James Benn: Death

“I had to stand and listen to Cardinal Maglione tell me it was a colossal blunder, a stroke of gross stupidity,” Brackett was complaining. “When I told him the American government would help to rebuild it, he said that even if they built it with diamonds, it would never be the same abbey.”

“He’s got a point,” I said as Brackett tossed back a gulp of red wine. “And we can’t rebuild the lives of the civilians who were killed either.”

“We’ll pay compensation. But Cardinal Maglione is none too happy about your continued presence. He called it an insult for you to remain after the wanton destruction of the abbey. So take a hint, and wrap up your investigation toots sweet.” Brackett moved in close. His breath smelled of garlic and alcohol. “How’s it going?”

“We should have it wrapped up by morning,” I said, steering him away from the others. “I was going to report to you tomorrow, but I might as well now. We got Severino Rossi back from the police. He’s here.”

“Rossi? The guy who Soletto arrested?”

“Yeah. Turns out he witnessed the murder of Corrigan and was set up for it. He took a few beatings while he was in custody, but he’s starting to come around. He should be awake and talking by morning. We’ve got him stashed upstairs, in a room right across from Monsignor O’Flaherty. He’s keeping an eye on him.”

“Then what’s he doing here?” Brackett said, pointing to the monsignor across the room.

“I’m sure somebody’s watching him. But I’m not worried. No one knows he’s here. Keep it under your hat, okay?”

“Sure,” Brackett said, cutting a hunk of cheese for himself. The session with the cardinal hadn’t affected his appetite one bit. “Let me know what happens.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” I said.

I crossed the room to the table where the food was laid out, buffet style. Abe had brought Rosana along, and was introducing her to Nini and Diana. Rosana was quiet, her dark eyes flitting about the room, assessing each person, wary even in the midst of friends and abundant food. She was a survivor, a tough cookie who’d kept herself and her children alive, no small feat in occupied Italy. I wondered how she’d adjust to peace and comfort. How we all might struggle with letting our guard down.

Diana was sparkling. Nini had given her makeup and the loan of a string of pearls, which set off the rich fabric of her dress. They both took Rosana under their wings and soon had her smiling. Abe beamed, and gave me a wink.

Everyone had shown up, except for Zlatko. A message was left at his room and his office, but no one claimed to have seen him. Monsignor Montini and Inspector Cipriano were seated together, finishing up their plates of pasta.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked.

“Please,” Montini said. “I am so glad you all came back to us safely. The letter worked, I take it?”

“I can’t say. We were interrupted by Banda Koch. I don’t know if they were after me or Colonel Remke, but after we fought them off, Remke took the letter and let everyone go.” An honest enough answer.

“My sources in the city say you saved the colonel,” Cipriano said. “Were you armed?”

“If your real question is am I armed, the answer is no. We have no weapons here.”

“That is good,” Montini said. “I am sure you have heard that feelings against the Allies are running high since Monte Cassino. The Allied High Command has compounded this tragedy by threatening to bomb Castel Gandolfo. The abbey was not Vatican territory, so while we mourn the loss of life and such a grand monastery, it is not considered an attack on the Holy See directly. But to bomb the Pope’s residence, where thousands have taken refuge, that would strike against all notions of neutrality and safe haven.”

“I understand, Monsignor. As soon as I return, I will make every effort to pass that message on.”

“That is good to know. Your return may need to be sooner than you like. Cardinals are pressuring the Secretariat for some action in response to the bombing. Your expulsion may satisfy them. I am sorry if this interferes with your investigation.”

“Not at all,” I said. “We were successful in getting Severino Rossi released.”

“Where is he?” Cipriano demanded.

“He can’t be moved,” I said. “And you can’t turn him over to the Rome police again. They beat him to within an inch of his life. He’s here, in the German College. I give you my word he won’t be going anywhere.”

“Has he told you anything?” Cipriano asked.

“A little, just a few hours ago. He said he didn’t do it, and that he saw a figure approach Corrigan. He couldn’t speak further. Sister Cecilia says he needs a good night’s rest, and tomorrow he should be well enough to tell us more.”

“I should see him immediately,” Cipriano said. “He is a murder suspect, after all.”

“Please, let him rest. Until tomorrow morning, at least.”

“I think we can honor your request,” Montini said. “After all, this poor soul was already turned over to the Fascists once. We do not need to persecute him further. We will come together tomorrow and decide what is to be done.”

“Very well, Monsignor,” Cipriano said. He drained his wine and then looked to me. “Where?”

“Upstairs,” I said. “The room directly above Monsignor O’Flaherty’s. It was empty, so we set him up in there. Please, keep this confidential.”

They both nodded agreement, Cipriano nervously drumming his fingers on the table. I could tell he didn’t like it, and I couldn’t blame him. No cop likes being overruled by a civilian.

“Gentlemen, thank you so much for coming tonight,” Diana said, gliding up to the table. Montini and Cipriano both rose, the inspector giving a little bow and kissing her hand, all very suave and continental.

“I am happy you are returned to us, my dear,” Montini said. “Even if we have lost a sister.” We all laughed dutifully.

“I wanted to ask about the documents,” Diana said. “Have they been passed on?”

“They should be in Switzerland by now,” Montini said, keeping his voice low. “Our ambassador there has been instructed to turn them over to the Allies. I hope something good may come of all this.”

“Will His Holiness speak out?” Diana asked. “This is so important, so many lives are at risk.”

“The situation is quite difficult,” Montini said. “As you know, Pius does not want to grant the Germans any pretext for invading Vatican City. He feels this may give them the excuse they hope for. Then all the people in our care, here and in the other properties, will be forfeit.”

“But he’s the Pope,” I said. “Shouldn’t he say something?”

“To what end, that is the question,” Montini said. “Words cannot stop transports to the east. Every time we have protested, the Nazis have increased their brutality. We have had reports from our own priests in the concentration camps asking us to not speak out, since the reprisals visited upon them are so harsh. Believe me, if words could free these poor souls, I would beg the Pontiff to speak them.” He paused to sip from his wineglass, and shook his head as if losing an argument with himself. “But I think words fail us. Only actions seem to have any effect. Actions such as giving sanctuary.”

“I’m glad I’m not in your shoes, Monsignor.”

“Nothing is easy in this wicked world,” he said.

I left them to brood as Diana went to fetch a fresh bottle of wine. I picked up some food and stood by Bruzzone and O’Flaherty, who were in a corner speaking in hushed tones.

“Billy, I’m afraid I spilled the beans to Monsignor Bruzzone,” O’Flaherty said. “I told him about poor Severino, in the room across from mine.”