"So what you are trying to say is, you haven't found out anything at all?" Isabella's tone was reproachful. But she had to give the policeman credit for arriving less than five minutes after she called.
Now they were sitting on a stone bench in the convent garden, enjoying the shade of a spreading stone pine.
"What do you think? I haven't even got round to finishing filing my report. There's always something going on, and then the Mayor came in with all these abstruse requests."
The nurse looked at him in bafflement. As far as she was concerned, there could be nothing more important than solving the riddle of Sister Raffaella's death.
She watched as Matteo rubbed his unshaven chin, soup spoon in hand. He looked tired. And hungry.
"And what was so urgent that we couldn't discuss it over the phone?"
"Oh," Isabella smoothed out a fold of her skirt, "maybe 'urgent' was overdoing it a bit. But I don't like to talk on the phone. And I find that a face-to-face conversation is just … nicer."
She regarded the young policeman intently. On his lap rested a soup bowl, brimming with Hildegard's chilled tomato-melon soup, which had been left over from lunch and found a grateful taker in Matteo. Between them was a basket of bread slices and ham and bocconcini for tramezzini.
"Mamma mia, these are really fantastic." He reached beside him, popped one of the bocconcini in his mouth and chewed contemplatively.
"But they must have started their investigation." She tapped her fingers impatiently on the stone slab, which at least made the policeman chew faster and swallow hard.
"What do you think? Before I can do anything, I have to wait and see how the public prosecutor assesses the matter. Whether there is indeed a possible motive for someone to have beaten or perhaps drugged the victim, that is, Sister Raffaella, beforehand."
Isabella looked confused. "Why the prosecutor? He wasn't there when we found the body."
"He doesn't have to be." Matteo smiled mildly. "That's what we write police reports for."
Tilting her head, she looked at him suspiciously.
"But you made it abundantly clear in your report that there can only be one possibility?"
Matteo avoided the nun's gaze as he replied hesitantly: "I have, of course, stuck to the facts and … as far as possible, I have described everything as it was found."
The sister's gaze rested on him for a long time, then she shook herself. "How awful! To say nothing of the possibility that she really was beaten or drugged." She deftly crossed herself, and saw Matteo add a silent amen.
"Yes. But to be honest, I'm not at all sure that we're really dealing with a murder case here."
Her gaze snapped over to him. "You saw it yourself, didn't you? The clear circumstantial evidence. The number!"
Matteo raised his hands defensively. "I know what I saw. And it wasn't much."
Isabella took a deep breath. She felt that uncertainty again, and wondered whether she might not be imagining things after all.
"If we at least had a motive. Anything. Have you perhaps noticed anything strange lately at all, directly or indirectly connected with Sister Raffaella?"
Isabella thought about this. There was one thing, but she was conflicted about whether she should even tell the policeman about it.
"Maybe there was something," she finally said.
The policeman looked at her intently.
"Not much. It may not be worth mentioning at all."
"Go on, tell me."
"Well, I overheard an argument. Between Sister Raffaella and Sister Hildegard." She lowered her eyes. "It was a real row, full of accusations and allegations. I don't know at all what the reason for the quarrel was either."
"You say it involved accusations."
"That's right. Sister Raffaella had accused Sister Hildegard of interfering in matters that were none of her business. And there was something about an invasion of privacy. Sister Raffaella was really upset and furious about Sister Hildegard – that's what it sounded like, anyway."
Matteo Silvestri looked thoughtfully at his soup bowl.
"This doesn't really help us. One argument doesn't make a motive."
Sister Isabella nodded prudently. "No, I suppose not."
"What could Sister Raffaella have meant by an invasion of her privacy?"
Isabella didn't know how to answer at first, but then a light went on in her head. She had most certainly violated Sister Raffaella's privacy yesterday. But it suddenly dawned on her again that she had pulled the door closed behind her when she entered the cell. That meant that no one could see from the outside that she was there. Sister Hildegard must therefore have also entered the cell with the intention of snooping around. Why had she come into her dead sister's room?
She could not shake the feeling that she had stumbled upon a clue. She closed her eyes to think better. With a deep sigh, she leaned back and enjoyed the sun's rays on her face.
A pleasant breath of wind from the vineyards wafted the scent of lavender into her nose. She loved this place, far from the hustle and bustle of the convent, although she wondered if "hustle and bustle" was quite the right word for it. The scent of wild herbs and lemon blossom and the view of the pointed cypresses that towered majestically over the convent walls: for her, it was the most beautiful place in the abbey. This was a place where it was so easy to encounter God – in the blossom, the herbs, the colourful birds – and sometimes even in the wind.
"But … I mean, Sister, what did we really see? An outstretched arm, something scribbled in the sand. I mean, for goodness sake, that could mean anything."
Isabella gave the policeman a tight-lipped look, but remained silent.
"I don't think it was an accident either." He turned his head towards the tower. "No one up there could really be that stupid. But let's keep looking for the most obvious thing."
"And that would be?"
"Well, suicide."
Her glare elicited a hurried "God forbid!" from him.
"Out of the question," she replied immediately.
"Because she was a nun?"
"What nonsense! We servants of God are human beings too." She shook her head. "No, it's not that. But I knew Sister Raffaella; she loved her life. There were no inner demons she was struggling with."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded resolutely. "As sure as one can be. We sisters live in close quarters here. So I would have noticed if Sister Raffaella had been fighting an inner battle that could have driven her to suicide." Isabella had a natural sensitivity to people's feelings. As a child, doctors had said she was highly sensitive. She had always been much more sensitive to sensory stimuli and reacted more strongly to the moods of those around her. Her grandmother had jokingly called it the third eye, because you could never fool her. Isabella always knew where she stood with her parents, her friends, teachers and classmates. If someone close to her was suffering, it never went unnoticed. But she had a feeling that it was better not to try to explain this to the young policeman for the time being.
"All right," he said at last. "So let's assume it was murder. We still don't have a motive."
"But there has to be one. And it has something to do with the number Sister Raffaella left us as a parting message." She closed her eyes and crossed herself.
When she opened them again, she looked urgently at the policeman. "I went into her cell, to look for clues."
Matteo looked at her sharply: "That's trespassing."
"So you'll be arresting me, then?" she asked in a playful tone.
But the policeman only sighed resignedly. "And what did you find?"
"Nothing. At least, nothing that stood out. Lots of porcelain children's figurines. Pretty tacky, if you ask me."
"Are they rare? Or maybe even valuable?"
"I should hardly think so."
"Too bad. Greed is always a good motive for murder."
"However, I believe one figurine is missing. Anyway, there was a print there." She thought of the dustless circle, but then shook her head. "I don't know whether that means anything."
"Hmm." Matteo looked at her thoughtfully.
"The factory is around these parts, and I know they also have a stall at the Caterina market. I'll ask around there. I don't think it will get us anywhere. But I guess it's still worth a try."
Once again she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She would have plenty of opportunities to investigate the market now. After she had carelessly allowed herself to be caught by Sister Hildegard, she had been ordered by the Abbess to mind the stall at the market, which took place three times a week. Up to now, this task had fallen to Sister Raffaella. For Filomena, of course, it was a perfect excuse to be able to put Isabella in charge of this work. So much for her morning jogging sessions. Still, it could have been worse. She could have been assigned to cleaning duty in the sacristy. She hated cleaning.
"Is there any possibility that Sister Raffaella had enemies within the convent? I mean, apart from the quarrel with Sister …"
"Hildegard."
"Exactly."
Isabella searched her memory. She had been asking herself the same question.
"Hardly," she said finally. "Everyone liked her. Some more, some less. But no one held a grudge against her that could lead to murder." She thought again about her words, then nodded firmly. "No."
"Good." Another spoonful disappeared into the policeman's mouth.
"Then it must have been someone from outside. Who else has access to the abbey?"
"Our house is open to all souls."
"Of course." The policeman groaned unhappily. "That doesn't narrow it down much. And just which souls are we talking about here?"
"From time to time we have guests who stay with us for a night to experience convent life."
"Well, that's something. Have there been any overnight guests lately?"
Isabella thought about this. "No, not for weeks."
The Convento di Nostra Cara Regina Maria was a small retreat and was not listed on mainstream travel websites. People who went there to take time out from their lives either came from the surrounding villages or on someone's personal recommendation.
No one had anything against it: on the contrary. It was important for the convent to keep its doors open for outsiders, and Isabella liked it very much when visitors came to stay.
"Then this trail won't lead us anywhere either." Matteo devoured the final bocconcino.
They sat silently on the bench and each followed their own train of thought. A pretty robin landed on a branch of the lemon tree next to them, where it was preening its feathers. Isabella thought again of the porcelain figures in Raffaella's cell.
"Excuse me, Sister?"
Isabella took her eyes off the bird and saw a woman at the edge of the herb patch, eyeing her curiously.
She was young, from her appearance she looked no older than twenty. Her hair was dyed blonde, her skin was fair, and her eyes were blue. She was slim, gaunt even, and had a strikingly beautiful face, with high cheekbones, a snub nose and full, red-painted lips that were curved in a cautious smile.
"I'm looking for someone and I seem to have wandered into your garden by mistake."
Isabella noticed the policeman straightening up beside her and casually tugging at his shirt, which made her smile.
"Where are you trying to get to?" she asked kindly.
"I really didn't mean to disturb you." The young woman approached them and extended her hand first to Isabella then to the policeman. Her squeeze was delicate, almost fragile. "My name is Aurora. Aurora Rossi. I'm looking for Sister Raffaella. Maybe you could tell me where I might find her?"
Isabella and the policeman exchanged a look of dismay. She tried to put on a brave smile as she replied: "I'm afraid Sister Raffaella has passed away."
The young woman was unable to say anything in reply. She widened her eyes and her gaze wandered back and forth between Isabella and Matteo in near panic.
"But …" she stammered eventually.
"I'm very sorry." On an inner reflex, Sister Isabella reached for her hand and stroked it tenderly. "Were you close, you and Sister Raffaella?"
It stung Isabella's heart to read the absolute bewilderment in the girl's gaze.
She withdrew her hand and turned away. "Thank you, Sister …"
"Isabella. My name is Sister Isabella."
The young woman's smile was pleasant, but to Isabella she seemed a little hurried.
"I'm very pleased to have made your acquaintance. But … I really must get going."
High heels clacked frantically across the paving stones.
"Now that really was strange."
"I think I know that woman," Matteo replied hesitantly. "I've seen her before in the village, at the market." What he omitted to tell the sister was that he had made a few passes at her before. In any case, nothing had come of it. Matteo simply liked to make eyes at good-looking women and he felt an illicit thrill when his harmless flirting was reciprocated. He was well aware that this girl was far too young for him. But then, he was also quite happy to flirt with much older women, also with no ulterior motive. He regarded the whole thing as an exercise. Unfortunately, when it came to women he was serious about, he couldn't muster up the courage to speak so much as a sentence.
"What do you know about her?"
"Not much," Matteo admitted. "But I think I know where she works. If you like, I'll ask around."
Isabella nodded gratefully. That was exactly what she wanted to hear.
The policeman set down his spotlessly clean soup bowl on the bench and rose to leave.
"Sister Isabella, your company has once again been a pleasure."
"Mr Silvestri, wait a moment."
"Please, call me Matteo."
"All right, Matteo. Would you allow me to give you a present?"
The carabiniere's eyes widened. "I … er …" Isabella smiled gently.
"Please, it's just a little something."
She slipped her hand into the side pocket of her habit and pulled out a cloth-wrapped object.
She enjoyed watching the policeman carefully remove the cloth.
"A cross?" he asked in surprise.
"A cross of the Virgin Mary. It's supposed to bring you luck."
"Oh, well then." The carabiniere made a thin and awkward smile, and Isabella wondered if she might have gone a touch too far with this godly gift.
"And you get back to me when you've learned something new."
Again Matteo smiled: this time, it seemed, sincerely.
"I promise, but don't get your hopes up. As I said, I don't think there's enough circumstantial evidence for the prosecution to suspect murder."
"I'm sure you'll do your best to work up a convincing case."
Matteo smiled, but then sighed sullenly. "But before I contact the prosecution, I will have to put up some parking signs."