The presiding judge is the first to realize what the court has just encountered. “Are you under a prior oath not to discuss this?”
“That’s correct.”
The monsignor removes his dark-framed glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. The promoter of justice is tense in his seat. Judges have no power to undo oaths. The pool of available questions has just evaporated.
“What’s this nonsense?” the old one hisses. “Who swears drivers to secrecy?”
The promoter of justice bobs his head, as if this is exactly the right question. I glance at Mignatto. He’s watching the promoter tensely.
“Is there anything you are able to tell us about the accused?” says the presiding judge.
“No,” Gino says.
“Then can you tell us about what you saw at Castel Gandolfo?”
“Monsignor, I can’t.”
The silence is filled only by the typing of the notary.
The judges confer for a moment on the bench. Then the presiding judge says, “Enough. You’re excused. The tribunal will hear the next witness.”
* * *
AS PEI LEAVES, I glance at Mignatto excitedly, feeling the trial inch nearer to Simon’s exoneration. The atmosphere in the courtroom has changed. The judges look impatient. One rubs a pen between his hands, back and forth, back and forth.
A sleepy-looking layman strides in. He has purses of skin under his sad eyes, and a drumstick of a nose. He bows to the judges before taking the oaths, then identifies himself as Vincenzo Corvi, forensic analyst with the Rome police. Mignatto, hearing that title, frowns.
The young judge says, “Signor Corvi, your office was consulted by our Vatican police in this case. Why?”
“For professional analysis of two items found at the scene, and verification of one voice recording.”
“Could you identify these pieces of evidence?”
“The two items from the crime scene are a spent 6.35-millimeter bullet and a human hair. The recording is a voice mail message.”
“Let’s begin with the evidence from Castel Gandolfo. Were the bullet and the human hair found together?”
“No. Found separately.”
“Would you explain your findings to the tribunal?”
Corvi produces a pair of glasses and glances at a report. “The bullet was located near the body of the deceased and has deformations consistent with the entry and exit wounds in the deceased’s skull.”
“You’re saying this was the gunshot that killed Doctor Nogara?”
“Almost certainly. It’s the same caliber fired by the weapon in question, a Beretta 950.”
Mignatto’s eyes widen. He looks from Corvi to the judges to the promoter of justice. Then he rises to his feet. “The defense wasn’t aware that the murder weapon had been discovered.”
The judges seem equally surprised. “The tribunal,” one says sternly, “wasn’t either.”
Corvi avoids their glances, shuffling papers and pretending to search for something. He looks mortified. No good Catholic wants to disappoint a Church court inside these walls.
The lead judge adjusts his tone. “Signore,” he says peaceably, “if our gendarmes are withholding information from us, we would appreciate knowing what it is.”