“Whose soul?” I asked.
I glanced at Justine and saw she shared my concern: was this man mentally competent? Had his injuries affected him psychologically? Had he really tried to take his own life?
“Brambilla’s,” Matteo replied.
Justine and I shared another glance, both of us perplexed.
“What do you mean, Brambilla’s soul?” she asked.
“The gravest sin,” Matteo replied, his eyes glistening.
“You mean suicide?” I asked.
He nodded.
“You think Father Brambilla took his own life?” Justine asked.
“When he came to the party, agitated and wanting to talk,” Matteo replied, “I took him somewhere we could speak in private. After we went into the room, he knocked me unconscious. When I came to, he was dead. I must have picked up the gun instinctively when I came round and found him dead.”
“And you didn’t tell us because you thought you could save his soul with a lie?” I asked.
“Who would pray for such a man?” Matteo asked. “He would not receive a Christian burial.”
This adherence to dogma was part of the reason I’d lost my faith. A soul in such torment was surely more worthy of absolution than a murderer, and yet someone who had knowingly taken another person’s life could confess and seek forgiveness while someone who took their own could not. Dogma warped the faithfuls’ perspective to such an extent that someone devout and faithful, like Matteo, trained in a seminary, believed he was protecting Brambilla’s eternal soul by concealing his suicide. Faith had twisted reason. Here was Matteo trying to save the soul of someone who had caused him nothing but trouble, because he believed that telling a lie could prevent the man’s eternal damnation.
“How do you know it was Brambilla who knocked you out?” I asked.
Matteo looked puzzled. “Who else could it have been? We were the only ones in the room.”
I glanced at Justine, who clearly shared my frustration.
“You should have told us,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” Matteo responded, tears falling from his eyes. “I was trying to do the right thing for my friend. He does not deserve purgatory.”
“No one does,” I told him. “Especially not a good priest like Father Brambilla.”
CHAPTER89
JUSTINE AND I left the hospital and crossed the Ponte Fabricio, a cobbled, pedestrianized bridge north of the hospital. There was no one else around and for a moment I wanted to forget the danger we faced, the secrets we’d uncovered, and instead pretend we were regular people with normal lives. That we were out for a star-lit stroll in this ancient and romantic setting, and that all the wonder of Rome had been created just for us.
I stopped and pulled Justine toward me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me until I became aware of movement to my right. Two men, hospital security guards on patrol, were heading our way.
“No rest for the wicked,” Justine remarked as we resumed our journey.
“Or the virtuous,” I replied with a smile.
We caught a taxi on Lungotevere de’ Cenci, the broad, leafyavenue that tracked the sinuous line of the Tiber. The driver barely gave us a second glance as we got in the back, but when we said we wanted to go to Ostia, he grumbled and told us he wouldn’t get a good fare on the return journey. I offered him double. That didn’t quite make him smile, but it did silence his complaints.
Justine and I stayed silent, partly because I didn’t want the man overhearing details of our investigation, but largely because I was still reeling from Matteo’s revelation. Faith had prevented him from telling the truth. It had made him irrational. Did he really believe that by ensuring his friend and mentor received a Christian burial, he could sneak Brambilla into heaven? Surely it was the contents of a person’s heart, not their actions, that defined their relationship with God. Or maybe that was just a comforting fiction I told myself.
“You okay?” Justine asked. “You seem distracted.”
The cab was racing through deserted streets, chewing up the distance as we shot past stores and restaurants that were silent and shuttered.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Just thinking about Matteo and wondering whether I’ve made a big mistake. I hired him because he seemed honest, but he made a huge error of judgment and concealed the truth.”
Justine took my hand and squeezed it gently.
