“Did you see what happened?” Valerio asked.
He bowed his head. “I was too late to give her last rites.”
“Can you tell me what you saw?”
“I was in the sacristy—I heard screaming. Three women were with her. I think they were trying to help…but she was already gone.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
He shook his head.
From far away came the sound of sirens—muted at first, then suddenly loud as the cathedral doors slammed open. The noise of pounding footsteps and shouts was a relief.
He shouted, “Back here!” and ran to join them.
—
Uniformed policemen had entered the cathedral, along with two ambulance soccorritori and Sonia Dieng, a plainclothes detective from the homicide unit. Valerio hadn’t expected Homicide to respond so quickly—but was glad she was here. He greeted her, ready to transfer the burden to competent shoulders.
“What do we have?” she asked.
They walked and talked.
“Female. Early twenties. Stab wounds in the chest and abdomen.”
“Witnesses?” Sonia asked.
“There’s a priest with the body. He says there were three women with her when she died. One of them was likely my mother.”
Sonia paused, turning to face him. “Your mother? Is she alright?”
“I don’t know,” Valerio said honestly.
“What did she say happened?”
“We haven’t spoken. She’s in the sacristy.”
Sonia nodded and they started walking again.
“Take the medics and check on her,” she said. “I’ll join in a few minutes.”
—
Valerio was wringing wet and numb as he opened the door to the sacristy, warmth leeched from his body. It was a surprisingly spartan space—with plain wooden cupboards and frosted 1970s glasswork.
Leading the ambulance workers, Valerio followed bloody footprints and drips to a door on the far end, where he knocked and, not waiting for a response, entered.
This room was small, informal, warm—a rug on the floor, and an ancient space heater, gunmetal grey, with red glowing elements.
Two young women huddled by the heater. They were roughly the same age as the murdered girl. One with dark skin—only slightly lighter than Sonia’s; the other with pink cheeks and long white-blonde hair, dipped in red. Blood painted the hems of their coat sleeves, the front of their pants, and their shoes. The dark-skinned woman sat with her head in her hands. She gazed at Valerio, eyes hollow—a resonant aftershock of horror.
—
Leonora’s hands had been cleaned, the wet rain shield removed. A rough woolen blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The grey-haired priest was praying with her.
Valerio crossed to them.
Leonora tried to stand. He pushed her gently down, and signaled for the emergency workers.
