James Benn - Death

Or was it? I felt for the diamond that was in my pocket. It was a long shot, but if Soletto was in cahoots with the killer, then a wedge between them might do the trick.

“By the way, have you found any more diamonds?”

“Diamanti?”

“Yeah, like this one.” I held the sparkling gem up between my thumb and forefinger, letting it catch the light.

“More diamonds, you said?” Zlatko asked. “Where were the others?”

Soletto looked confused, his thick eyebrows knitted together.

“The killer-the real killer-hid them in the one place he knew was safe. Corrigan’s room. He must have gotten in after you had it searched, Commissario. Or did you miss that loose floorboard? A small fortune, maybe more, I’m not a jeweler.”

“Those diamonds are evidence!” Soletto bellowed, banging his fist on the table.

“But the case is closed, Commissario. You said so yourself. I will turn them over to the Pontifical Commission, as soon as my investigation is complete. Buongiorno.”

I walked out as calmly as I could. There was dead silence until I cleared the door, then more shouting and fist-banging, which told me our little chat had been worthwhile. I’d expected the cold shoulder, for a lot of reasons. A cop protecting his turf and pro-fascist tendencies were at the top of the list.

One thing I could always count on was greed. If there were more diamonds-and outside of a rich dame’s ring, they seldom traveled alone-then I’d bet that’s what the killer used to pay off Soletto. The phony line about more diamonds unaccounted for might lead Soletto to think the murderer was holding out on him. Or plant the idea he could squeeze him for more. Either way, my hope was that Soletto was now a loose cannon, rolling toward a killer who thought he was home free.

I made it outside without being arrested or shot, which was a relief. Now I had to find Kaz and see if he remembered to check on the keys, or if he’d spent the whole afternoon sightseeing with the princess. Then get a haircut, which might lead to information about Diana, although the connection was definitely lost on me.

I walked back to the scene of the crime to look at it again. I imagined it in the hours before dawn. Severino Rossi asleep, hidden behind one of the colonnades. Corrigan standing by the door, his killer close. They had to know each other, or at least the killer hadn’t seemed a threat. It would have been easy enough to yell out, to attract the attention of one of the Swiss Guard, if not a nearby German. Interesting, I thought. This area was close enough to the border line that one of the Krauts on patrol could have seen or heard something. Too much of a long shot, I decided, so I’d go back over the little I knew for sure.

Corrigan is stabbed, several times, until the knife finds its fatal mark. He collapses, and falls just inside the Gendarmerie jurisdictional line. Or drags himself there. I thought about the blood. There’d been a lot of it, from multiple stab wounds. I could see the killer removing his coat and laying it on the sleeping Rossi, then stealing off into the night, leaving behind a dead monsignor and a sleeping fugitive Jew, covered in a blood-soaked coat.

A scapegoat if there ever was one.

I finally tracked Kaz down. Not by finding him, but by asking where Princess Nini Pallavicini hung her hat, beret, or tiara. Being the keen investigator that I am, I cornered Kaz in no time. He and the princess were having tea. My first success at detection in the Vatican.

The princess was housed in the Hospice Santa Marta, not far from the German College. Nuns in steel-blue habits with giant white coifs that looked like sails gathering wind worked in the ground-floor refectory, preparing food for the refugees and families of diplomats who were housed there. Kaz and his princess were in a nearby sitting room, sipping tea from delicate china, while Mary, holding the baby Jesus, looked down on them from an ancient painting.

“Father Boyle, please join us,” she said.

“Thank you, Princess, but tea isn’t my drink. I need to talk with Kaz, if you don’t mind.”

“Please, call me Nini. ‘Princess’ is so tiresome, and Piotr has told me some remarkable stories about you. I feel we are already friends.”

“Okay, if you’ll call me Billy,” I said as I took a seat. “But don’t believe everything he says.”

“Then you are not General Eisenhower’s nephew, and not the great American detective, second only to Dick Tracy?” Nini let a playful smile dance across her lips while Kaz blushed.

“Dick Tracy’s only in the funny papers,” I said. “And the general and I are distant cousins of some sort, but since he’s older, I call him uncle, although not in public. It’s not the kind of thing I spread around when I’m in a German-occupied city.” I gave Kaz a hard glare, but I wasn’t too worried about Nini blabbering to anyone. She looked like a dame who could take care of herself.

“I am sorry, Billy,” Kaz said. “It came out in conversation.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Did you manage to squeeze in any time to look into the matter we discussed, what with sightseeing and teatime?”

“Well, Nini did take a few minutes to show me the excavations in the necropolis under the basilica. Did you know they found what may be the bones of Saint Peter himself?”

“That’s great, Kaz, but what about the keys?” Kaz was about the smartest guy I knew. That meant he knew a lot about everything, so sometimes it made it hard for him to focus on just one thing. Especially when a beautiful princess was leading the way.

“Yes, yes, the keys. We found the porter’s office in the Medieval Palace. He keeps copies of all the keys hung on the wall behind his desk. He also delivers mail within the building, takes messages, and runs other errands.”

“Not to mention he was sound asleep,” Nini said. “We could have robbed the poor man blind.”

“So anyone could have taken the keys to Corrigan’s room, and replaced them?”

“It would be easy,” Kaz said. “Within the Vatican, there has been little personal property or theft to worry about.”

“Nini,” I said, figuring Kaz had filled her in on everything by now, “have you heard anything about diamonds?”

“Other than wonder which Nazi swine stole mine? No. I am sure some of the refugees here have valuable jewels, simply because they are easy to carry and hide.”

“Can you think of any reason why Monsignor Corrigan would have one in his room?”

“One makes little sense. If a refugee had diamonds, he might give them to a trusted person to sell for food or identity papers. But one? Let me see it.” I gave her the diamond, and she held it up to the light. “Very nice. I can see no flaws. One diamond like this would fetch a good price. A handful of these, a fortune.”

“Severino Rossi was a jeweler by trade,” Kaz said, apparently having forgotten to share that tidbit.

“Well, he certainly knew his diamonds. It is quite beautiful.”

“Had you met him?” I asked. “Helping Monsignor O’Flaherty, perhaps?”

“No, no one by that name. I do not know what he looked like, so I cannot say for certain.”

“Where have you been, Billy?” Kaz asked, as Nini studied the glittering diamond.

“Turns out Brackett was actually useful. He got me in to see Soletto. I had to go with an escort from the Pontifical Commission, Bishop Zlatko. A real piece of work.”

“Zlatko is pro-Nazi,” Nini said. “He is practically an agent of the Croatian puppet state.”

“He’s also not too fond of Serbs, Jews, Protestants, and the Eastern Orthodox Church. And probably a few others we didn’t get around to talking about.”