The Dark Angel

by Elly Griffiths

  ‘The thing is . . .’ Roberto is obviously uncomfortable.

  ‘What?’ says Angelo, his mind still on the churchyard.

  ‘Marta thinks it’s her great-grandfather.’

  *

  There’s still a carabinieri van in front of the church and police tape around the graveyard, but Angelo and Roberto duck underneath and no one stops them. At the café, people are having lunch, but there’s still a sombre feel about the town. Flowers now fill the wide church steps and Angelo can spot his mother’s tribute, a vast cross made from lilies.

  Marta is standing among the dislodged gravestones, looking guilty.

  ‘I’m sorry, Professore,’ she begins.

  Angelo cuts her short. ‘Show me what you’ve found.’

  Marta leads him to a place where the earthquake has opened up a deep crevice. He can immediately see signs that some professional excavation has taken place; the lines are clean and the bones haven’t been moved, just carefully exposed. But, there in the chalky soil, is what is unmistakeably a fully articulated adult skeleton, the skull grinning up at them with that telltale glint of metal in the teeth.

  But Marta is pointing to the hand. One arm has been uncovered, the humerus, ulna and radius all present and correct. The hand, though, is missing the middle and ring fingers. Angelo doesn’t need to ask the significance of this. He hears his grandfather’s voice, from one of the long discussions they had towards the end, sitting on the balcony in his apartment, looking out over the valley.

  ‘The boar charged Giorgio. His gun jammed and he couldn’t shoot. He fought the animal with his fists and it bit two of his fingers right off. I had to shoot. I just had a second to get my aim right – one inch the wrong way and I would have killed Giorgio – but I managed it. The boar was dead and Giorgio’s hand dripping with blood. I wrapped his hand in my shirt and I went to the animal and pulled out one of his teeth and gave it to Giorgio. He always wore it round his neck. For good luck, he said, and to remember I saved his life . . .’

  Angelo looks at the skeleton. The clothes have rotted away but there’s no sign of the lucky necklace.

  ‘It’s my great-grandfather,’ says Marta.

  ‘Yes,’ says Angelo. ‘I think it is.’

  Chapter 20

  It had been a good day, thinks Ruth, as she prepares supper, listening to the sounds of Finding Nemo from next door. It had given her a certain pleasure to think that people on the beach probably took her and Nelson and Kate to be a proper family, though what they thought of Cathbad and Shona is anyone’s guess. They had felt like a family too – swimming together, playing with Kate, eating at the café. She still thinks that Nelson shouldn’t have come. He’s made his choice and should stay with Michelle and their children. He hadn’t liked it when she said that she wasn’t his family, but it’s true. He can’t have it both ways, Michelle at home and Ruth at work, or during one of those dreamlike times that they have found themselves alone together, like in the snowstorm, or six weeks ago when they had climbed the stairs to her bedroom. But, all the same, it had undoubtedly been good to spend a day on the beach with Nelson. He’ll be gone the day after tomorrow. Michelle has her scan soon, she knows, and Nelson will want to be back for that. Well, at least they’ll have another day together before he leaves. Perhaps they can go to Monte Cassino . . .

  Shona appears in the doorway, fresh from her shower. She’s wearing her kimono and her hair is wet.

  ‘I’m so sunburned,’ she says. ‘I used some of your aftersun. I hope that’s OK.’

  ‘Of course,’ says Ruth. Shona doesn’t look sunburned. In fact she looks glowing, the sort of glow that often accompanies possession of a secret. This is partly explained by Shona’s next words.

  ‘Graziano rang,’ she says casually. ‘He wanted to know if we wanted to go out for a drink tonight. In the café.’

  ‘I’m a bit tired,’ says Ruth. ‘You go. I’ll look after the children. After all, you had them yesterday while I was at the police station.’

  ‘Yes.’ For a second Shona’s face clouds. ‘I keep forgetting about poor Don Tomaso. It doesn’t seem real, does it?’

  ‘No,’ says Ruth, although the body in the church had seemed extremely real.

  ‘Graziano says that Angelo’s discovered something in the graveyard,’ says Shona. ‘Some bones uncovered by the earthquake. That explains the lights we saw there just now.’

  Ruth remembers the gleam of white that she’d seen when she went into the church with Elsa. She’s not surprised that bones have come to the surface. They have a way of doing that. She had noticed that Angelo’s car was parked by the church and she’d seen figures in the graveyard. For a moment, she wishes she was with them, excavating in the dying light, trying to do as much work as possible before nightfall. Then she reminds herself that her job at the moment is to look after the children and cook them supper. The water is boiling so she puts in the pasta.

  ‘None for me, thanks,’ says Shona. ‘I ate so much at lunchtime.’

  So did Ruth, but that was six hours ago. Shona wanders off to get dressed. Ruth makes a basic tomato sauce and pours herself a glass of wine. She’ll try to persuade the kids to go to bed early and then she can have a lovely time reading her Ian Rankin book. She wonders why the prospect isn’t as pleasing as it should be.

  *

  Nelson likes Cathbad’s friend, Linda Anthony. She teaches art history and is the kind of casual yet welcoming hostess who can whip up a meal of spaghetti carbonara for five without pausing for breath. Her Italian husband, Paolo, says little, but exudes acceptance of the guests. He also uncorks some extremely good home-made wine. Sitting on Linda’s terrace, eating the pasta and drinking Paolo’s wine, Nelson feels himself relaxing for the first time in months, possibly years.

  ‘How do you know Cathbad then?’ asks Nelson, as Linda fills up his glass.

  ‘We were at university together,’ says Linda, smiling across the table at Cathbad. ‘In Manchester.’

  Linda is the sort of attractive woman who doesn’t have to bother too much. Her hair is skewered into a messy bun and she is wearing a loose red dress. Even so, Nelson bets that she was one of the prettiest girls at Manchester University in the eighties.

  ‘Linda was the only girl to have a Modigliani print in her room,’ says Cathbad. ‘She was effortlessly cool.’

  What were you doing in her bedroom, thinks Nelson, but he doesn’t voice this thought.

  ‘We were in an experimental drama group together,’ says Linda. ‘Michael played a man who had been turned into a lion.’

  Cathbad smiles to hear his old, pre-druid name. ‘I was very proud of my man trapped in an animal’s body,’ he said. ‘Linda was a tree.’

  Linda translates this for Paolo, who says something about Apollo and Daphne.

  ‘Delilah played Helen of Troy,’ she says. ‘She was so beautiful.’

  Cathbad smiles and says nothing. Nelson assumes that he too thought Delilah was beautiful, seeing as he married her and they had a child together. But he understands that the thought of Delilah also brings sadness.

  ‘I came to Florence as part of my course,’ Linda tells Nelson. ‘I met Paolo, who was a medical student, and, well, the rest is history.’

  It wasn’t a bad move, thinks Nelson. Paolo is a paediatrician, working at the local hospital, and the couple have three sons, although only one, a teenager who disappeared on a moped at the first sight of guests, is still living at home. Their house is comfortable rather than grand, but the view from the terrace, with the bougainvillea forming an undulating frame, is stunning.

  ‘It’s very kind of you to let us stay at such short notice,’ he says.

  ‘It’s no problem,’ says Linda. ‘We’ve got spare rooms now and it’s nice to talk English occasionally. I’m so glad that you were able to see your little girl. It must have been so worrying for you to read the news reports.’

  ‘It was,’ says Nelson. ‘But Ruth and Katie are OK, thank God.’


  ‘Ruth?’ says Linda. ‘Not Ruth Galloway? Doctor Ruth Galloway?’

  Nelson stares. Has Ruth’s fame spread this far?

  ‘Do you know her?’ he says.

  ‘I met her yesterday,’ says Linda. ‘She was being questioned by the police because she had discovered a body. I was asked to translate.’

  Nelson is slightly disturbed by this. Ruth hadn’t spoken much about the death of the priest except to say that it almost certainly wasn’t accidental. Nelson hadn’t liked to ask more in front of the children, but it strikes him as ominous that violent death has followed her here, to this Italian idyll. He’s now torn between professional curiosity and an almost superstitious wish to avoid the subject.

  ‘Was that the priest?’ says Cathbad. ‘Everyone seems very upset about it.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Linda. ‘Everyone loved Don Tomaso. He christened all three of the boys and didn’t seem to mind that Paolo and I didn’t really believe. The church is beautiful, too. There’s a della Robbia frieze inside.’ She turns to Nelson, ‘I was impressed by Ruth. She seemed so cool and composed. And she stood up to Flavio Valenti, who can be a bit of a bully. Is she your . . . ?’

  ‘She’s Katie’s mother,’ says Nelson, not answering the implied question. ‘What do the police think happened?’

  ‘I don’t think I can say,’ says Linda, starting to clear away the plates. ‘Confidentiality is very strict.’

  ‘Nelson’s a policeman,’ says Cathbad. ‘A Detective Chief Inspector.’ He gives the words rather a malicious ring and Nelson remembers that Cathbad has not always been a fan of the police.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise,’ says Linda. ‘Perhaps you can talk to Commissario Valenti.’

  ‘I don’t want to get involved,’ says Nelson. ‘I see enough of murder at home.’

  Linda and Paolo take the plates out and come back with cheese and figs and a bottle of bright yellow limoncello. Nelson normally dislikes liqueurs but this is delicious, sharp and sweet at the same time.

  ‘I imagine it will have a big effect on the town,’ says Cathbad. ‘The priest dying like that.’

  ‘They’ll be devastated,’ says Linda. ‘And the sad thing is, they might not get another priest. The church may have to close. Don Tomaso should have retired years ago, but there aren’t any new priests. In Italy, that is. The only young priests come from Africa.’

  ‘Italy is pagan now,’ says Paolo, in surprisingly good English, cutting a peach into small glistening pieces.

  ‘Amen to that,’ says Cathbad.

  *

  Ruth manages to get the children into bed by nine. Then she sits on the sofa with the balcony doors open and reads about Rebus and the grey streets of Edinburgh. But her mind keeps straying back to the church and that spreadeagled figure on the altar. Like a sacrifice, like Lindow Man lying face down in the peat bog, like the Iron Age bodies found in Denmark pegged down on the marshes in an attempt to appease the gods. Who could have killed the priest? A man who, from Ruth’s short acquaintance, seemed to be the very heart of the community, loved by all. She remembers Don Tomaso’s comments about the community’s treatment of the refugee Samir. Food is not love. He hadn’t been afraid to speak his mind. Was this why he had been killed? Easy to imagine the blow on the head happening in the course of a heated quarrel. Something she had once heard comes back to Ruth. Saints cause a lot of trouble for the rest of us. Elsa has described Don Tomaso as a saint. Had Don Tomaso been causing trouble and was that why he had been killed?

  And who could have put the stone in his mouth? Ruth is pretty sure that it was there, although she will have to wait for the post-mortem to be sure. Then again, Valenti is hardly likely to share the PM results with her. But the stone seems to imply that the killer was someone who knew about the Roman body currently residing in the university laboratory. That must narrow it down a bit. She should talk to Angelo. He’ll know how widely the story was known.

  Stop it, she tells herself, you’re not Miss Marple, this has nothing to do with you. She thinks about Angelo’s suggestion that she investigate the attempts on his life. Could they be linked to the death of the priest? She thinks of Stranieri andate a casa and the skull on the doorstep. Clearly there are dark forces at work in the little town on the hill.

  Ruth goes out onto the balcony, trying to clear her head. After the heat of the day, the air is pleasantly cool and smells of herbs and lemons. A full moon shines above the ruined tower. What must it have been like here during the war, with the enemy eating at the café and resistance fighters hiding in the hills? As she looks out over the dense trees, she sees a figure moving swiftly through them, carrying something that she first thinks is a stick and then, with a shock, recognises as a gun. A hunter? On an impulse, Ruth gets out her phone and takes a photograph. The flash briefly illuminates the trees then all is dark again, the only light the surreal brightness of the moon. Ruth stays watching for a while, listens as the dog barks down below and a voice is raised in greeting or exasperation. She should go to bed, she’s tired after her day in the sun. She should go in and ring her father. But she stays sitting on the balcony until Shona comes home, flushed with something that looks rather more significant than sunburn.

  *

  Across the valley, in Linda’s son Luca’s room, which is festooned with posters of Juventus, Nelson finally gets through to Michelle. He’s relieved to hear that she sounds almost conciliatory. She even asks if Ruth is all right.

  ‘She’s fine,’ says Nelson. ‘I’m sorry that I rushed off like that. It was just . . . all the pictures of the earthquake . . . I was worried about Katie.’

  ‘I’m glad you put your mind at rest,’ says Michelle. It’s hard to tell from her voice whether she’s being sarcastic or not.

  ‘Are you all right?’ says Nelson. ‘Make sure you lock the doors at night.’

  ‘I’m OK,’ says Michelle. ‘I’ve got Bruno to look after me.’

  Nelson suspects that Bruno would be anyone’s for a Bonio, but at least his presence gives Michelle reassurance. He asks about Laura.

  ‘She’s fine. Out with Chad.’

  ‘Give her my love,’ he says.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And to you.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Michelle enigmatically. ‘Goodbye. Sleep well.’

  Nelson expects he’ll be lying awake for hours, worrying about Ruth, Katie, Michelle, Laura and Rebecca, all his responsibilities, all his mistakes, but he falls asleep immediately and dreams of the sea.

  Chapter 21

  Judy surveys her office with a feeling of satisfaction, feeling the tensions of the morning draining away, her shoulders relaxing, her jaw unclenching. Of course, the office isn’t really hers, it’s Nelson’s and only on loan for a few days, but here, in the station, she feels that she can be her best self, not Michael and Miranda’s Mummy, not Cathbad’s life partner or her mother’s daughter (she has been pushed, rather uncomfortably, back into this role during the course of her mother’s visit), but DS Judy Johnson, police professional. And, one day, maybe DI Judy Johnson, with her own office. Not here – the King’s Lynn force is not big enough to need another high-ranking officer– but maybe they could move, perhaps to an inner city with new challenges. Judy has lived in Norfolk all her life but she feels that this is chance, not choice. She would like to travel, move somewhere where she isn’t always meeting people that she knew at school. Weren’t you in my brother’s year? No chance of lying about your age here. Cathbad’s a wanderer, born in Ireland, drifted across Europe, studied in Manchester and Southampton, ending up washed ashore in North Norfolk. Cathbad wouldn’t mind if they moved, as long as it’s to a place with good energies, and the children are young enough to start again somewhere else.

  Judy sighs and puts down her coffee cup. Nelson’s desk is extremely tidy, his famous to-do list lying on top of his in tray with all the items smugly crossed off. She’s probably feeling stressed because it’s the holidays and Cathbad is away. She didn’t mind him accompanying
Nelson, Cathbad deserves a break and he knows and loves Italy, but she does wonder what’s going on with Ruth and Nelson. Is their affair starting up again? Surely not with Michelle pregnant? But Ruth had definitely been odd at Clough’s wedding, quiet and almost tearful at times. Judy looks up at the postcard from Clough, which is pinned to Nelson’s corkboard. She can just imagine what it says: ‘Having a good time. Glad you’re not here. Lol.’ Judy’s had said ‘Glad you’re not her’, which she took to be a spelling mistake and not something deeper. She misses Clough, which shows that she’s feeling a bit down.

  It’s nice having her mother to stay, but she does feel that her mum, who was always happy to stay at home with her children, judges her for loving her job so much. ‘I’m not going to have a job,’ Michael had said the other day, ‘I’m going to stay at home and make cakes.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said his grandmother, ‘boys have to have jobs.’

  Judy had ground her teeth. ‘Childminding is a job, as I’m sure you’d agree, Mum.’

  ‘Oh,’ said her mother, taking a chocolate cake out of the oven, ‘you know what I mean.’ Judy did, all too well. The cake had been delicious though.

  There’s a knock on the door. Judy looks up to see Tanya, her fellow DS, looking resentful. It gives Judy real pleasure every time she walks past Tanya’s open-plan workspace into the office, which shows that she can’t be a very nice person.

  ‘Someone to see you, Judy.’

  ‘Who is it?’ She isn’t expecting anyone. In fact, the day is so quiet that she had actually considered reorganising her filing.

  ‘She’s called Marj Maccallum. Apparently she used to work here.’

  ‘What does she want?’

  ‘She wouldn’t say. She wanted to speak to whoever’s in charge.’ Amazing that Tanya manages to speak at all through teeth that gritted.