Private Rome

Chapter 90

My uneasy dreams were a kaleidoscope of images of the dead: the priests, Lombardi, Altmer, Fathers Brambilla and Diaz careening through my mind, making me feel as though I was spinning out of control, way, way out of my depth.

I woke with a start and saw sunshine edging the drapes, and sat up to find Sci’s bed was empty. I could hear low voices coming from beyond the door and the rhythmic clatter of cutlery and plates.

I pulled on a sky-blue shirt and navy trousers and went out in search of the others.

Sci, Mo-bot and Faduma were having breakfast at the kitchen table. Sci had loaded his plate with waffles and was drenching them in syrup. I eyed the stack in amazement.

“What?” he asked defensively. “Hanging around with you is going to get me killed long before anything sugary or fattening does.”

Faduma and Mo-bot smiled.

“Is Justine still asleep?” I asked, and Mo-bot nodded.

“Your nocturnal adventure must have tired her out.”

“What nocturnal adventure? Or shouldn’t I ask?” Sci said.

“We went to see Matteo,” I explained. “He told us he was knocked out. So instead of him not remembering what happened, it turns out he was actually unconscious. He thought it was Father Brambilla and didn’t tell us in case the authorities declared it was suicide.”

“Why the heck would that matter?” Sci asked, taking a bite.

“It’s a Catholic thing,” I replied.

“Morning,” Justine said. She was dressed in shorts and a matching gray T-shirt. It was one of her favorite pajama sets.

“Morning,” I replied, going over to kiss her.

“Waffles?” Sci asked.

“No,” she replied, “but I’d love coffee.”

“Scooch over,” Mo-bot said to Sci, making space for Justine and me to bring our chairs up to the table.

“Morning,” Faduma said. “So, if Matteo is telling the truth, someone else could have killed Father Brambilla. Someone else who was at the party.”

I nodded. “Someone who was nimble enough to get in and out of that room without being noticed.”

Sci poured Justine and me freshly made coffee.

“Altmer was at the party, right?” Faduma asked. “What if he kills Brambilla, and someone else takes out Altmer.”

“Or it was Luna Colombo?” Justine suggested.

“Wow,” Faduma replied. “Of course. Maybe.”

“They have to be our prime suspects,” I said. “We need to know what Altmer was doing at the bank, how he was connected to the Dark Fates. And I’m going to talk to Elia Antonelli and find out what he and his daughter have really been up to. Stefano Trotta was at their house and then turned up at the Inferno Bar. What do they know about him? What does Luna know about Brambilla’s death?”

“I’d like to talk to Trotta directly, if that’s okay,” Mo-bot said. “See if my old friend and I can put the squeeze on him.”

“Old friend?” Sci responded, still tucking into his waffle stack. “Speak for yourself. I’m a vigorous young go-getter.”

“Positively teenage,” Mo-bot teased.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, sipping my coffee. “You and Sci check out Trotta. Justine and Faduma, go to Vatican City and see what you can find out about Altmer. Ask Joseph Stadler to give you access to whatever records you need. And I’m going out to Antonelli’s family farm to ask the old gangster and his daughter some difficult questions.”