A Dark Song of Blood (18 page)

“I think he’s good, yes.”

And meanwhile Dollmann was telling Guidi, who looked as awkward as he felt, “It’s an odd lot tonight. Do you realize there may be partisans and foreign agents among us, brazenly eating our cakes and eavesdropping?” He laughed a mean laugh. “Yes, they
would
dare. I keep an eye open for them, but who’s to say, really? That’s why I love Rome. The intrigue is splendid.”

In due time Bora faced Cardinal Borromeo, beside whom was the wife of an American diplomat, “presently out of Rome”. He
had already noticed from a distance how her dress was exquisite in its simplicity, an off-white set of sculpted lines. Now he saw she wore no jewels but a thin chain of worsted gold. Her face was that youthful Anglo–Saxon face, open and clean and attractive. In his bad English, Borromeo introduced her as
Signora Moorfi
, and Bora bowed to kiss her hand, unaware that Dollmann had meanwhile drifted from behind and was speaking to her.

“Major Martin-Heinz Douglas Freiherr von Bora, Mrs Murphy. Major, Mrs Murphy, née Carroll, of Baltimore, whose husband is attached to the Holy See. The major is a Russian Front hero, Mrs Murphy. He’s a terror on the enemies of the Reich.”

Glancing up from her hand, Bora saw her expression grow cool, and it was no use being vexed at Dollmann for spoiling his chance of dialogue. Damage done, the colonel had already moved on. Mrs Murphy’s hand drew back, and slackly hugged her left elbow as if to bar the space between them. “Well, Major, are there any redeeming qualities about you?”

He did not expect the question. The first answer that came to mind was, “Well, I like children.”

“Oh. In which sense?”

“In the good sense, Ma’am. I would like to have some.” And because of his wedding band, Bora felt he could say so and not sound forward. The fact that she was tempted to smile at the British form of his address made him relax. Moderately straddling the floor in front of her, he physically opened up to her, but without impudence.

“You speak English extremely well. Most Germans have a dreadful accent.”

Bora laughed at the comment. “Actually, I was born in Edinburgh. And I’m Scots on my grandmother’s side.” She smiled this time, which he found seductive enough to feel his blood search the veins of his belly. “I’m often in the Vatican’s neighborhood. I regret not having met you there.”

Wisely, her eyes stayed on the medals and ribbons across his chest. “It’s unlikely that you would or will. I am not fond
of army get-togethers. The only reason I’m speaking to you at all is that Cardinal Borromeo thinks well of you. He told me of your generosity toward wounded prisoners – enemies of the Reich such as they are.”

“I’m indebted to the cardinal,” Bora said, meaning it. He was not often taken by a woman’s presence as he was now. He’d quite forgotten Dollmann and Guidi and the party around him. Standing here was wonderful. It was wonderful. He’d thought himself unable to revert to an elemental stage of delight in someone else’s nearness. “How do you find yourself in Rome?”

“I don’t. I live within the Vatican City.
You
have Rome. And do you have an idea of how many children – since you say you like them – would enjoy the delicacies on the tables here tonight?”

“We all give according to our kind, Ma’am. It isn’t exactly candy your compatriots are bombing them with, either.”

She observed him, and it seemed to him that she could see right through the knot of insecurity and grief he had inside. He returned the scrutiny in his frank way, but with some effort. She appreciated the glance, he could tell. Without tenderness her lips questioned him, small thoughtful questions carefully answered. And Bora felt tenderness instead, and an impulsive need to be liked by her. “So then, Major, what else do you think of my countrymen?”

“I find your men superficial, but I admire American women.”

“And I dislike German men.”

“Ma’am, it’s most assuredly my loss.”

It was only because Borromeo resumed his place by her and overtook the conversation that Bora had to ask for leave, with regret continuing his rounds of the hall.

Dollmann placed a buttered canapé in his mouth as he said casually, “You’re aroused,” and at the startled look he received, “It doesn’t
show.
I can tell.” His eyes trailed up Bora’s uniform in an innocent, candid way. “Do you like her?”

“Very much.”

The colonel’s attention wandered to where Mrs Murphy stood, speaking to other women of the diplomatic corps. “She’s inexpugnable.”

Bora took a long sip from a glass of mineral water. “I honor that, too.”

“Why, what a good man you are!”

“Or stupid.”

“No, no. True-souled, that’s the word.”

“Some good it does me, Colonel. It gets old when virtues are their own reward.”

“Did she accept your offer to drive her home?”

“How did you know I asked?”

“I thought you might.”

“She did not accept.”

“Pity. At the end of the party I’ll give a lift to your secretary, if you’re not interested. Poor girl, she has eyes only for you, but I fear she may be getting ready to settle for less.” And since Bora was discreetly looking for Guidi and how he was faring, “I like this associate of yours, this Guidi,” Dollmann continued. “A decent chap. Do you get along?”

“Yes and no. We’re very different.”

“That’s your fault, if you think of it. It’s dangerous looking for a brother.”

Bora took the blow, but not well. He’d lowered his defenses while speaking to Mrs Murphy, and now precipitously tried to rebuild them around himself, not quickly enough to answer Dollmann. By the time he’d regained his composure, an already drunk Egon Sutor came ambling his way with another SS officer by the name of Priebke.

“Are you having fun, Major, or do you still keep your tail tucked between your legs?”

Bora smirked at the equivocal joke. “It’s a hard, cold world, Captain Sutor.”

“So, you just let it hang?”

“The alternative is to let it stand. And a wagging tail gives the dog away.”

“He’s a good sport, isn’t he?” Sutor turned to Priebke. “He doesn’t swear, doesn’t get plastered, is faithful to his estranged wife. He’d be awfully boring were he not such a bastard in the field, with all that he goes to Mass on Sunday.”

Priebke grinned widely. “I see you brought along your police dog, Major. Is it for company or security?”

“I had an extra invitation.”

“He’s Magda’s investigator,” Sutor explained. “Asked
me
questions about her. As if I’d talk to a greasy Italian about the women I fuck. How’s the inquiry going, Major Bora?”

“You’ll have to ask the dog.”

In his corner of the hall, Guidi was wondering if his eyes deceived him. Better dressed than usual, with his unruly black hair slicked back and his attractive profile cast against the blank space of a drawn curtain, Antonio Rau stood chatting by the refreshments table. Racing thoughts clogged Guidi’s mind. The only one he salvaged from the garble was that Francesca ran a deadly risk if Rau worked for the Germans. Quickly he discarded the idea of asking Bora about him. Because Dollmann was within earshot and fussily looking at the sweets on a tray, he turned to him and resumed the conversation. Before long, he managed to approach the subject sideways. “Who is the officer that dark-haired man is talking to? I seem to have seen his photo somewhere.”

Dollmann looked. “I doubt it. He’s just a liaison officer in one of our offices. Gephardt is the name. And he’s talking to one of our Italian translators.”

So, that’s what Rau does.
Guidi tried to curb his anxiety. “I would think that with interpreters such as yourself your army would not need the aid of translators.”

“I don’t do low-level work. You must have people who can put messages and warnings for the population into simple Italian. Do you see the girl in red? That’s Major Bora’s secretary.”

“I had occasion to see her at his office. She’s a fine-looking woman.”

“Isn’t she?” Dollmann seemed to be asking him idle questions, without a real motive. “More’s the pity, she doesn’t interest our good major. As you know, he’s very eligible.” Curiously Guidi followed Dollmann’s admiring glance toward Bora. “Very likable, too.”

From his place by the table, Rau had seen Guidi, but continued to chat. Still, every time Guidi chanced a look at him, an attentive glance came back in his direction. They had been surveying one another for a while before Bora rejoined Guidi.

“Well, what do you think of the party?” Unlike Dollmann, Bora never volunteered information, and his questions were intended.

“I had never met so many SS officers in one spot. Colonel Dollmann tells me there may be spies and prisoners of war and even shirkers mingling with us.”

“It’s possible.”

Guidi noticed that Bora carried around a full glass to avoid unwanted refills. His glass had already been taken and substituted three or four times, and he was starting to feel a pleasant but dangerous effect, with great leaps toward carelessness. When he looked toward the table again, Rau was gone.

“Who are you looking for?” Bora inquired. “You’re searching the hall.”

“Me? No, Major. I’m just being provincial.” But Guidi was relieved to see that Rau was still here. With his back to the hall, he circulated among the Italians now.

A few steps away, Bora rejoined the elegant woman Guidi had seen him approach earlier. Whatever he was telling her, she listened with a skeptical cast on her face, though she very much seemed to want to smile.

Moments later, the electricity failed, but there were candles already in the chandeliers, and at once valets lit them. In the muted glare the decorations of skulls and seal-like sheen of belts
and boots darted sinister. Bora was still talking to Mrs Murphy. Dollmann had turned to a group of his own, and Rau spoke to a fat civilian, both of them holding a plate with food on it. General Maelzer was helping himself to drink; Westphal eyed Guidi, which put him at unease, since he could not intelligibly communicate with him.

After the party, Rau left early and alone, which meant he had the privilege of a safe conduct. Guidi regretted not having brought his car, which would give him freedom to tag him. Facing him in the lobby a few minutes later, Bora was nonchalantly pulling his glove on the right hand with the help of his teeth. “Let’s take a walk, Guidi. You need to clear your head. So do I, and I haven’t even gotten drunk.”

Soon Bora was preceding Guidi down the high-banked canal Via Veneto resembled at night, shored by large buildings and trees and leafy gardens. “So, what came of the scraps we found? You never mentioned them once all night.” Hearing no answer from Guidi, Bora turned to look at him. In the moonlit cold air, impatient clouds of vapor formed around his uniformed figure as he breathed. “Well?”

“Nothing came of them, Major. I sent them off to the
Questura Centrale
and somehow they were
misplaced.
I’m confronting Caruso about it tomorrow, and you should know I may be dismissed from the case as a result.”

Bora smiled, and Guidi could see how women might find him
charming
, as Dollmann said. “Caruso means nothing,” he said, not so amiably, “and I’ll remind him of it.”

“He
is
chief of police, Major.”

“Because we let him be. By our grace. I will come down on him and there’s nothing else to be said. Don’t irritate me, Guidi. Why do you resent being helped?”

“For the same reason you do.”

“That is incorrect.” Bora stopped on the sidewalk, and Guidi with him. “I accept assistance, from some. My injuries have taught me that humility. I hate it, but I learned it. How could I
not, when I had a nun help me relieve myself because I was too weak to stand? I could die with shame, but there I was, thinking, ‘She’s a nun, and look what she is doing.’ No. There’s a time to accept help. And in any case, don’t place much stock in anything Captain Sutor might have told you. Tonight I had the impression he didn’t take the interview with you seriously.”

Guidi loosened the knot of his tie. “I’m a step ahead of you, Major. I suspect Captain Sutor was in Magda’s room the night she died. Why else would he be so anxious to discuss her with me? He was in no way a suspect and, as you said, he
volunteered.
I might have lost some of the evidence to Caruso’s machinations, but I haven’t been idle in the past three days. I traced one more guest at the holiday party that night, an Italian. It seems he arrived late and, since the power was on, took the elevator. In his haste he ended up on the fourth, rather than the third floor. Even though he didn’t turn the corner to see what it was about, he heard a violent altercation between a man and a woman, speaking German. This was at seven-forty. I submit to you that Sutor was very much in the building just before Magda died.”

By the cessation of quick clouds in front of Bora’s face, he might be holding his breath. In fact, he said nothing whatever. Guidi looked down the dark, wide emptiness of the street. He smelled the night air, bitter and already green. He said, “So, you see, Caruso may be working for the Germans after all, and your intervention might make a worse mess of things. I cannot prove Sutor killed Magda Reiner, but Merlo was framed – this I know. You may have been as much a pawn as I have, Major Bora. Only, your own people may be behind it all. I’m not about to help convict an innocent man. And, whatever happens, I will continue to look into that woman’s death until the result satisfies
me.
”