Susan Anderson - Death of a Serpent

• • •

When it arrived mid-morning, the package from Mother Concetta contained four habits in homespun, a large latchkey, and a note.

Dear Serafina,

The enclosed opens the screened grille to the chancel behind the Madonna’s Chapel.

Viewed from outside, the room’s objects appear as dim shadows, nothing more. But its occupants are able to see through the screen to the chapel. They hear every word uttered on the altar.

Lock the door upon leaving. Return the key to me when finished.

Burn the garments.

Mother Concetta Maria, OP

Serafina handed it to Rosa. This time the madam read sitting down and with her finger moving underneath the words.

“Let’s try on a habit,” Serafina said.

“Don’t need a disguise, not to walk the few meters from here to the Duomo.”

Serafina had already donned the homespun over her dress. She marveled at the size of the pockets in nuns’ habits, making a mental note to tell Giulia.

Straightening the scapula, she said, “And when the monk leads Carmela to his lair, what if he turns around and sees us following him? What if he’s a customer who recognizes you or Scarpo? What then? We are unmasked, our plan in tatters, and Carmela’s life in danger if not lost.”

“A point you have,” the madam said. She tried on a habit.

“We’ll wear them to request Colonna’s help as well.”

The madam shook her head. “Enough dramatics. Tonight, yes, but not today.”

“The monk may have his spies in the piazza, and don’t forget, we are supposed to be in Trabia.”

Rosa gave her a blank look before the penny dropped.

“Time for sweets,” Serafina said, removing the homespun. “Renata, call the children.”

Totò opened the door, tugging on a long rope. “C’mon, move! Push, Tessa!”

“Don’t you dare bring that goat in here!” Renata yelled. “Oh, where is Carmela when we need her?”

• • •

Later, when Rosa was resting, Serafina asked Renata, “Who delivered the parcel from Mother Concetta?”

“The little girl we met at the orphanage last month. You remember her, the one missing a few front teeth.”

“But she’s a child, about six or seven, I should think. How can one so slight carry something so heavy?”

Renata threw her a look as if she, Serafina, had gone round the twist. “She wheeled it here in a small wagon.”

Serafina didn’t speak for a while. Then she said, “It all falls into place now. Why did it take me so long?”

Renata rolled her eyes. “I’ve sent word to Carmela.”

“Word?”

“That you’ll be in the chancel when she talks to the monk, just like she and Mother Concetta hoped you’d be.”

“You see? I couldn’t manage without you,” Serafina said.

Renata went back to stirring the sauce.

Tuesday afternoon, November 6, 1866

Clothed in nuns’ habits, Serafina and Rosa set out to talk with the inspector. A sharp wind whipped their skirts. Puddles from the morning’s rain glittered. The Centru began filling with people pushed about, men holding onto their caps, shawled women leaning into the blowing force like dark ships pitching in a gale.

They asked to speak with Colonna and were ushered into his office.

Colonna’s jaw dropped.

Serafina explained the need for their disguises. She summarized the deaths to date, including the victims’ longing for redemption. Rosa told him their primary suspect was a begging monk who appeared in the piazza offering eternal salvation. Serafina described the accomplice, someone within Rosa’s walls who fed the killer information and procured his victims. Emphasizing the significance of timing, given the importance of the numbers six and seven in the crazed mind of the killer, Serafina reminded him that all three women were murdered sometime between the sixth and seventh day of the month. She ended by detailing their plan for catching the killer.

“But there was a fourth death, different from the other three, wasn’t it?” the inspector asked.

“Pirricù, my handsome inspector,” Rosa said, adjusting her habit, “we talked about that on Sunday, remember? Gusti knew too much, was in the way. That’s why she was murdered.” The madam looked at Serafina and, without words, the two decided not to tell him about Eugenia.

Serafina continued. “The timing of Gusti’s death falls outside the pattern he established with his first three murders, a scheme he is sure to follow with the timing of his next killing.”

“Today is the sixth day of the month. We must act now. Give us several of your men to help carry out our plan. You won’t regret it.” Serafina stopped speaking and stared at the baffled inspector whose brain, she was sure, was back on his question, as if it had gone unanswered.

He smiled at both women, raised his eyebrows, pulled the cord.

A functionary appeared.

“Look in the record book and tell me if we issued any permits to mendicants during the last month. And bring me names and dates,” Colonna ordered. He said, “And, now, we shall see what we shall see.”

Serafina furrowed her brows. “Could you please explain that last remark? I am unclear as to the meaning of the first ‘see’ in your previous sentence. Is it the same as the second ‘see’?”

Colonna was lost. “My dear, best you leave police business to the professionals.”

In a few moments the functionary returned. “None in the last six months, Inspector.”

Colonna turned to the women, and with an elaborate shrug said, “So, dear ladies, you see? There is no proof that the monk exists. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe you.” He cleared his throat. “The monk may well have been begging and you may well have seen him, or thought you had seen him. But, new rules, desperate times, and I must justify my every move. Does the monk exist? If I have no permit, I have no proof, so there. How can I send a man or two to chase after a fantasy?”

Rosa’s face reddened.

“And, dear inspector, do I exist? I have no begging permit, so you have no proof.”

Colonna’s face reddened. “Your plan is ingenious.” He stroked his mustache.

She held up Carmela’s note. “But, Inspector, the monk meets my daughter this evening in front of the Madonna’s Chapel. The last victim had a similar rendezvous with him. Surely you can spare a-”

“Save your time. Call off your plan. Ah, yes, you have concocted a nice plot, for a…woman. Might even work with some modification and with luck. But it is based on intuition and on information from a-how can I put it-your daughter is what, a fallen woman, no? Doubtless this monk exists, but is he the one who killed?” He closed his eyes, shook his head. “The rioting continues in Catania and I still have most of my men tied up in that chaos. A thousand apologies, but with the increase in crime, I have no one to spare.” He lifted his palms in a placatory gesture. “Your plan: can it wait five or ten days, perhaps a month or two? Then of course we will take over.” He beamed.

Rosa looked like Etna erupting.

“Time we do not have, Inspector,” Serafina said. “In less than twenty-four hours, another woman will be dead if we don’t intervene. In another month, another of Rosa’s women will follow. Rosa, her women, perhaps even the child, Tessa, are in jeopardy. We must act now.”

He straightened the pile of papers on his desk while he spoke. “All right, you convince me. Come back tomorrow, or soon after tomorrow, say, in a week or two, and I might be able to spare you a man.”

Outside Rosa sputtered. “He cannot wait until siesta when he will sink his teeth into food and, afterward, take a nice long nap. He sees nothing. He knows nothing. He does nothing. Useless, our visit.”