Chapter Five #2
His clothing from last night was drier, if worse for the wear. His shirt sleeve had a bloodstain, and he scrubbed at it in the kitchen sink for several minutes before Penny saw what he was doing.
“Is that blood?” she said, nudging him aside. “Give that to me!”
When she returned it to him, the blood was mostly gone, but the shirt was dripping. He wrung it out, then hung it on the bathroom heater, and wore the mustard-colored T-shirt instead. He’d just pulled it back over his head when the knock came at the door.
—
“Please tell me you have coffee,” Emilio said when Valerio opened the door.
“You two look like shit,” Valerio observed, stepping aside for the detectives to pass. Sonia gave him a cold stare and Emilio yawned.
Orlanda, who had trailed behind Valerio, extended her hand. “I’m Valerio’s sister. Orlanda.”
Sonia introduced herself and Emilio, then asked, “Is your mother at home?”
Orlanda turned and shouted, “Penny! The detectives are here! Bring Mamma, will you?”
She herded the group into the small living room and seemed ready to join them on the shabby brown sofa when Valerio shooed her away.
“Coffee, Orlanda!”
His irritation with his sister was some warped residue of their combative childhood and teenage years.
He felt the steady, predictable climb to the top of a familiar roller coaster ride, knew the wild descents and loops that would follow, and for a moment, felt powerless to alter them.
He braced for the fight. Then he caught the wounded expression in her eyes, and a memory shoved into his mind: three years ago, late at night, and he’d answered the door to find his sister’s bloodied face, lip split and swollen, a black bruise blossoming on her cheek.
The sight had shocked him. More than this, he’d been shaken by that look in her eyes—raw and pleading, the doors of her soul flung wide.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Hey, I’m sorry. Would you mind making more coffee? I think everyone’s tired.”
—
Leonora, when she came into the room with Penny, was dressed in her best maroon pantsuit, white hair brushed and shaped into hard curls, retaining the form of the curling iron.
Tan makeup coated his mother’s wrinkled face, rouge on her cheeks and dark lipstick on thin lips.
She had the same cross around her neck that she always wore, large pearl clip-on earrings, and a gold brooch on her lapel in the shape of a honeybee.
Penny carried two wobbly wooden chairs from the kitchen into the living room for herself and Orlanda, and Valerio helped his mother into her favorite armchair, facing the detectives. Orlanda served the coffee.
“Thank you for meeting with us, Signora Alfieri,” said Sonia. “I hope you got some rest. How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been praying,” she said. “I’ve asked God why he would allow such a thing. Why he would show it to me…to see that poor woman—hold her head in my hands. Why, God? What is your meaning?”
She gestured towards the ceiling as if Jesus himself were hovering there.
“I can’t imagine how it must have felt, Signora Alfieri,” said Sonia. “It’s understandable that you would want to find meaning in such a terrible act of violence.”
“God gave me an answer,” Leonora said. “He gave me a sign. He sent his messenger.”
“Mamma,” breathed Orlanda, her head ducked, shoulders raised.
Valerio shifted, feeling his sister’s posture reflected in his own. A primitive shame crawled across his skin, hot and itchy.
“An angel came to me,” his mother said with firm certainty, staring at each of her children in turn, eyes wide, as if they had openly contradicted her. “It did. An angel—in the form of a spider coming from beneath the picture frame on its fine web.”
Then, turning to Sonia and Emilio, her gaze softened.
“You see, the picture was of my dead husband, Costanzo. And I know that Costanzo was the angel, and that he’d come to tell me what I should do.”
Sonia seemed unaware of the embarrassment gathering like sticky threads between Leonora’s children. She looked calmly at the old woman. “And what do you think you should do?”
“I must help your investigation,” said Leonora. “I’ve asked God to preserve my memories—to tell you everything that happened, so you can find the man who did this.”
Valerio exhaled.
“Good,” said Emilio. “That’s very good. Last night, when we spoke, you said that you often attend mass at Chiesa del Gesù Nuovo?”
“Sì.”
“Did you recognize any of the congregation?”
“Sì.”
She patted her pockets, then pulled out a folded sheet of paper and extended it to Emilio. He opened it carefully.
“Those are all the people I remember in the congregation,” she said.
Valerio leaned over to read his mother’s painstaking looping writing. It looked like one of her meticulous shopping lists.
“The sister-in-law of Graziano the mechanic,” Sonia read aloud. “Do you have a last name for Graziano?”
Leonora shook her head. “I don’t know. But his repair shop is near Garibaldi.”
“You wrote here: The woman whose son was in the hospital for mumps last year. Do you have a name for this woman?”
“She’s a very nice lady,” said Leonora. “She’s fat because of a thyroid sickness. She says her husband left her because she became too fat.”
“Okay,” said Sonia. “This is very helpful. We may need to ask more questions about each of these people—especially the ones without names. Was there anybody in the congregation you didn’t recognize?”
“Before the service started, there were tourists. There are always many tourists. That was where I saw the girl.”
“You saw the victim?” Emilio asked, leaning forward.
“Sì.”
“Where was she?”
“Near the Chapel of the Holy Martyrs.”
“Did you see what she was doing?”
“She was kneeling on the floor…looking for something in her bag.”
Sonia raised an eyebrow. “She had a bag?”
“Sì.”
“Can you describe it?”
“It was a backpack. Black.”
“We didn’t see the backpack. Did you notice it with her afterwards…close to the body?”
“No. It was not with her when she died.”
“So, you saw her looking in her bag,” said Sonia. “Was she with anyone else?”
“No. She was alone. But the Chapel of the Holy Martyrs is near the church entrance—and she was looking at the people coming into the church. I thought she was waiting for someone.”
“You didn’t see who she was waiting for?”
“No. I went into the church to pray.”
“Did you see the woman at any other time?”
“No…not until later….”
Interlacing her fingers, she bowed her head and pressed her knuckles into her lips.
A few moments passed, then Sonia said gently, “We’d like to talk to you about that, if you’re able.”
Leonora’s head lifted.
“I never leave mass. Never! I always stay until the end. But yesterday, something happened. I felt Costanzo with me…my angel…holding my hand, so I left to talk with him in private. I was not with the congregation. I was not with the priest, accepting the holy Eucharist. Instead, I was praying in the chapel next to the sacristy when I saw the murderer.”
Valerio stared at his mother. “You saw him?”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “I saw him. Like the devil rushing past me. Then I heard screaming.” She crossed herself.
“Can you describe him?” Emilio asked.
“He was dressed in a black robe with a black hood. A messenger of Satan. I could feel the evil coming from him. How could God allow such an evil creature in his house?”
“Did you see his face?”
She shook her head. “I try to remember. I ask God to tell me. But it was covered by the hood. I did not see his demon face.”
“Was he carrying anything?”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
“So, he didn’t have the backpack?”
“Maybe…I don’t remember.”
“But you’re certain it was a man?”
“Sì.”
Emilio spent several minutes prodding, but the only details this revealed were increasingly supernatural—a whiff of sulfur…the snorting breath of a demon…a cold chill. Sonia made a small gesture and he stopped the line of questioning.
“So, you saw this person in a dark hood rushing by,” she said. “Can you remember how much time passed before you heard the screaming?”
“No time at all,” said Leonora. “The screaming started when I saw him.”
“What did you do then?”
“I ran towards the screaming,” she said. “There was so much blood. Two girls were trying to help. I wanted to help…. I wanted…I hoped…”
Her voice trailed off. She breathed rapidly, chest heaving.
Valerio reached out a hand and she clutched it. Her fingers were cold and damp. She turned her face to him. Valerio read the anguish in her eyes, and didn’t know how to take it away.