Jon Tracy - The Rome Prophecy

‘Guilio came from work to help me.’

Valentina lets out a deep sigh. ‘You asked him into your home?’

‘ Si.’

‘How do you know this man, Anna?’

‘Like I said, I work with him.’

‘Where?’

‘Rosati’s, in the Piazza del Popolo.’

‘How long have you worked there?’

‘Three, four years. I started in the cafeteria and was there for – oh, maybe a year, perhaps a little more, then I’ve been in the ristorante part of it ever since.’

‘And Guilio?’

Another pause. ‘About the same time. I think we even started the same week. He is a very good waiter.’

Valentina has one more attempt to shake a story that she knows is going to result in the guy who assaulted her being released. ‘Anna, this is really important. Are you absolutely sure that you invited Guilio Angelis into your apartment yesterday and that he had the right to be there? He didn’t force himself in? He wasn’t threatening you in any way?’

‘No.’ She looks offended. ‘Guilio’s my friend. He’s always been my friend. Why would he want to hurt me?’

Valentina curses softly to herself and stares into Anna’s eyes.

The woman’s not going to change her story, that much is clear.

She glances towards Louisa. ‘Give me a minute. I have to ring my colleague.’

‘Sure.’

As Valentina leaves, Louisa hands out glasses for the drinks, pops the tab on Anna’s cola and pours it. ‘You don’t have to carry on with this session, you know. If you’re too tired, or you find talking to us distressing, we can put it off until another time.’

Anna squeezes out a smile. ‘No, I’m fine.’ She puts her hand on her bandaged arm. ‘Apart from this.’ She turns her head towards the door where Valentina exited. ‘Have I said something wrong?’

‘No, not at all.’

‘Is Guilio in trouble?’

Louisa doesn’t know how to answer. ‘You’d best ask the capitano when she comes back.’

Several more minutes pass until Valentina reopens the door.

It’s clear something unpleasant has happened.

Her cheeks are flushed and there’s no trace of a smile.

Anna looks agitated. ‘Why were you asking me about Guilio?’

Valentina settles back into a chair next to her. ‘We had to check that his story was the same as yours. We had to make sure he didn’t force his way into your apartment and try to harm you.’

Anna falls silent.

She seems to understand.

Valentina suspects she still hasn’t got the whole story. ‘Anna, have you always lived in that apartment?’

Tension ripples across her forehead. ‘ Si.’

‘It’s unusual, isn’t it?’

She stares down at her glass of cola. ‘You mean my bedroom, don’t you?’

Valentina nods.

‘It’s the only way I feel safe at night.’ She looks to Tom. ‘You understand, don’t you?’

Tom doesn’t, but he tries to give her the impression he does. ‘Help us all to understand, Anna.’ He smiles sympathetically. ‘Tell us in your own words why you do that to your room.’

‘God protects me. Jesus protects me. When I’m in the midst of his words, I believe in Him and I believe He will protect me.’ She closes her eyes. ‘ Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me.’ She opens them again. ‘I truly believe that, Father.’

‘I’m sure you do, Anna – and you are right to.’ Tom tries to be gentle. ‘But exactly what – or who – do you need His protection from?’

‘I told you earlier. Mother.’

‘Do you mean the Holy Mother, the Virgin Mary, or your own mother?’

Anna clenches her fists.

She crosses her wrists and holds them like a crucifix across her breasts. ‘Don’t you know? Don’t you understand?’

Tom can see that whatever trust she had in him is evaporating as fast as a waft of frankincense at morning Mass. ‘ I do know, Anna, but I need you to tell these other people.’ He gestures to Louisa and Valentina. ‘They won’t believe me if I tell them; it has to come from you.’

Anna starts breathing deeply.

Very deeply.

Panting hard.

Louisa wonders if she’s starting to hyperventilate.

Anna stretches her arms wide and pulls her shoulders back, like a swan opening its wings.

Valentina moves to the edge of her seat.

Something’s going to happen, and this time she’s going to be prepared. There’ll be no surprise head-butting, and no bust lips.

‘The Mother is all we are!’ shouts Anna.

Only she’s no longer Anna.

Tom stands and takes a step towards her.

‘Mater, who is all, is within us.’ She tears at the bandage on her cut arm.

Louisa jumps from her seat and tries to stop her.

‘ Mater, who is all, is with us every day.’ She pushes Louisa away and claws at the stitches.

Valentina is now on her feet and has reached the bed.

‘From Her we are – and to Her we go!’

She grabs Anna’s wrists and restrains her.

‘From Her we are – and to Her we go!’ The nonsense is no longer being shouted, it’s being screamed. ‘From Her we are – and to Her we go!’

Only one person in the room understands what’s happening.

Tom Shaman sits silently and listens.

It makes perfect sense to him.

The whole place stinks.

Federico wonders if he’s going to get ill from just being here. No way was he going to let that androgynous son-of-a-bitch loose on the streets until he’d personally been to where he lives and found out what he’s hiding.

It’s filthier than the Black Hole of Calcutta.

But he can’t find anything incriminating.

No drugs. No weapons. No stolen goods.

The search team has already tossed Guilio Angelis’s squalid apartment in the Aventine more thoroughly than a Michelin-starred salad, but Federico’s determined to shake it some more.

He holds a handkerchief to his nose as he joins an officer in a tiny bathroom with a postage-stamp window smeared in green mould.

The stench from the toilet makes him want to hurl.

It’s never seen bleach.

Correction: by the look of it, it’s never been flushed.

‘Show me the cistern again,’ instructs Federico. ‘Let’s make doubly sure there’s nothing bagged and hidden in the water.’

The young officer drops the seat cover, steps up and lifts off the heavy white ceramic top of the water tank.

Federico climbs up on the adjacent sink and cracks his head on the ceiling. ‘ Madonna porca! ’ He rubs it. Static crackles off his latex gloves and makes his hair rise. He inches forward and peers down into the brown water around the ballcock and flush lever. He grimaces as he plunges his hand into the murky soup and fishes around. ‘Why is the water here so filthy?’

‘Bad plumbing. Rusty pipes,’ says the officer from below. ‘You drink this stuff and you’re either dead or immortal within the hour.’

‘No kidding.’

Federico jumps down. ‘Nothing.’ He strips off his glove because water’s seeped in and looks at the sink. ‘Don’t tell me, this dirty pig doesn’t even have a bar of soap? I can’t believe it.’

‘We’ve got some sterile wash in a kit bag, sir.’

‘Get it.’ Federico shakes the water off his hand and then remembers his manners, ‘ Scusi, per favore.’

While he’s waiting, he wanders back to the small lounge.

No TV.

How can anyone live these days without a television?

No balls and no TV.

What the hell does this guy do for fun?

Federico looks around.

There are no books either.

He doesn’t read, doesn’t watch the tube, doesn’t have sex, doesn’t even jerk off.

He does nothing.