Between the Thames and the Tiber (23 page)

“Then who put it there?”

“I do not know,” she replied.

“And the picture?”

“The picture has been on the wall since the Cardinal came to Rome. He has always had it. I know that because I gave it to him.”

“And when was that?”

The nun paused, as if to help her recollection.

“I have worked here at the Vatican since the Cardinal came here. But I have known him since our childhood. I was nine years old and he was five when we met. We shared the terrible event of the earthquake at Casamicciola. At the time his family was visiting. I was born there. When the disaster hit, I was standing near them on a high cliff. The cliff crumbled beneath us. His family was buried and the two of us were thrown towards the beach. I was unhurt, but Arco, for that is what we called him, had a bad blow to the head and was bleeding profusely. I baptized him, thinking that he would die, and ran for help. He was brought to an orphanage and saved by the nurse there. None of his family survived. His parents and younger sister disappeared forever. The picture I found near where they were staying. The Virgin has been with him since that time.”

“Suor Angelica, when you were last in this room, which way was the picture facing?”

The nun hesitated for a moment and said, “The Virgin was facing the wall. The Cardinal’s habit was to turn the picture to the wall on Ash Wednesday and leave it that way until Easter morning. When I asked him why he did that, he said that he did not know.”

“Have you told anyone else what you have told us?”

Suor Angelica avoided Holmes’s eyes as she groped for words.

“I may have mentioned it in passing to Padre Roberto, Cardinal Spontini’s secretary.”

“Thank you, Suora, we shall leave now.”

Holmes rang, and the young priest returned. Holmes asked that the room be once again sealed and that no one be allowed to enter.

“Most interesting, Watson,” he said as we returned to our quarters.

“But Holmes, I must say that all the small things you saw hardly amount to a grand conflict,” said I as we entered our rooms.

“As I have said in the past, Watson, you see but you do not observe. The room, despite its tranquil ambience, has all the signs of conflict. The crucifix I take as a warning to the Cardinal, the broken rosary and bent ring may have been his angry reaction to the invasion of his private chambers. But now, to further the investigation, we must look elsewhere.”

We sat for a time in almost complete silence. Holmes was deep in thought and paid little heed to my questions. There was a sudden knock at the door. Signora Piperno, our landlady, stood there.

“There is a message for Signor Holmes,” she said, “from Inspector Grimaldi.”

Holmes took it from her and we read:

Dear Holmes,

The body of a dead priest has been retrieved from the Tiber.

It is that of the Cardinal. Come at once.

Grimaldi

We left without pause, hailed a cab, and went directly to Grimaldi’s office in the Palace of Justice. Grimaldi greeted us and then reported on the discovery.

“Last night, towards dark,” he said, “a young boy fishing in the river noticed a hat near the river’s edge, not far from Castel Sant’Angelo. He tried to retrieve it with his line and only realized when he pulled that his hook was firmly fixed to the head of a corpse. He informed a
carabiniere
standing nearby, who called for help, and the body was brought here. It is badly decomposed, but it is undoubtedly that of the Cardinal. Cardinal Spontini, the acting chief of the Curia, has made a positive identification and has informed the Pope.”

“And the cause of death?” asked Holmes.

“Suicide by drowning. A despondent Cardinal killed himself for reasons that are still not certain, but highly probable. In his hand he clutched a note in a woman’s hand. The note is illegible, but the woman’s name, Maria Teresa, can be read at the bottom. This is, of course, that name of the woman he has been associated with in rumours among the populace.”

Grimaldi handed Holmes a folder in which the note had been placed. Holmes examined it carefully. A smile broke on his face.

“May we examine the body?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Grimaldi. “Come, the morgue is at the end of the hall.”

“There will be no autopsy,” he said, “without the Church’s permission. We have yet to perform a complete examination, but we shall supply you with a copy once it is performed.”

Grimaldi motioned to the attendant. A drawer was pulled out to reveal the body. It was that of a man in his mid-fifties, dressed in the black habit of a common priest. We watched as the attendant stripped the body of its clothes. The slender but well-muscled body of a man in the prime of life was revealed. There were no wounds on the body.

Holmes made his own examination, carefully observing the head and hands and then the chest and feet. He turned the face upwards. Badly deteriorated, it had been smeared with vermilion. Holmes looked at me but said nothing.

“Please come, Watson, I have seen enough. Signor Grimaldi,
vi ringrazio
. We shall be in touch.”

Once on the street, Holmes grinned.

“Most interesting, Watson. What did you make of it?”

“A tragedy, the most popular of cardinals dead in his prime.”

“No, Watson, not at all. That is not the body of a cardinal. If the Cardinal is dead, his corpse is yet to be discovered. This is a ruse, clever but not clever enough.”

He paused for a moment in thought and then said, “Or perhaps clever and rather bold, even impertinent. The vermilion face . . . we must find its meaning. Something in memory . . .”

“But Holmes, how do you know it is not the Cardinal?”

“Forgive me, Watson. I should have asked you to examine the corpse as well. We would have benefited from your opinion, but I doubt that it would have differed substantially from mine. The hands alone would tell you, Watson. They are the hands of a workman, a mason probably. The rough skin is not the result of the Tiber’s waters but of a lifetime of heavy work. The scarred nails filled with stone dust and mortar were so part of the man that they survived a long bath in the Tiber. Poor fellow, he did not die of drowning in the Tiber but of a fall. I detected multiple fractures of the ribs, and a bad concussion that probably killed him. And one more thing.”

“And what is that?” I asked.

“Grimaldi knows as well as we do that this is not the body of Cardinal Corelli.”

I was completely perplexed by this statement.

“But why the further ruse?

“Ah,” said Holmes, “Grimaldi is an old tiger, clever and tenacious. He has joined the fray. He knows, as do all Italians, that the Church is first a human institution, and that it runs on human principles, however much those who run it would have it otherwise. The long reign of Leo the Thirteenth is now drawing to a close, and we are witnessing the first signs of the struggle for power. It has already begun. Indeed, it began with the disappearance of Cardinal Corelli. It will end only when a new pope is elected. These men will do anything to control the Papacy. And all of Italy.”

Holmes looked at his watch. “By now, Watson, Grimaldi will have announced the news from the
Palazzo della Giustizia
. Rome will be filled with it. It is therefore time for us to pay a call on Cardinal Spontini, a most jubilant prelate at this moment, but one destined for an inevitable fall.”

As we entered the Vatican, we were directed to Spontini’s office. Suor Angelica was there. She had been crying, for she had just received the news of the death of Cardinal Corelli. Spontini led her out as we entered.

“Let her not go far,” said Holmes.

“As you wish, Mr. Holmes.” He told Suor Angelica to remain and closed the door. As he returned to his seat I observed him. A short but elegant man with silver hair, he was what I would have thought the great French cardinals looked like. This one resembled, if anything, an Italianate Richelieu.

“The terrible news is upon us, and I have just informed the Holy Father, who was distraught when I told him,” said he.

“Indeed,” said Holmes, “we have just come from the morgue.”

“I too visited and of course identified the body.”

Holmes was silent for a moment. His face was without expression when he began to speak.

“A mistake, indeed perhaps a grave one on your part, Your Excellency, for as you well know the body is not that of Cardinal Corelli. You, a prince of church, have committed a false identification at the
Palazzo della Giustizia
. . . Grimaldi’s trap, I think.”

The Cardinal showed no emotion.

“I made an honest identification.” he said firmly.

“
La sua posizione
,
caro mio
,” said Holmes bitingly, “
è ancora più gravissima
. For not only did you willfully and most falsely identify the corpse, you had it put there to float in the Tiber.”

Spontini grew angry. “Be careful, Mr. Holmes, you are speaking to a prince of the Church,” said he.

Holmes ignored his remark and continued.

“I noticed,
caro principe
, upon our first visit here that scaffolding had been raised on the east side of this building. In talking to the masons, I learned that one of them, one Francesco Sarubbi, fell to his death two weeks ago. He was buried in a local potters’ field since he had apparently no family. A talk with the custodian at the cemetery confirmed that the body was exhumed by orders from the Vatican, from the head of the
Propaganda Fide
, a position that only you hold, if I am not mistaken. It is the body of the poor Sarubbi that lies in the morgue.”

“
Basta con queste bugie
,” said Spontini.

“But there is more, far more. You are also the head of a long-banned cell within the
Propaganda Fide
known as
La Faccia Vermiglia
, the Vermilion Face, if you will. Its purpose is the purification of the clergy of the Church. It has its origins in the twelfth century, perhaps as early as the Inferno of Dante, in which the vermilion face of Satan chews for all eternity the body of the betrayer, Judas Iscariot. And so, dear Cardinal, in addition to your official labours, you searched for a heretic or worse among your colleagues. To your profound pleasure you found that the man you hated the most, Corelli, was even worse than a heretic.”

“A Jew,” said Spontini with clenched teeth. “It was my Christian duty to fight his presence and to stop him from becoming the next Pope. I am determined to drive him from the Church. He is a
converso
, who turns the Virgin Mary’s picture to the wall. I have given him ample warning. He hides, however, waiting to return.”

“I suspected as much as soon as I discovered myself the picture of the Virgin Mary, its face to the wall and replaced by a hideously disfigured crucifix. All of this was perpetrated to warn Corelli that he could not remain in the Church, let alone in a high place, unless you approved.”

The Cardinal turned ashen as Holmes spoke, forcefully and with the greatest disdain.

“What is your price?” asked the Cardinal.

“I have none. Your fate lies with the Pope. My suggestion would be, however, that you resign from the Cardinalate and that you lead the rest of your life as a penitent. And of course, neither Cardinal Corelli nor your reluctant mistress, Suor Angelica, is to be harmed in any way.”

I myself was shocked at the latest revelation. Holmes rose, went to the door, and brought in the nun.

“It is through you,” said Holmes to the cringing woman, “that Spontini learned of the picture. It is through you that he was able to enter the Cardinal’s room and plant the crucifix with the vermilion face on the wall, the sign that Christ himself had been transformed into the betrayer, the Jew, Judas Iscariot. You may tell us in your own words why you did these things.”

Suor Angelica looked at the Cardinal with loathing.

“Many good lives have been ruined by this man and his evil ambitions. I am merely one among them. For years he pursued me—since my arrival, in truth. Always Corelli protected me. We were like brother and sister.”

Spontini tried to stop her, but Holmes intervened.

“It all began on Ash Wednesday of this year. I had gone to Saint Paul’s for Corelli to hear my confession. When I was through, I knelt in a pew not far from the confessional to say my prayers. It was then that I noticed a beautiful woman, possibly an Austrian by her beautiful clothes, enter the confessional. She was the last to give a confession. She stayed a long time, but when she came out she said no prayers, but waited for the Cardinal to come forth. They left together.”

She paused to regain her composure.

“I suddenly felt myself seized by an overpowering jealousy. I raced back to the Vatican. I found the Cardinal Corelli already in his room at his desk. I asked him who the woman was. He was taken aback by my question, but in his gentle way he smiled and said, “Just a woman who wanted to talk to me.”

“He then went over to his bed and turned the Virgin’s picture to the wall.”

“I left without a word. The turning of the picture I had seen many times before, but this time I took as a direct affront, since I had given it to him. In my anger I went to this man and told him of the woman and the painting. Because I had described her as an
austrica
, he laughingly gave her the name of Maria Teresa, which his agents spread through the city. For a brief moment I found solace in his arms. From then on my life became a living hell, with this man threatening me at every turn unless I told him of all of Corelli’s activities.

“On the night of this past Holy Thursday, Spontini and I entered the Cardinal’s room and hung the crucifix on the wall. Spontini applied vermilion to the crucifix and marked the satanic verses in the missal on the desk. Corelli returned. I heard him shout in anger at what he saw in his room. The following morning he left, never to be seen alive again.”

“I shall report to the Pope immediately,” said Holmes. “I shall be lenient with you, Suor Angelica.”

At eight o’clock that evening, a priest dressed in black was seen to enter an
osteria
near Piazza Rinaldi. The
osteria
was run by a family from Salerno. The priest, known as Padre Giovanni, was on good terms with the proprietor, Signor Barca, and served as the family priest, performing baptisms and other sacraments for the family. Signora Barca went out of her way to prepare his favorite foods.