by James R Benn
I cornered John May and confirmed that Sir D’Arcy had received a copy of the Auschwitz Protocol and Remke’s letter. May knew about the documents going to Switzerland. May knew most everything that went on, but not the Severino Rossi story. His version had Rossi in O’Flaherty’s room. I asked him to pass on the news that we might have the investigation wrapped up by tomorrow, and that we needed passage out of here. He had his own communications network in place, and I didn’t want to know details, except for when Kaz, Diana, and I could get out.
And maybe Nini, I thought, as I watched her and Kaz together. As I did, the door opened, and Bishop Zlatko strode into the room. Everyone stopped talking and stared.
“Now you all see that I was right when I said these spies should be cast out,” he said. “The Allies have desecrated Monte Cassino, and will destroy the Vatican itself!”
“Bishop Zlatko, this is not the place for accusations,” Monsignor Montini said, rising from his seat.
“You are right. Tomorrow will be the time. I only hope Monsignor O’Flaherty will also be dealt with. He is obviously an Allied agent consorting with these provocateurs.”
“Bishop, I know we don’t agree, but come break bread with us,” O’Flaherty said, clearly doing his best to keep his temper at bay.
“Bishop, please, for the peace of this house,” Montini said, gesturing toward the table.
“Yes, of course,” he said, visibly calming himself. “Forgive my rudeness. The news of Monte Cassino has been quite upsetting.” He came to the table and I poured him a glass of wine.
“So, what happened to our deal?” I asked.
“I did act to stop proceedings against you, as I said I would.”
“But you didn’t get me the list of informers I asked for. Instead, you headed straight for Koch’s headquarters.”
“Of course, that is where I was going to get the information. What better place? I was simply surprised when I saw you there, in that German uniform.”
“So then I guess you know we have Severino Rossi?”
“What of it?”
“He’s about healed up enough to tell us who killed Monsignor Corrigan.”
“You would believe a Jew? He’d say anything to save his own skin,” Zlatko said, his lips twisted in disgust.
“That describes a lot of people. What about the informer?”
“Oh, I know exactly who it is. But I have no reason to tell you now. You have no standing here and there is nothing you can do against me. You will be tossed out into Rome proper soon enough. Thank you for the wine, it was mediocre.” He barked out a harsh laugh, turned on his heel, and left, not even slightly curious as to where Rossi was.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“Now we wait,” I said. I’d gone outside with the last of the guests, to make sure everyone had left the building. John May was the last to go, and I watched him walk through the cemetery in the courtyard of the German College.
“Do you think it will work?” O’Flaherty asked.
“It already has,” Nini said. She stood at the table where she’d been cleaning up. “The cheese knife is missing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. It had a white bone handle and a long, thin blade. Sharp enough to slice through that pecorino.”
“Okay, we need to move. Rino, take Nini and Diana back to Nini’s place. Abe, take Rosana home, okay?”
“Good luck, Billy,” Diana said, giving me a kiss. I squeezed her hand and then she was gone, no protest, no argument about staying to help. It wasn’t like her. Whatever the reason, I was glad to have her out of harm’s way.
“Kaz and I will be in your room, Monsignor,” I said as the three of us took the stairs up. “With the door cracked open we’ll have a view of the hallway. I doubt Montini is our man, but he and Cipriano think Rossi is in the room above yours. In case it’s either of them, I want you upstairs in the room opposite that one.”
“I cannot believe either the monsignor or the inspector is guilty.”
“That’s because you see the best in people, Monsignor. Occupational hazard for a cop is to see the worst.” We stopped on his floor. “We’ve got three possibilities. John May was given your room, and Brackett and Bruzzone were told it’s the room across.”
“Too bad Zlatko did not take the bait,” Kaz said.
“He still could have heard a rumor. Or maybe he’s certain of getting his information from someone else. We have to watch for him as well.”
“Are you sure the best place for me is upstairs?” O’Flaherty asked.
“Yes,” I said. “We could miss a light tread on the staircase. Sound the alarm if you hear anything, and we’ll come running.”
“All right, me boy,” he said, opening the door to his room. “Let’s catch a killer before the night is over. I took a lot of abuse moving people out for the night. I hope it was worth it. Arm yourselves.” He took a golf club from a bag by the door and hefted it. “I haven’t played since the Germans took over. It will feel good to swing a nine iron.”
Kaz and I settled in after O’Flaherty went upstairs. I figured we had time, as the killer would wait for at least an hour to be sure everyone was asleep. It wasn’t quite ten o’clock, but for the Vatican that was the middle of the night. I decided to make one quick circuit of the building. I grabbed a three iron and left Kaz staring through the slim crack of the open door.
Downstairs I checked the kitchen, making sure no one was hiding there. I went out the back door and circled the grounds, watching for anyone approaching. Nothing moved but the frost on my breath. I came in through the cemetery, where the tall stone markers and the evergreens cast shadows in the faint moonlight. Part of the cemetery wall was being repaired, and I stepped carefully around a pile of bricks and scaffolding. A series of arches ran along one wall, creating a covered walkway that led from the cemetery. The main door was off this walkway, and I checked to be sure it had been left unlocked. On the side of the courtyard, an exterior staircase went up to the second floor. That door was locked fast. Good. Only one way in. I retraced my steps, checking the courtyard as I did. There were no lights showing, no sign of activity anywhere. A balcony ran along the second floor, where doors led to the rooms opposite O’Flaherty’s, but there was no access from the outside. The staircase was a separate structure, and with that door locked, passage was blocked.
I thought I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I entered the cemetery garden, watching the breeze rustle the pines. Maybe that was all I saw. I waited, letting the night settle in around me. No sounds other than the wind came to me, so I left the cemetery behind. That was time enough with the dead.
Back in the room, Kaz shrugged, indicating nothing out of the ordinary. We waited some more. The bells tolled eleven. We took turns watching through the crack in the door. Anybody coming up the staircase from the main entrance would be in our line of sight, whether or not they were headed to our floor or the floor above. I hadn’t wanted to insult the monsignor, but I preferred him out of the way. First, he was too important to all the POWs and refugees hidden in Rome, and second, he seemed too kindhearted for the work that might need to be done tonight.
More time passed, and the bells chimed midnight. I began to have doubts. Corrigan, Soletto, and Rossi might not have the justice they deserved. Maybe I’d overthought things. Maybe I was dead wrong.
I heard a noise. So did Kaz from his post at the door. He moved it open, wincing as it squeaked. No one was in the hall. Another sound, this time from the room across the hall. We both tiptoed, golf clubs in hand, and I had a fleeting thought of how ridiculous we must look. I put my hand on the door handle, and slowly opened it.
Another noise, but the room was empty. The bed, where we had made up pillows and blankets to look like a sleeping man, was pulled apart, feathers from the pillow strewn about.
The door to the balcony was open, and I sprinted outside in time to see a form drop from the balcony onto the staircase. Bruzzone, Zlatko, or Brackett, I couldn’t te
ll.
“Kaz, go out the main door,” I whispered.
I went out on the balcony and saw in an instant. He’d come up from the staircase, using a drainpipe for leverage, and pulled himself up over the balcony. I leapt onto the stairs, losing my balance, tumbling down, the golf club slipping away. There was a sharp pain in my knee, and I rolled over, trying to get up, but my knee buckled.
“Is there no end to this?” It was the voice of Monsignor Bruzzone, a white-handled knife grasped in his hand, feathers still clinging to his black shirt. He towered over me, his arm pulled back, ready to plunge the knife into my chest.
There was a thud, and Bruzzone sank to his knees, the knife dropping from his hand. His eyes rolled up as he wavered for a moment, then fell over.
“ There’s an end for you,” Diana said from behind him, wielding a length of stout lumber from the scaffolding in the cemetery. O’Flaherty, with Kaz one step behind, came on the run and skidded to a halt in front of Bruzzone, a look of stunned admiration on their faces.
Kaz and O’Flaherty dragged Bruzzone’s unconscious hulk inside and up the stairs to the monsignor’s room. We needed some privacy. I limped behind them, Diana helping me along.
“Thanks,” I said. “You saved my life. Was that you I spotted earlier?”
“Yes. And I’m happy to return the favor,” she said, her arm tucked under mine. “I knew you would argue with me about waiting outside, so I decided not to mention it. It worked out well, wouldn’t you say?”
“Can’t argue,” I said. “Let’s call it quits though, okay? No more needing to be saved for either of us.”
“Deal,” she said, even though we both knew it might be a promise broken.
Kaz got Bruzzone trussed up in a chair while O’Flaherty cleaned the blood from his head. Bruzzone moaned, half conscious at best after Diana’s whack with a two-by-four.
“I cannot believe it of him,” O’Flaherty said. “Did you suspect him more than the others?”
“I was suspicious about his leaving the Vatican. Abe had made a crack about a heist and cutting in some German guards right after Bruzzone returned. It made me think about the reasons he might have for sneaking out overnight. One possibility was to enlist the aid of the Krauts, to help him get away. It was the only thing that made sense, for a guy who had been afraid to step over that line for so long.”
“Aye, he refused to explain himself to me as well,” O’Flaherty said with bitterness as he threw a glass of water into Bruzzone’s face. “Wake up and explain yourself!”
“Let me go,” Bruzzone said thickly, blinking his eyes and wincing from the pain. “I have done nothing.”
“No,” I said. “You only happened to steal a knife, scale a balcony, and then shred a pillow in the room where we told you Severino Rossi was sleeping.”
“No, I was out going to prayers. Matins.”
“I saw you come out of the room,” Diana said. “I didn’t see you go in, but it was you plain as day coming out.”
“Hugh, are you going to take the word of these spies?” Bruzzone’s eyes were wide with fear, beseeching his comrade.
“Listen to yourself, Renato, my friend. You sound like Bishop Zlatko. What have you done, man? This isn’t the fellow I knew when we worked up north,” O’Flaherty said, moving in on Bruzzone as anger overcame him and his voice rose in a shuddering rage. “What happened to you? Who have you become?”
Bruzzone had started to put up a good front. Sometimes, in the face of overwhelming evidence, the best thing to do is deny everything, blame everyone else. I’d seen high-priced lawyers make that work in court. But this wasn’t a Beantown courtroom. This was a guy tied up in a chair in the dark hours of the night, blood trickling down over his white clerical collar.
I picked a feather from Bruzzone’s sleeve and let it drop in his lap. Then I held the knife in front of him, not threatening, just letting him see it.
“You were going to murder Severino Rossi, God rest his soul, with that very knife!” O’Flaherty yelled. “You, a priest, who has saved lives. How could you possibly take one?”
“I have done nothing,” Bruzzone said. He shook his head and gazed down at the floor. I had the feeling he was speaking truthfully, but not about the murder.
“You betrayed Severino Rossi, didn’t you?” I asked, as gently as I could, trying to pry the truth out of that statement.
“Leave me alone, please,” Bruzzone said, his eyes avoiding mine.
“Renato, we all trusted you,” O’Flaherty said. “Tell him it cannot be true, for the love of God!”
Bruzzone faltered in the face of his friend’s anguish. His lip quivered, and I watched him begin to slowly disintegrate as his facade of respectability and innocence crumbled. The small quiver turned to a grimace as he tried to hold back the reservoir of emotion that had been dammed up for so long. I saw it shatter, the guilt and shame overflowing, wiping away his desire for survival, his ability to lie and scheme, to believe his own protestations. He burst into tears, like a child reprimanded by an angry but loving parent. I’d seen it before, in interrogation rooms and back alleys. The desire to be freed from a great and terrible burden overwhelming the instinct for self-preservation.
“Why did you do it, Monsignor?” I whispered. Bruzzone held his head in his hands, tears dripping through them. I pulled his hands away, holding them in mine, knelt in front of him, and asked again, eyeball to eyeball. “Why did you do it?”
“Because I was afraid,” he wailed. “I did not want to die. I did not want to suffer the pains they promised me. Do you understand? I am a coward, and I did not want to die!”
“Tell us how that led you here tonight,” I said, as soothingly as I could, coaxing him along like a recalcitrant child.
“Once I began, once I gave in, I was too ashamed to be found out for what I had become. I lusted for my own life, and sacrificed others. Forgive me, scusami.”
Tears without end seeped from his eyes, a constant flow that soaked into his black shirt.
“It began in Genoa, didn’t it? Where you first met Severino Rossi?” I asked.
“He is dead, truly?”
“Yes. After you had him turned over to the Fascist police, Koch took him and tortured him for sport. We got him out, but it was too late.”
“Il mio Dio,” he said. “Yes, in Genoa.”
“How did you know that?” O’Flaherty asked me.
“The diamonds,” I said. “Rossi was a jeweler by trade, and he came through Genoa, where Monsignor Bruzzone had been doing his good works. Soletto was paid off in diamonds for the cover-up, which he engineered for the killer. We found a single diamond in Corrigan’s room, when Bruzzone brought us there to search it. It’s my 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?”
