"WHERE IS SISTER ISABELLA?" Matteo's lungs were burning, he was so out of breath. The rain dripped from his peaked cap.
He had driven the police car along the road to the convent, but he found no trace of Sister Isabella. Now the car stood in front of the convent's courtyard entrance and purred in neutral. He had run the last few metres to the convent gardens, where some nuns were at work despite the rain.
Half a dozen pairs of eyes stared at him in surprise. A sister he had not seen here before stepped towards him. She was skinny as a nail with an incredibly young-sounding voice. "She's not here, maybe inside, with the Abbess?" She wiped her hands, soiled with wet earth, on her sopping apron. She looked upset and examined Matteo's uniform thoroughly. "Good Lord, did something happen?”
"No, definitely not," he said, trying for a calm tone. "It's just …" Matteo broke off. What was he supposed to tell this woman? That a cross had fallen from the wall and he believed that this was a sign from God and it was his task, his mission, to warn Sister Isabella of a grave danger?
He tried a casual smile that felt quite strained. Then he turned away, feeling the worried looks of the sisters at his back as he left the courtyard and entered the abbey.
A pleasant coolness enveloped him inside the thick walls.
Sporadic light filtered through the small windows in the dark corridor.
Matteo looked around but didn't see anyone he could ask about Isabella.
He walked down the corridor, past locked doors, until he passed a door that was ajar, through which he heard something. A buzzing?
"Hello?"
No answer.
Matteo stopped and listened. It was a woman's voice, humming to herself.
Hesitantly, he pushed the door open a little further and peered inside.
In front of the window he saw a woman in a dark habit, standing with her back turned towards him.
"Sister Isabella?"
The woman span around to face him. Matteo immediately realised his mistake when he recognised the brawny figure.
"Oh, sorry! I'm actually looking for Sister Isabella."
"She's not here!"
Matteo winced inwardly because the woman had snapped at him so harshly.
"Yes, I can see that. I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to disturb you." Gingerly, he stepped back and was about to pull the door onto the latch when a mental image stopped him. Once again he pushed open the door and earned another disgruntled glare from the nun. Undeterred, Matteo stepped into the room.
"What do you want?" the woman snapped at him angrily.
"What's that behind your back?"
"It's none of your business!"
"Hm. I don't see it that way." Determined, he strode towards the sister and gently but firmly pushed her aside.
He felt satisfaction welling up inside him. So his thoughts had not deceived him; he had been right. On the dresser was a porcelain figurine that looked like it came from the Mazza factory.
His pulse rate increased as he realised the significance of this find.
He looked at the sister more closely. She was strongly built, her habit stretched at her hips.
"You are Sister Hildegard!"
She looked at him in consternation. "Do we know each other?"
Matteo looked at the nun seriously. "Is it possible this figure does not belong to you?" He stood in front of the sister, challenging her with his eyes.
"I didn't steal it," she declared, upset.
He grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her slightly to the side to finally get a look at the ceramic figurine. "So how do you explain the presence of the lost figurine of Pope Paul VI in your … Oh!"
As he spoke, he looked at the figure more closely. The model was of a boy with a straw hat. A silver-grey porcelain fish was hanging from a thin line. It was definitely not a pope. And certainly not Paul VI.
Matteo noticed that the boy was missing an arm. "It's broken!"
"I'm fixing it!"
Matteo saw fine cracks running through the porcelain face. He was now completely lost.
"Yes, it belonged to Raffaella," Sister Hildegard explained in a put-upon tone. "It fell and broke when I was in her cell to …"
"To what?" Matteo cut in.
Sister Hildegard tightened and looked at him firmly. "To leave a little note and her alcohol ration. I wrote an anonymous note to tell her that God sees everything and that she should think of her health. I knew she had a few bottles of grappa stashed in her cell. And alcohol is really not to be trifled with." She looked at Matteo with eyes downcast. "I was worried about her. When I was looking for the bottles, I dropped this figurine. So I picked up the pieces and quickly got out of her cell before she caught me. But I was too late: she must have seen me. I denied everything, of course, and then she accused me of stealing. I was so upset that I didn't know how to react. And before I could clear it all up with her, she was …" She didn't have to finish the sentence. Matteo knew what she meant.
"And what are you going to do with this model now?"
Sister Hildegard wiped her face and Matteo realised that she was crying.
A fat lump formed in Matteo's throat.
"I want to make it whole again, and take it to her grave. I know it was her favourite. I owe her that much." All the hardness had evaporated from Sister Hildegard, as if she had taken off a mask. "May I now know who you are and what business you have here?"
Matteo told her, adding that he was worried about Sister Isabella, who must have somehow got lost on the way from the village to the convent.
"It is quite possible that she took the shortcut through the vineyards," Sister Hildegard said with a measure of suspicion. "She may have been caught out by the downpour and sought shelter in one of the vineyard huts."
She waved her hand dismissively. "But I wouldn't worry too much about that if I were you."
But Matteo saw things differently. He was wracked with worry. As if an inner voice was driving him. Almost as if something was constantly knocking against his forehead from the inside.
Involuntarily, the beautiful Mayor's daughter slipped into his mind. How rudely he had rebuffed her. Then he saw again the cross that had fallen from the wall. Well, the walls of the station were full of holes. He remembered how she had told him that she was an art dealer and had an appointment with Nicoló Sorrentino – him, of all people! – and that he hadn't been there because he had an "extremely urgent matter" to attend to, as his secretary had put it.
He paused. What if this important thing was … Sister Isabella?
Without a word of farewell, he turned around and ran back to his police car, got behind the wheel and was about to put the car into reverse when he realised that he would not get very far driving. He knew the path through the vineyards. It was so narrow that you could only drive down it with one of those narrow-gauge tractors. Angry at himself, he slammed his palms on the steering wheel and switched off the engine. His inner voice was urging him to hurry. But the path through the vineyards was several kilometres long. On foot it would take him for ever.
His gaze fell on the bicycles standing in front of the entrance to the convent.
Maybe this is God's providence after all,he thought as he climbed on and reassured himself with the thought that it was not theft, but that he was merely borrowing an old man's bike.
Not twenty metres down the asphalt road, the path led into the vineyards. He took the corner so tightly that the rear wheel slid away under the wet gravel and he almost came over the handlebars nose first.
But he quickly got the old bike under control again and started pedalling. It had been quite a while since he had last sat on a bicycle, and his progress was correspondingly shaky.
If it hadn't been bucketing down, he might have had admired the green cocoon that surrounded him. The vines bore their first fruits, which looked like little green peas. They were already giving off a smell of intense sweetness.
Unmoved by the beauty of nature, Matteo pedalled hard and kept an eye out for Isabella. But the heavy rain blotted out his peripheral vision, blinkering him. He tried shouting, but he could barely hear himself over the roar of the wind.
Just as he was about to give up hope, he recognised something.
Directly in front of him he saw a figure in a dark habit crouching in the grass. Isabella! And she was not alone. A man in a striking blue suit was sat close to her.
He slowed his pace and wiped the rain from his face, trying to process what he could see unfolding.
"Sister Isabella," he called out to her as he got closer.
"Are you all right?"
He received no reply.
Heart pounding, he brought the bicycle to a halt directly in front of the mismatched, drenched pair, and dropped it carelessly into the tall grass due to the lack of a stand.
His hand moved automatically to his pistol holster.
But he did not draw his service weapon; as he drew nearer, he could finally make out the scene in front of him. The man was kneeling in front of Isabella, his hands folded as if in prayer, while the nun was pressing her hands against his forehead and murmuring something to herself. Matteo understood at once. She was taking confession from this man, who could be none other than Nicoló Sorrentino.
He kept his distance and watched in silence until they both crossed themselves and stood up.
Sister Isabella did not look at all surprised when their eyes met.
"Matteo. Let me introduce you, this is Nicoló."
Matteo approached the two – his hand still on his holster.
The man in the wet blue suit held out a hand to Matteo and nodded at him uncertainly.
"Signore Sorrentino has some things to say that are for the police to hear, and no one else."
There was such a loud peal of thunder above them that Matteo winced theatrically.
But Sister Isabella only smoothed out her soaking wet habit and walked past him with a kind smile on her lips.
"I should really hurry up now and get these groceries to the convent. I don't want my sisters to perish from starvation."
Puzzled, Matteo watched as she climbed onto the ladies' bike and cycled at a leisurely pace through the increasingly heavy rain. After a few metres, she rang her bell and raised her arm to wave at him. "Signore Carabiniere."
Matteo had to tear himself away from the sight of his sister cycling away. Confused, he turned to Nicoló Sorrentino, who held his gaze with a serious expression.
"I want to make a confession."
Matteo groaned inwardly. He was going to have to clear out the holding cell.