James Benn: Death

“Ciao?” a voice asked from the open door, spilling light into the darkened room. “Hello?”

“Who’s there?” I asked, blinded momentarily by the brightness.

“It is Monsignor Bruzzone, Billy. You are safely returned?”

“Yes,” I said. “We had a bit of trouble, but we’re fine. I don’t know if you’ve met Diana Seaton? Formerly Sister Justina.”

“No, I have met neither. Pleased to meet you, Miss Seaton,” Bruzzone said, extending his hand.

“ E un piacere di conoscerla,” she said.

“Did Monsignor O’Flaherty call you here?” I asked, wondering at Bruzzone’s sudden presence.

“No, no, I am here purely by accident. I am preparing for midafternoon prayers. This is the chapel of the Vatican Gendarmerie Corps. As I mentioned, I sometimes fill in for their chaplain, as I must do today. There is a shift change at the Hour of None, and many come to the service.”

“Well, we must be going,” I said, not wishing to fight through a crowd of cops to get out.

“You will not stay for the prayers?” Bruzzone said, looking at O’Flaherty as well as Diana and me.

“No, unfortunately we have a sick friend to visit,” I said. “But I hope you’ll join us tonight, to celebrate our safe return.”

“Certainly,” Bruzzone said, then went to prepare for the service.

We left, stepping into the street, the cold outside not as biting as in the old church. The sun was already low in the sky, with dark-gray clouds creeping in.

“What is the Hour of None anyway?” I asked as we made our way through the Vatican Museum. I wondered about the coincidence of Bruzzone showing up.

“The ninth hour after dawn, observed at three o’clock,” O’Flaherty said. “Part of the Divine Hours, the schedule of daily prayer. I would wager you didn’t pay much attention in confirmation class, Billy.”

“I must have missed that one,” I said.

“The death of Christ is commemorated at None,” Diana said. “And legend says that was also the hour of the day when Adam and Eve were driven from the Garden of Eden.”

“Ah, a lass who knows religious lore. ’Tis a pleasure to converse with you, Diana,” O’Flaherty said as we descended a marble staircase, colorful frescoes on either side. “Are you aware that nine is considered an incomplete and unlucky number?”

“Yes, as opposed to the perfection of ten,” she said. “Isn’t the novena for the dead derived from the nine days of mourning?”

“From the ninth day, to be exact, my dear,” O’Flaherty said. “The funerary day.”

They chatted back and forth like that, but I didn’t pay much attention. I’d lost count of how many days we’d been here, but for sure I wanted to leave before that ninth day came around.

“So what’s with the new threads?” I asked.

“Do you like my new look?” Diana asked as we climbed the steps to Nini’s apartment.

“I thought you were locked up, waiting for me to rescue you,” I said, maybe with a touch of pique. It was one thing to snatch the woman you loved from her captors, but it was another thing to find her decked out in high fashion when you did.

“Colonel Remke sent out for new clothes for me. An Italian lady friend of his went out to a nearby shop. Thank goodness the Germans set up headquarters in the richest part of town. I certainly like it better than my nun’s habit, unless you’d like to see me back in the clothes of chastity and prudence?”

“That didn’t stop us in Switzerland, remember?” We’d had a brief encounter on that neutral ground when Diana came across the border to report to her spymaster. I put my arm around her and we stopped short of Nini’s door. “I can’t even put words to it, Diana. I’m so glad you’re free. And we’re together.”

“Me too, Billy,” Diana said. We kissed, long and languorously, until a door opened and we both jumped.

“Diana!” It was Kaz. They embraced amid laughter and tears.

“It has been so long, Kaz,” Diana said. “How are you?”

“Aside from the war, I am wonderful,” he said. “Have you met Nini?” At the mention of her name, she came out of the room and stood next to Kaz, linking her arm with his. I noticed Diana glance at the intimate touch.

“I know of Princess Pallavicini, but we haven’t met. Diana Seaton,” she said, extending her hand.

“Please, call me Nini. Kaz has told me so much about you. And Daphne as well. I’m glad to meet you.”

For a moment there was silence, and I was afraid the mention of Daphne’s name had put a damper on things. Nothing like reminding a girl of her dead sister the first time you meet. Especially when you’ve been sleeping with the dead sister’s lover. Glancing at Diana, I saw a tear in the corner of her eye.

Suddenly the two of them embraced. I heard a brief, muffled sob, and then they headed into Nini’s apartment, arms intertwined, leaving Kaz and me in the hallway.

“Kaz, do you understand women?”

“A bit more than you do, Billy, but not much,” he said, as we followed them in.

Inside, Nini poured wine and we toasted. “To a safe return,” she said.

“For all of us,” Diana added. Hard to argue with that sentiment, but I noticed Kaz grasp Nini’s hand. A safe return for him meant parting with Nini, and I could see that idea held little appeal.

“We’re so sorry to have lost Severino,” Nini said. “Sister Cecilia said he must have had severe internal injuries.”

“Did he regain consciousness? Say anything?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Kaz said. “Nini fed him broth, and he reacted to that, but no words. His head was so bruised he may have had an injury to the brain. And I know what you are going to ask next, Billy. No one got in. He died of his injuries.”

“Okay then, here’s the plan. We’re having a gathering tonight at the German College. Monsignor O’Flaherty is setting it up now. He’s providing food and wine to celebrate Rino, Abe, and Diana making it back safely. We figure with food rationed, no one will turn down an invite.”

“Who is on the guest list?” Nini asked.

“Robert Brackett, the American deputy charge d’affaires. Monsignors Montini, O’Flaherty, and Bruzzone. John May, butler to Sir D’Arcy. Inspector Cipriano. And Bishop Zlatko, if he’s turned up back in the Vatican. Plus our three guests of honor.”

“To what end?” Diana asked. “Although a good party is reason enough after the Regina Coeli.”

“To smoke out a murderer. We may be sent packing any time, and I want to get to the bottom of things. Severino Rossi is the latest victim, even if he didn’t die at the killer’s hand.”

“Catch me up, Billy,” Diana said, taking a healthy sip of wine.

“Rossi was blamed for Corrigan’s killing. He was set up by the killer and Soletto, who turned him over the Fascist police. They in turn held him until Koch came looking for more victims. It was his handiwork that killed Rossi, but he was a dead man anyway. He would have been on a train to a death camp by now if Koch hadn’t taken him.”

“What will happen at the party?” Kaz asked.

“That’s the part of the plan O’Flaherty is working on. We’re going to announce that Rossi is back, and recovering. We expect him to be able to speak by the morning.”

“You think the murderer will try to kill him?” Nini asked.

“That’s the great part of this plan,” I said. “You can’t kill a dead man.”

The destruction of Monte Cassino was on everyone’s lips. O’Flaherty had commandeered a small dining room at the German College for the party, and provided ample wine and food. Breads, cheese, olives, sardines, bruschetta, plates of antipasti, bowls of pasta with garlic and olive oil-it all smelled like heaven, but the topic was still hell on earth. The bombing.