The Cardinal and The Constable

The Cardinal and the Constable, chapter 3.

Chapter 3.

         The Murder.

         Cardinal Fratelli had finished night-time prayer and just settled into bed when light poured into the room and Dina barged in.

         “What are you doing?” he began but she hushed him, waving her hands.

         “Get up, come at once- something terrible has happened and you are urgently needed at the jailhouse!”

         “What?”

         “Your Eminence, get up!”

         Finally, he stood, his mind struggling to make sense of what was happening. Suddenly, he froze.

         “Well, I’m not changing until you leave,” he asserted.

         “Sorry,” Dina replied, “I am tired too. Meet me downstairs when you are ready- and hurry!”

         Trudging down the stairs, fully-dressed and stifling a yawn, Fratelli mumbled, “What on earth?”

         Beside him, Father Rodrigo emerged. His stocky face crinkled from worry, forehead beading with sweat as he tugged Fratelli’s arm.

         “Come on…wake up!” he hissed while leading him through the hall and out the door.

         Once hustled into a stagecoach, Fratelli gave another yawn, sharp and protestful. He tiredly eyed Rodrigo who sat across from him, frantically clasping his hands, hiding them beneath his priestly robes.

         “I heard someone was murdered - tonight, right by the clock-tower…” the priest stammered.

         “And what has that to do with me?”

         “What’s it have to do with you? Your Eminence, they found a priest at the scene of the crime: Father Adreo.”

         Stiffening, eyes growing alert, Fratelli gasped. However, he stayed wordless, now clenching together his own hands. Rodrigo overheard his jumbled whispering: a Hail Mary in Latin. But, he did not respond.

         Wheels screeching, the coach halted. Fratelli almost tumbled out of his seat but steadied himself as Rodrigo opened the door and hopped outside. The air brushed cold against his face when Fratelli awkwardly followed. There was no time for him to collect composure because Rodrigo at once yanked him forth. When they were home, and if he remembered, Fratelli swore he’d scold him for this harsh treatment.

         Several blue-uniformed, black-cloaked policemen gathered at the jailhouse door. Their silver buttons gleamed in moonlight and small handguns dangled at their waists. One, wearing a shiny rapier around his hip, appeared. He then escorted Fratelli and Rodrigo to a basement room. Cells with dark grey bars lined one wall and a desk cluttered with papers occupied the room’s other end.

         Smelling a stale odor, Fratelli jerked his arm free, scowled and declared, “This is objectionable, bringing me here!”

         Suddenly Ernesto came forth and placed a calming hand on his brother’s shoulder. Fratelli moved away. Irritated, patience thinning, Ernesto shouted:

         “Stop being so fussy…I’m on your side! There are things more important than your personal comfort. Now sit here and listen to me.”

         Wide-eyed, gaping with shock, Fratelli paused then crossed his arms. He glanced away, utterly embarrassed. Various replies swirled in his mind, some uncharitable, but he eventually sat down- too tired and bewildered for further resistance, only frowning like a scolded child.

         The sword-bearing officer from before, perched across from him. Father Rodrigo felt unlucky, having to stand while this rather intimidating gentleman introduced himself:

         “Good evening, Your Eminence. I am Timotheo.”

         Timotheo’s intimidating demeanor lessened somewhat when he leaned, kissing the cardinal’s ring, but his tenacious gaze resumed as he spoke again:

         “Let me explain why you’re here…”

         “I know why I’m here,” Fratelli interrupted, “You mistakenly took one of my priests into custody. He can come back to the rectory now and we can forget all about this terrible inconvenience.”   

         Timotheo suppressed a laugh then quickly covered his mouth.

         “We cannot do that,” he explained, “At three minutes before midnight we found a man dead, apparently murdered within feet of the clock-tower. Also present was a young priest who willingly identified himself as: “Conti Adreo”. Worse, he had the victim’s blood on his own hands.”

         Fratelli instantly stood.

         “Where is he?” he demanded, “Where is he?”

         Timotheo pointed and the cardinal rushed to a holding cell where Adreo’s lean figure sulked.

         “Come here you fool! What did I tell you about wandering off at ungodly hours of night?”

         “Your Eminence!” Adreo cried, scrambling to his feet and approaching.

         He leaned his hands against the bars which separated them and said, “I’m not worried… because I know I didn’t do anything wrong.”

         “Some disagree with you,” Fratelli gently replied, “You’ve gotten yourself into horrible trouble. Now what do you expect me to do about all this?”

         “Listen to me: I was walking around the piazza and I heard some shouting and noise then I found him already lying there. The only thing I did was kneel down to absolve the poor man and yes, some blood did get on my hands…”

         “Fine then, tell them and we will go home.”

         “It’s not that simple,” Ernesto said walking forward, “We have no way knowing that he’s telling the real truth…”

         “My priests do not lie!” Fratelli objected, “And why would he?”

         “Because the good Father forgot to mention that he had had a nasty quarrel with the exact same man who was killed.”

         “Merciful goodness!” the cardinal shrieked, hysterically throwing up his arms.

         Ernesto expressed sympathy but Timotheo stood up and joined them and flatly said, “Your Eminence, we need you to provide some information about when you last saw Father Adreo.”