“Of course,” he replied, growing animated for a moment before slumping slightly in his seat as though remembering his woes.
Luna reached across the table and squeezed his hand tenderly.
“What brings you out here, Mr. Morgan?” she asked me.
“Another priest has been murdered in Rome,” I replied, watching Antonelli carefully.
He glanced at Luna with unmistakable concern as he replied, “Yes, Father Carlos Diaz.”
“We heard about that on the news,” Luna said.
“But you don’t know anything about why he was killed?” Faduma asked.
The servant returned with a tray of dishes that he set on a serving table. Everyone fell silent. He served small plates of ravioli, and I thanked him when he set mine down. It smelled richyet fresh, and the tomato sauce covering the plump parcels looked delicious.
“Why would we know about that?” Luna asked, after the waiter had withdrawn.
“Because the priest died with your father’s name on his lips,” I replied. “Your name, Signor Antonelli. He told me you were responsible for the murders of all the priests who’ve died recently. And that you also ordered Filippo Lombardi’s death.”
Antonelli glanced at Luna, his face like thunder, then his anger dissipated and he looked crestfallen. He turned to face me and I couldn’t help but hope a confession was imminent. It would save us all so much effort and trouble.
Instead, our host broke into a broad grin and laughed.
“I’m very sorry about this latest priest but I certainly didn’t kill him.”
I glanced at Luna and saw she was taken aback by the suggestion that he might be responsible.
“This is why you’re here, Mr. Morgan? To accuse me of the murder of a man I have no interest in killing?”
Antonelli laughed again, only this time it sounded hollow.
“You have wasted your time,” he said, spearing a forkful of ravioli. “If I wanted to kill a priest, I would not send in a hit squad. Eat, Mr. Morgan, Ms. Salah. You will need all your energy.”
I picked at my food and Faduma did likewise. It tasted wonderful, but my keen appetite of only minutes ago had been blunted by the racing of my mind.
“Someone killed this Father Carlos to make it look as though I wanted him dead,” Antonelli said. “Instead of payingunannounced visits, you should be trying to identify the real culprits.”
I tried to find a hint of duplicity in the man’s demeanor and tone, but everything about him spoke to his innocence. Of this crime at least. Someone was playing me, but I couldn’t be sure it was him.
“Did he say anything else?” Antonelli asked.
I nodded.“Proditio. Mendacium. Quia precium sanguinis est.”
Antonelli laughed yet again. “You understand the significance of these words?”
Faduma was blank-faced and I shook my head.
“It is a reference to Judas Iscariot. Betrayal. Lies. This is the price of blood,” Antonelli revealed. “The price of blood is a reference to the thirty pieces of silver paid for the betrayal of Christ.”
I had translated the Latin but not set it in any wider context.
“It tells me Father Carlos knew he had been betrayed,” Antonelli continued, “and that the killer, like Judas, was likely a fellow disciple of the Church.”
CHAPTER49
“YOU’RE CONVINCING,” I said, “but the problem I have is that Father Brambilla told Matteo Ricci you wanted him and Luna warned off the Lombardi investigation. You didn’t want your daughter and her partner looking into the death of a Rome prosecutor.”
Antonelli’s smile faded. Now even Luna eyed him with suspicion.
