Free These Dark Things by Jan Weiss Page B

murder.”
    Father Pacelli led them to a doorway. Pino stopped to read the inscription above it: Praise be to you my Lord with all your creatures—especially Brother Sun who is the day and through which you give light.
    “A canticle of St. Francis,” Pacelli said.
    “Father,” the dishwasher called after him, “I need to speak with you.”
    “In a moment, Milo,” Father Pacelli said.
    Pacelli opened the door leading to their private quarters. “His room is at the top of the stairs, third door on the right.”
    The stairway reminded Natalia of Catholic School with its strong smell of caustic soap. Together they ascended the steep stairs to the second floor. On the landing, a sagging wooden table with reliquaries and a tray of ex-votos—a child’s hand and an adult foot. Someone interested in antiquity. Natalia sighed. Even among the Jesuits, the yearning for symbols, no matter how crude. But maybe she was being unfair. These had probably been abandoned here centuries ago and had remained ever since beneath the melancholy gaze of Jesus.
    They found the monk’s door. As soon as they knocked, Benito opened it. Had Father Pacelli told him they were coming?
    “Benito Gambini?”
    “ Si .”
    “I’m Captain Natalia Monte. This is Sergeant Loriano. We’re Carabinieri. We need to ask you a few questions.”
    The room, as expected, was spartan. A tiny window overlooked a courtyard encircled by a medieval covered walk. There was a bed, a nightstand, and a guitar. In a wardrobe niche hung two pairs of pants and a shirt. Benito sat on his bed. His eyelids, closed, were bruised half moons.
    Pino said: “We believe you knew the girl recently murdered in the alley next door—Teresa Steiner.”
    The monk sat down on his bed. He bowed his head and took a deep breath. “Teresa Steiner was my friend. She was doing research on the role of shrines in Neapolitan society. I helped her sometimes. She was being followed around by her professor, a creep, and appreciated the company. She’d gone out with him for a while. After she broke it off with him, he wouldn’t leave her alone, she said. Kept phoning. Waited for her everywhere. Pestered her.”
    “Did he threaten her?” Natalia asked.
    “Maybe. I don’t know. He said he’d block her graduate project. Teresa was sure he had stolen students’ work before and passed it off as his own. She worried that he was planning to make off with hers.”
    “Did you see or hear anything suspicious the night she was murdered?” Natalia asked. She looked out the narrow window onto the roof of the meditation walk.
    “I did hear something. It woke me. But I slipped back to sleep and was awoken again a little while later by commotion in the street, when I went down to see what was going on.”
    “How much sight do you have, if you don’t mind my asking?”
    “Light and shadow. Like when you look through a mist. On a good day I can make out faces. At night I can’t see anything.”
    “And you think you heard something happening in the street and it awakened you, although your room does not face the street and the walls of the monastery are ancient and thick?”
    “My hearing is acute … God’s compensation for my vision, perhaps.”
    “So you may have heard Teresa Steiner being assaulted?”
    The monk’s face flushed. “Yes.”
    “Can anyone confirm that you were here in your room the night she was killed?” Natalia asked.
    “Where would I go? We have prayers in community after our evening meals and retire early.”
    “Did you ever go to the crypts?”
    “Yes, sometimes. To help the bone cleaner, Gina Falcone.”
    “Even with your vision so poor?”
    “The dark doesn’t bother me, Detective.”
    “Did Teresa visit you?” Natalia asked. “Was she here the night she was killed?”
    “No.”
    “No? Are you sure you didn’t come on to her?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You’re Aldo Gambini’s nephew.”
    “I have been forever. Yes. And always will be.