd, though, to see parts of someone fly forty to fifty meters through the air, Sister.”

  “Yes indeed. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep looking, does it?”

  “So the explosion carried off debris in our direction where it charred trees and bushes on the way down,” said Sister Angela.

  “It looks that way, but that doesn’t mean some of it didn’t land all over this patch of woods.”

  The nun was beginning to feel the heat of the summer afternoon. Bassi helped her down the slope and across the parking lot where he had set up two chairs that overlooked the valley below. He had her sit down and handed her a bottle of cold water. Pouring a bit on a kerchief, she dabbed her neck and face.

  Bassi then handed her a sandwich. “I made these in the kitchen.”

  “Whose kitchen?”

  “The one across from the church. They create meals for the eremiti. I knew they were too busy to make ours so I brought supplies for us and set up on one of the counters. Hopefully the police brought their lunches because I didn’t think of them.”

  “Thank you, Ignazio. I’m starving. Is that Avalle through the treetops or are we looking at another valley?”

  “Yes, it’s Avalle. If you carefully scan the treetops you might be able to make out the roof of Santo Velo too. You can tell because of the stream that runs past the monastery. It loops around like a dragon’s tail. Can you see it?”

  “This is such a wonderful place to be a hermit. The view alone is inspiring, and one can hike around in the forest and listen to the birds.”

  “If that’s something you want to do. You don’t seem to me like the hermit type, Sister Angela.”

  “I don’t?” She smiled. “Hopefully you don’t think I’m not devout enough.”

  “No, no, Sister. I’m sure you are devout. There’s no doubt that your works are very important.”

  “Then you ascertained that I couldn’t be hermit because I like other people too much. You’re correct, Ignazio. In fact, my mother superior calls me a chatterbox. She says I always have too much to say and that no one else can get anything done.”

  “I’m sure she’s wrong. What you’re telling everyone is very important. You just take the time to make sure they’re listening.”

  “I do have a few more things to take care of before I return to the monastery. I have to set up interviews with the workers and the hermits. The police want me to investigate quickly so they can take over soon. I can’t ask you to stay. Would you like me to call you when I’m ready to descend?”

  “I have to take an inventory of their supplies. I’ve been waiting for the cook in charge. He should be arriving soon. I’ll wait for you. You can find me either in the kitchen or in this chair, admiring the sites of the beautiful valley and reminding myself that I have a wonderful job.”

  Four

  The Promotion

  Her head down, a young woman cleared the dishes from the long table. Russo could not avert his eyes from her thick, dark auburn hair and creamy complexion.

  “Oh, excuse me, Dante. May I present my daughter, Ciana.”

  Russo stood and reached across to take her hand, but she had no hand free. For a fleeting moment, she stared into Dante’s eyes before staring at the porcelain dishes balanced precariously on her forearms.

  “You will have to excuse her, Dante. She is clearing the table because she let the help go on holiday. She is not normally so unfriendly. His voice rose as he called toward the kitchen. “Darling, please bring us the moscato and some glasses. Perhaps you would prefer English port or even brandy.”

  Dante waved off his sugg
estions.

  “And please sit down with us. After all, you are not one of the help, Ciana.”

  A few minutes later, Ciana placed the glasses and a decanter on the table and sat down across from her father’s guest.

  Dante could almost taste her perfectly-shaped lips. He wanted to push the long auburn hair away from her face so he could look into her sea-colored eyes, a kaleidoscope of blues—and greens when the light hit them.

  “I have heard the talk at the office. Most of you know that I have to fill the position that Sandro left open when he had that heart attack last month. You probably never thought I would get to you.”

  “In the last few weeks, Papà has had several of the interviewees to dinner, one at a time, to tell them they did not get the job.”

  “Yes, the first few boasted about their invitations,” said Russo. “They returned to work the next day but weren’t very happy. They wouldn’t tell us what happened. I remained silent about our dinner because I didn’t want to be so transparent about my feelings tomorrow.”

  “So you believe you did not get the promotion,” said Fabri.

  “Considering there were several more that haven’t yet had the opportunity to dine with you…” He smiled at Ciana.

  “You are aware then that in this position, one would have considerable responsibility. Few could handle such pressure at so young an age as you, Dante.

  “Yes, sir. I understand.” He took another sip of the moscato and let the smooth sweetness trickle down his throat. He would not have another chance to enjoy such a delicacy for a long time.

  “I was thinking of sending the new vice president to our offices in the Czech Republic. What do you think about that, Dante?”

  He forced his gaze away from Ciana. “That’s an idea, sir. It’s always important to send a high-level employee to manage a factory for a while. It reminds the staff in the outer factories that they must follow the guidelines set by upper management. It also gives the employee a chance to hone his management skills with a group that seeks the approval of someone of stature in a company.”