BELLA MAFIA (38 page)

When she had gone, Sophia fetched ice cubes and more hot water. She sat beside Luka, alternating hot and cold compresses on his head. Occasionally he moaned softly, but he did not return to consciousness.

Three hours passed. The fever was worse, and his pulse was even weaker. When Teresa came up to do her shift, Sophia was loath to leave but was so tired she needed rest.

"What time is it?"

Teresa squinted at her watch. "Almost five."

Sophia sighed. "You'd better wake me if his condition deteriorates."

Sophia's mind was in turmoil, and she could not sleep. She had used up most of her supply of Valium, so she crept down into Graziella's room and searched her dressing table.

"Is that you, Sophia?"

"Yes, Mama. Go back to sleep, I'm just looking for those tablets. Remember the ones you gave me. Are there any left? I can't sleep."

She returned to her room with almost full bottles of Valium and Seconal. Her hands shook as she tipped out the tiny yellow pills. She even swallowed a sleeping tablet to make sure she would sleep. She was so drugged that Teresa had to shake her awake. The young man, she said, was shivering. One moment he seemed cold, and the next he was sweating. He looked terrible, and she was scared.

Sophia hurried upstairs. Luka's body was burning up with fever, yet he was dripping with cold sweat. She ran downstairs to get her duvet and tucked it around him. Finally, the shivering subsided, and he seemed to grow calmer. She pulled up a chair to sit by him.

"Father . . . Father . . . Father ..." Luka's voice was less than a whisper; his words were almost unintelligible. Sophia bathed his head, and his face twisted with pain. Then his eyes opened wide. He recoiled from her, not knowing who she was, pushing her hand away. He felt as if he were buried in soft clouds. Then his body filled with pain, and the clouds began suffocating him. He couldn't breathe. ... He pushed the duvet from his racking pain. He was hot, burning hot.

Sophia rinsed the cloth in ice water and held it gently to his neck, his chest, and his right shoulder. The bandages were still clean; the bleeding had stopped. His body relaxed at last, and he slept.

Rosa slipped into the room. "Mama said I should take over. How is he?"

"I think he's doing fine. The fever broke, and now he's sleeping. As soon as he wakes, his bandages must be checked, just to see that the wound is clean. We must keep it clean. It was already showing slight signs of infection. I wish we had some antibiotics."

Rosa approached the bed and looked down at Luka. "He's very handsome, isn't he?"

"What?" Sophia was winding the bandages to be washed so they could use them again.

"How old do you think he is, Aunt Sophia?"

"Oh, I don't know, and to be honest with you, I think the less we find out about him, the better."

"What's his name? He's American, isn't he?"

Sophia crossed the room to pick up Luka's clothes. "Moreno, Johnny Moreno. Sounds like some kind of ballad, doesn't it?" She checked the pockets of his bloodstained jacket and trousers; they were empty. "He has nice clothes, very expensive labels, and all American. He sounds American. Maybe he is American."

"His shoes are Italian," said Rosa, holding up a Gucci loafer, "and very expensive."

Sophia picked up his gold Gucci watch and put it down again. It was still only eight-thirty in the morning. "Call me if the fever starts again. I'm going to take a bath."

Even though he had hardly slept the night before, Pirelli was in his office at eight, and he didn't even give Ancora time to take his coat off.

He began, "Main suspect for the Carolla hit, you're not going to believe it. . . . They've been checking out every person in the courtroom, a few of them not interviewed as yet." He listed a few names, then waved a printout, smiling. "This is the one. Listen to this: 'Brother Guido.' Our boy's last known address was a monastery, right?"

Ancora threw his hands up. "What are we waiting for?"

"Hang on, there's even more. The man who was sitting in front of the monk came forward last night. They've found traces of wadding on his coat, which was laid over the back of the seat, in front of the monk."

On the train journey the two men went over what they now knew of the case. Paul Carolla had obviously taken his son to the United States, illegally, as there was no record of him in America. The boy had subsequently changed his name to Luka. He was the chief suspect not only for the murder of the Paluso child but, since the same weapon had been used on the Luciano children, probably for their double murder as well. His last known address was the Monastery of the Holy Mission; the main suspect so far for the murder of Paul Carolla was a monk, Brother Guido.

The long uphill walk from the station took its toll on the overweight Ancora. Pirelli had to wait for his sweating, red-faced companion to join him.

They were shown into an anteroom beside the main gate of the monastery. The bells were ringing, the echo thudding through the small, bare room. It contained only a wooden bench, a table, and a bookcase.

Pirelli's mouth was dry. Ancora was still panting, his shirt wringing wet with perspiration, though the room felt chilly. They waited for more than fifteen minutes before a monk approached them and introduced himself as Brother Guido, gesturing for them to be seated on the bench. He drew up the chair and sat at the table.

They showed him their ID cards and asked him if he had been in Palermo at all in the past few days. He said he had not. He seemed very nervous, twisting a rosary around his fingers and blushing when asked if he could verify his statement. He assured them that he could as he had not left the monastery at all and had many witnesses to prove it.

Watching him carefully, Pirelli told him he was investigating the whereabouts of Luka Carolla. Guido flushed deeply. Pirelli went on to say that Paul Carolla, the said Luka's father, had been shot.

Guido's hands trembled as he whispered that he was aware that Carolla had been shot. He was able to tell them that Luka Carolla had been staying at the monastery up until the week before the killing, but he could give no information On his present whereabouts.

"Did you ever hear Luka referred to as Giorgio, or was he always called Luka?"

"Always. I never heard the name Giorgio mentioned."

"Is there anyone here who would know more about him?"

Guido nodded but told them it would not be possible to talk to Father Angelo now because he was giving the last rites to a dying monk, Brother Louis. All he could tell them was that Luka had been raised at the monastery before going to America with his father. He had returned recently and had stayed for nearly six months. He gave a detailed description, adding that Luka was very strong physically and had done a great amount of work in the garden.

Pirelli asked when it would be convenient to interview Father Angelo and was told that was in the hands of the Lord. Pressed by Pirelli, he eventually said it could be two or three days. The only other person who might be able to help was Brother Thomas, but he wasn't available either. Pirelli asked if he could borrow a monk's robe, to be returned on his next visit.

As they were about to leave, Pirelli asked Guido if Luka had brought much luggage. He described the leather carryall. Then he hesitated a moment before he said, "When he first arrived, he had a case, a small, flat leather case. I remember it because I offered to carry it into his cell, but he refused."

"What size?"

Guido demonstrated with his hands an object about twelve inches long.

"Did you see him leave?"

Again there was the deep flush as Guido shook his head. "I am afraid not. You could see his cell if you wish."

They inspected the small, bare room, and Pirelli asked if it had been cleaned recently. Guido told him he had washed and swept the room himself directly after Luka's departure. They were shown the gardens, where the new seeds were sprouting. "He turned all this soil single-handed. I have never seen anyone work so diligently. Do you wish to speak to him in connection with the killing of his father? Perhaps he does not know?"

Pirelli said he doubted it; every paper had been full of the news. He looked around; the place seemed desolate, not a soul in sight. "I will need to speak with Father . . . Angelo, you said? It is of the utmost importance. And please tell the others that I will return in two days, if they can be of any help." He paused, then said, "I don't suppose there is a photograph?"

Guido shook his head and apologized. They did not, to his knowledge, have one in the monastery.

The two men were silent on the train back to Palermo. Pirelli said, "I think he was holding something back, but until we get to the old father, someone who knows more about Luka Carolla, there's no point. . . ."

The monk's robe was shown to the guard, who was positive that the man in the court that day was wearing an identical one. He also remembered he wore leather sandals.

There were further developments concerning the weapon used to kill Carolla. The guard who had searched Luka described the cane as best he could, recalling that it had a brass head, some sort of animal, but he couldn't quite remember.

Pirelli mulled over the possibility of the gun's being a customized special. They knew from Guido's description that Luka Carolla had carried what appeared to be a gun case. Bruno was instructed to check out all the gunsmiths. Luka had been in Erice directly before the assassination; it was possible that the gun had been purchased locally.

Pirelli paid a call on Mincelli to see if he had anything new and was greeted with a stream of furious abuse.

"You wanna work on this with me, then say so. I sent three men up to that monastery for fucking nothing! You knew, because you'd already been there, that some old boy's croaking and they won't speak to anyone. . . . You wasted my time, Pirelli, and right now I don't have the time to waste."

"And I do? Look, all I want is to get the hell out of here an' back to Milan."

Mincelli sighed. "Not as simple as that an' you know it, not if we've got the same suspect. What do you think? Is this Carolla character our man?"

"I don't know. He could be."

"There's another possibility: that the Luciano women hired the guy. They'd have the connections."

Pirelli was incredulous. "You serious?"

"They're all the same; they close their eyes, see only what they want to see. And then, when one of them gets shot, they scream blue murder—"

"The whole family was wiped out."

Mincelli shrugged. "Read the papers, Joe. That old boy, Don Roberto, must have wiped out more than a few families in his time. Anyway, I'm trying to get a trace on the weapon, sort out the corpses at the Armadillo Club. . . ."

"Okay. I'm getting the gunsmiths checked out, and anything we get I'll pass straight on to you. And I'll save you a journey; I'll go see the Lucianos."

Mincelli cocked his head to one side. "Fine, that old lady might know something about Carolla's kid. Old Roberto Luciano and Carolla knew each other for forty years. . . ."

As soon as Pirelli left, Mincelli scuttled in to see the chief and suggested that since their investigations had the same suspect, Pirelli should be given the entire Luciano case. Mincelli would then be left with the Carolla killing and the nightclub investigation.

The chief put a call into Milan, requesting that they retain Pirelli for as long as necessary. Mincelli was greatly relieved; the race to find Luka Carolla was on, and he reckoned that with his desk clear, he would get to him first. Then he could take off for a skiing holiday, leaving the rest in Pirelli's lap.

It was almost eight-thirty in the morning. Teresa was in the study. Sophia, showered and changed, popped her head around the door.

"Have you had breakfast?"

The doorbell rang, and Teresa peeked through the blinds. She let them snap closed. "It's the carabinieri."

Commissario Pirelli was shown into the dining room by Adina while Teresa tried to calm Sophia.

"It's probably about Mama. Go sit with him, offer him coffee, anything, but give me a chance to warn Rosa. And Sophia, don't say anything about last night, promise me?"

Sophia gestured for Pirelli to follow her into the dining room. Apologizing for the darkness, she opened the shutter slightly. The light cascaded around her, and she blinked, put her hand over her eyes.

"Is it cold out?"

"No, very pleasant, fresh. I always like the cold, sunny September days."

She stared at him as if she hadn't understood what he had

said.

"How is Signora Luciano?"

Sophia sat as far away from him as possible, right at the end of the table. "She is well, very tired. It is good that we are all here for her."

She was wearing a dark maroon cashmere dress that draped her figure softly, and he noted she wore no jewelry. She was no longer wearing the red nail polish; her nails were very pale.

Sophia was desperately hoping the others would hurry and join them; she hated the way he was scrutinizing her.