by James R Benn
“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 det
ermined 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.”
“I never said I harmed him. Simply that once a course is set, it must be followed.” He straightened his shoulders and held his head high, a newfound confidence replacing the display of weeping sorrow. “Please, call Inspector Cipriano, and ask him what charge can be brought against me. Actually, it was I who was assaulted tonight. Only my blood was shed.”
Kaz, Diana, and I retreated to the hallway, leaving O’Flaherty standing guard over Bruzzone.
“I don’t like it,” Diana said. “He is probably a little crazy, but smart. He went right back to his original story.”
“He’s gotta be a little nuts. We should have had Cipriano here to see all this,” I said. “But he was a possible suspect too.”
“Bruzzone was obviously under a lot of pressure,” Kaz said, “keeping everything bottled up. Now that he has confessed his sins, he has retreated into self-preservation. After months of deceit, it is likely second nature to him. What should we do? He is right that our standing here is precarious as best.”
“I’m going to try something,” I said. We went back into the room.
“Are you going to let me go?” Bruzzone asked.
“I think we can put together a case against you with Inspector Cipriano,” I said.
“Of course, I forget. I stole a cheese knife as well. Good luck, my friend.”
“Okay,” I said, shaking my head as if we’d been outfoxed. “Let me congratulate you. You’re doing everything right. Stick to your story, I’m sure that you’ll be able to hang on here until the Allies arrive.”
“Yes,” Kaz chimed in, already with me. “Then there will be a different police force in Rome. They will certainly take up the case of the murder of an American monsignor.”
“So sit tight,” I said. “You know that Corrigan was friends with Wild Bill Donovan, head of the OSS? I’m sure he’ll send in a team with the first Allied troops to enter Rome. It may be a month or so, but your day will come. Enjoy the time you have left.”
“I will go to the Germans. I cannot be kept here against my will.”
“Don’t you be so sure, Renato,” O’Flaherty said. “Inspector Cipriano may put you in protective custody. Monsignor Corrigan has a lot of friends here who may wish you harm, regardless of the legal issues. It would be for your own good.” O’Flaherty was quick on the uptake himself.
I watched Bruzzone’s eyes go from calm and confident to wary and worried. We had him. “There is another way,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“I need to close out this case. Write out what you told us here—”
“Never!”
“Just as you told us. Nothing about crimes committed in the Vatican. But Genoa, Rossi coming here, contacting the Gestapo, Koch, all that. Nothing that Cipriano could arrest you for.”
“And what will you do for me?”
“I will get you out of here by noon today. I’m in contact with a German intelligence officer who can take you north. He’ll want to hear about you contacts with the Gestapo and Koch. Maybe they’ll set you up with Mussolini in Salò, on Lake Garda. Ought to be nice there in the spring. The Fascists could use a tame priest, don’t you think?”
We went back and forth for a while before Bruzzone caved. I had him convinced it would be either a short wait for the Allies and a possible OSS assassination team or a chance to leave the Vatican behind and head north with a German escort, putting miles and a lot of munitions between his own precious self and the advancing Allies. By the time he’d written out his statement, he was chuckling over what a great deal he’d made.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
A FEW HOURS of sleep later, Diana and I stood by the white border in Saint Peter’s Square, her face turned up to the warming sun. Kaz and Abe stood a few yards back with Bruzzone, each of them grasping an arm. It was a pleasant day.
“What’s the purpose of the statement, Billy? You can’t use it for anything. Nothing legal, anyway,” she said.
“Right, but I needed Bruzzone to believe it was worth something to me. And he thinks it will put him in the good graces of the Germans, having warned them of an Allied agent at the Spanish Steps.”
“But he doesn’t know that you are turning him over to one of Colonel Remke’s men.”
“Exactly. I mentioned an intelligence officer, but he didn’t put two and two together. He was so desperate to find a willing sponsor to take him north, away from the Allied armies, he didn’t consider that possibility.”
“So the confession is really for Remke,” she said, her eyes still closed and lifted toward the sky. “Funny.”
“What?”
“That if Bruzzone were not so desperate for his own life, he might have taken the time to think it all through. Now, his lust for life will be the death of him.” I didn’t agree that it was funny, but I didn’t quibble about it either.
A few minutes later, a staff car rolled up and stopped by the white line. Bernard rolled down the driver’s window and gave a wave. Dieter got out on the passenger’s side, his arm in sling, but with a smile on his face. Nice to have pals among your enemies.
“It seems you owe us an automobile as well as a uniform,” Dieter said, clicking his heels and executing a slight bow in Diana’s direction. I decided the friendliness was especially directed toward her. But I was used to that.
“I didn’t think you’d want the car back full of holes. But I do have your uniform, cleaned and pressed. Boots shined as well,” I said, as I handed him a small valise.
“Thank you, Billy. I do not think I will see Italy again for a long time. I am glad at least to leave with my hand-tailored uniform and good Italian boots.”
“I have something else for you,” I said, handing him the paper and gesturing with my thumb toward Bruzzone. “A murdering monsignor. He’s the guy who tipped off Koch about our meeting.”
“And the man who killed Monsignor Corrigan and Commissario Soletto?” Dieter asked.
“Word gets around,” I said. “Your informers are quick off the mark. Yeah, that’s him.”
“Why give him to us?” Dieter asked. “Not that I mind getting my hands on the man who was the cause of my wound.” He rubbed his arm as he eyed Bruzzone.
“Certain legal questions have been raised. The Lateran Treaty, jurisdiction, that sort of thing. There’s a chance he could get away with it, given the current situation.”
“He doesn’t look worried,” Dieter said, glancing at Bruzzone.
“Well, he doesn’t know who you are. He was trying to get in good with the Gestapo, so they would protect him from any charges. He thinks you’re the next best thing. I promised him you’d take him north.”
“He is the murderer, you are certain?”
“We are,” Diana said.
That seemed to settle that. “He will be taken north, you have my word.” Dieter nodded to Bernard, who bundled Bruzzone into the back of the car. I thought I saw a look flash across his face, concern perhaps, or maybe the ache in his head had worn off and he was thinking more clearly. But it didn’t last. I could see the killer’s wheels spinning, the process of rationalization kicking back in. He was telling himself a story and willing it to be true. He was going north, yes.
We waved good-bye.
“Let’s walk through Saint Peter’s,” Diana said after we’d watched the car drive off. Rino and Abe had disappeared, and we were as alone as we’d been in a while, the huge square behind us.
“I don’t know,” I said as we neared the entrance. “I don’t know if I want to go inside.”
“Billy, it’s beautiful. Awe-inspiring. And I’m not even Catholic.”
“That’s just it. I am. But the people I’ve seen here are no different from people anywhere. Some decent, some bad, and a lot in between. I thought it would be different at the Vatica
n, like a shining city on a hill. But it’s just another town on high ground, with good and evil pretty well evened out. For every Zlatko there’s an O’Flaherty, and too many Bruzzones—weak and willing to trade their souls.”
“I saw a lot of good here, Billy,” Diana said. “But then it did not have to live up to my youthful ideals. That’s a lot to ask for.”
“Not here. It shouldn’t be.” I’d sent a man north, knowing what that meant. Even though he’d murdered and betrayed people who trusted him, it weighed on my mind. The Vatican didn’t seem worthy of my childhood vision of it, and at the same time I felt the stain of death upon me and wished I could have found more solace here.
“All right then,” she said. “Let us stroll in the gardens. I can’t tell you how many times I walked through them and thought of you by my side.”
We agreed on the gardens, and I didn’t look back as we left the basilica. We passed the gardener’s cottage, and saw Abe and Rosana sitting on the front step. Abe nodded a brief greeting, and then turned his eyes upon Rosana with her two children at her side. A happy ending, for them at least.
We walked along the old Leonine Wall, the ancient fortified wall of the city. We skirted the radio tower with its association with sudden death. It felt like springtime, green grass and early flowers blooming in the bright sun. A starling chattered in a treetop, and we grinned like idiots at such a simple pleasure.
“Billy!” It was Kaz, trotting up the walkway. In a hurry. Good-bye to simple pleasures. Diana sighed and looked away.
“What?” I said, trying not to take it out on Kaz.
“John May wants to see us. We need to leave. The three of us,” he added, seeing the look on my face. Kaz turned abruptly and we followed as I wondered what his face looked like.
“This has nothing to do with the situation here,” May said as he served tea in Sir D’Arcy’s sitting room. “Monte Cassino, I mean. It is simply that everything is in place to get you out. Tides and the moon, that sort of thing. We have an excellent forgery on a travel pass. It will get a truck to the coast without a search.”
