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“SO, YOU EXPECT ME TO believe that the dead body just walked into your flat and you have no idea of who he is?” Inspector Carrola spoke adding the hard ‘eh’ endings to the English words as so many Italians do.
“Signore,” Dominic began.
“Excuse me, Father,” Inspector Carrola interrupted. “English, please. I wish to rehearse my English.”
“Fine, Inspector. English it is.”
“And, I am so sorry to again interrupt you, but please, if I make the mistake in English, you make it correct.”
“Yes, Inspector.” Dominic’s tone was impatient.
“Va Bene,” Inspector Carrola said smiling, then remembering, “I mean, all is good.”
Dominic’s apartment was packed to capacity with policemen, inspectors and detectives. The local station captain had, it seemed to Dominic, sent every available officer, those on duty and those off. Most of the plentitude of polizia gathered in groups in corners of the apartment. Some busied themselves skimming through books. Two relaxed on the sofa, one smoking, and another on the chair, head tilted back, eyes closed.
The body of the old man was now wrapped in a body bag, having been photographed from every possible angle and examined by everyone who came through the door. Dominic half expected a cop to draw a chalk line around the body, as he had seen done in so many old movies.
Tonita had been separated from Dominic by several other inspectors. Dominic watched her animatedly explain to the Roman police her story. She gesticulated wildly at one point, arms at her chest, her face bent over as though she was vomiting, legs kicking in a re-enactment of the old man’s final moments. A good little actress, Dominic noted.
“So, now please, Father, you tell me the story.” Inspector Carrola blinked several times, an odd expression of disbelief to a story he hadn’t yet heard, evident on his face.
“I have told the other inspectors what happened and they all took notes Inspector. Perhaps we could save some time and you could simply ask them,” Dominic spoke each word clearly and slowly.
“You are not a priest anymore, Father?” Inspector Carrola cocked his head to the side.
“I’m on a leave.”
“Why? Why do you leave?”
“I haven’t left the priesthood, Inspector. You misunderstand the meaning of the word. I’m still a priest. I just needed some time away to get my head straight.”
“So then, I can ask you?” Inspector Carrola asked not waiting for an answer. “You no believe in God now?”
“Yes, I still believe in God. That hasn’t changed. It’s not that at all”
“It is what then?”
“Like I said, Inspector, I needed some time away.”
“Ah.” Inspector Carrola clicked his tongue. “For your sake, Father, I hope that God does not need some time away from you.” He looked to the black vinyl body bag stuffed with the corpse of the old man and shrugged.
Dominic let out a long sigh. The last thing he wanted now was for a cop to give him advice on his calling. What he really wanted, was everyone out of his apartment, a shower, and a few hours of sleep. He had been up since the late afternoon of the day before. The adrenaline of the night’s events had long since worn off and his body ached.
“Is she your girlfriend, Father?” Inspector Carrola tilted his head toward the corner of the room where Tonita was standing.
“I’m sorry.” Dominic heard Inspector Carrola’s question, but needed a moment to think. “Inspector?”
“The woman, she is no Italian, correct?”
“No. She’s American, like me.”
“I see. And she is, come dite?” He slipped back into Italian. “I am sorry, how do you say in English? A metà negro e mezzo bianco?”
“Mulatto.”
“Ah yes.
“Her mother is South African, but born and raised in England. Her father is Irish.
Then, I am correct, she is your girlfriend, no?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Good friends. Nothing more.”
“She is very beautiful? No? Father?”
“Inspector? Call me Dominic, or Dom.” Dominic thought he may have sounded too irritated. Then thought about it again and concluded, he was irritated!
“Ah that is right, you are not a priest now.”
“I am still a priest. I have already explained to you that I just needed some time.”
“I understand, Dominic. You need some time with the girlfriend.” Inspector Carrola winked.
“She’s just a good friend, Inspector. Nothing more.”
“Va Bene,” Inspector Carrola said, apparently forgetting again that they were conversing in English.
Long moments of silence followed as Dominic watched while Inspector Carrola looked around the room, taking—Dominic assumed—mental notes of everything that was on the floor, ceiling, and walls. Thank god I left the crucifix up, Dominic thought, as he watched Inspector Carrola shake his head back and forth when he caught sight of the wooden crucifix hanging near the bedroom door.
Dominic had actually taken the crucifix down several weeks ago, removing it from the rusty nail holding it in place on the wall. He had taken it down, but had only moments later replaced it. It was a few weeks earlier, as he prepared for one of his late night walks. He had caught sight of the crucifix when he’d sat down to put on his shoes. It had seemed odd to him to have that object of the church hanging on the wall as a statement of his belief when he wasn’t sure what he believed, so he’d taken it down. Just before walking out the front door to the street, however, he’d returned to the living room and re-hung the cross to its place of prominence in the apartment. He who walks without God walks alone, he reminded himself of the modernization of the quote from Genesis.
“Why, Father, do you call your girlfriend and not the doctor or the police?” Inspector Carrola asked as he finished with his mental notes. “You want to hide something?”
“Not my girlfriend, Inspector.”
“She is a girl, no?”
“Yes, she is.”
“And she is your friend?” Inspector Carrola’s eyebrows arched.
“Yes.” Dominic knew where the inspector was going with this line of questions.
“Then why no girlfriend?”
“Because girlfriend means that there is something sexual...something more to the relationship than just a friendship,” Dominic said, hoping to put an end to the discussion.
“I see.” The Inspector clearly didn’t. “This beautiful girl is just a friend?”
“Yes.”
“But you call her and no police or doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Let me ask you then, can a priest lie and still go to heaven, Father?” The Inspector punched up the last word.
He was lying. She did mean more to him than just a friend who happened to be a girl. Why not admit it? Dominic was about to respond to both his own internal questions and those of Inspector Carrola, when Tonita approached. He glanced at her and smiled. She looked tired and a bit haggard, but attempted to smile back.
“Dom, have you finished with the Inspector?” Tonita said, as she mutilated a business card left with her by the detectives. Her hair fell around her face and over her eyes. She brushed it back.
Dominic wanted to reach out and hug her, assure her that it would all be okay, apologize to her for getting her involved. Instead, he commanded his arms to remain by his side and not to make any movement toward her.
Inspector Carrola’s eyes moved up and down Tonita’s body, watching carefully for any sign, a hint of what really happened here, and what really was happening between this woman and priest. “I believe I have the information I need for now, Father,” the Inspector said. Then, turning back to Tonita, he asked, “You will call if you have something more to say?” And looking directly at the now mutilated business card in Tonita’s hand, “You have our card and number, no?”
Even through the dark coloring of Tonita’s skin, her father’s Irish could be seen as her cheeks reddened. “Yes, Inspector, we do.”
“Va bene. Va bene.”
Twenty minutes later the detectives, inspectors, photographers, technicians, and the dead body were out the door. The apartment was once again quiet.
Dominic collapsed into the worn leather chair, physically and mentally exhausted. He closed his eyes. “I’m beat.”
Tonita stood by the kitchen where the old man had fallen and died. She looked to Dominic “What do we do now?”
“Sleep.”
“Dom, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Listen, if all you told me was true...” Tonita didn’t get a chance to finish.
Dominic’s eyes snapped open. “I told you the truth. I’m a priest for God’s sake.”
“How convenient.”
“It’s the truth.”
“And we all know that priests never lie.”
“This one doesn’t.”
“Oh, yeah.” Tonita crossed the room and knelt by the chair. She stared directly into Dominic’s eyes. “How do you feel about me then?”
His eyes darted away from hers.
“See there?” Tonita said. “You looked away. You’re going to lie to me.”
“No, I was just thinking about your question.”
“If you don’t know the answer already, then you’re lying to yourself.”
Dominic was about to mount a defense, when a loud banging on the front door distracted them both. Thankful for the interruption, he pulled himself out of the chair and made his way to the door, half expecting more cops, more questions, and more time without sleep. He reached for the small handle on the deadbolt to turn the lock and unlock the door, but it was, as usual—he cursed at himself—unlocked. He pulled the door open. No cops, no photographers, and no technicians awaited him. The sidewalk was empty. Only a black Mercedes Benz Berlina was there, parked directly in front of the apartment, its motor running and back door open. The driver stared straight ahead, not once turning in Dominic’s direction, giving no clue as to what was expected next. Had someone gotten out of the car and knocked at the wrong door? Dominic looked up and down the street. Not a soul, only the driver and Dominic. He was about to close the door and ignore the car and driver, when a glint of red on the Mercedes windshield caught his attention.
In a corner of the windscreen there was a small red sticker with the imprint of a shield with two crossed keys, two ribbons, two cords, and a tiara.
Dominic recognized the symbol immediately, and it sent a slight chill up his spine.
The keys in the symbol represented those given to the Apostle Peter by Christ; one silver and one gold. The cotter of the keys pointed upward and toward the sides of the shield. The grips pointed down. Two cords wrapped through the grips of each key, bonding them together. And at the top of the shield, a tiara with two ribbons flowing from it fell to each side. Each ribbon bore the imprint of a patent cross.
It was the seal of the Holy See.
The Vatican.
And the driver was clearly waiting for Dominic.