Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

her own cousin Roberto—would be taken from her body so that her parents would never learn she had carried it . . . To have that prayer granted on the very night that her parents were gone from the house . . . To have Roberto there to dispose of what had been forced so painfully from her body there in the darkness of the bathroom . . .
    It had been alive, fully formed and alive, but even this matter had felt the hand of God. For a mere five months inside her had not been enough for it to live without help and that help had been denied. Or so she had come to believe because Roberto had it, Roberto had taken it, and Roberto had disposed of it. Girl or boy, she did not know. She had never known . . . until everything changed, until Roberto had made everything change.
    Sister Domenica Giustina did not realise she had spoken all of this aloud until Mother Superior rose from behind her desk. She leaned upon it, her knuckles a stark white contrast to the colour of the wood, and she murmured, “
Madre di Dio
,
Domenica
.
Madre di Dio.
”
    So, yes and yes, the child from her body had
not
died because God worked in ways too miraculous for His humble servants ever to understand. Her cousin had returned their child into her keeping to shelter her from harm, and this is what Sister Domenica Giustina had done, up until the moment when God took the girl’s father in a terrible accident among the Alps. And she—Sister Domenica Giustina—was left to try to understand what this meant. For beyond the miraculous, God also worked in incomprehensible ways and one had to struggle to understand the messages contained within His works.
    “We all must prove ourselves to God,” Sister Domenica Giustina concluded. “She asked me for her papà. God told me what to do. For only by doing His will—no matter how difficult—do we achieve the complete forgiveness we seek.” She crossed herself. She smiled and she felt beatific, blessed by God at last to come into this place.
    Mother Superior was breathing shallowly. Her fingers touched the golden ring she wore. They pressed against the crucifix upon it as if asking the martyred Lord for the strength to speak. “For the love of God, Domenica,” she said. “What have you done to this child?”

30 April
    VICTORIA
    LONDON
    A heads-up is always nice, I reckon, so you’re getting one.”
    Barbara Havers didn’t need Mitchell Corsico to identify himself. At this point his tenor tones had become a permanent echo inside her skull. Had he rung her on her mobile, she could have avoided the call. As it was, he’d rung her at work, claimed to have information on “the situation DS Havers is investigating,” and the bluff had proved perfectly efficacious. The call had come through, Barbara had picked it up, she’d barked, “DS Havers,” and there he was.
    She said, “What?
What?
”
    “As my sainted mum would say, ‘Don’t take that tone with me,’” he returned. “She’s out of hospital.”
    “Who? Your mum? So you should celebrate, shouldn’t you? I’d tipple back one or two with you, but I’ve work to do.”
    “Don’t try to be amusing, Barb. There’s no story over here, and I expect you bloody well knew that. Do you have any idea what position this puts me in with my editor?
Do
you?”
    He was in Italy at last. Barbara thanked her stars. “If she’s
out
of hospital, I expect that confirms that she was
in
hospital,” she replied. “It’s not down to me that she’s been released. What I gave you, I gave you in good faith.”
    “I’m going with the Love Rat Dad and Officer of the Met,” he said. “Complete with pictures. Expect it tomorrow. I’ve already written it, it’s attached to my breathless email on the topic of what-hot-information-I’ve-just-managed-to-uncover-dear-editor, and I’m about to hit send. Do you want that to happen or not?”
    “What I want—” Barbara looked up as someone came to stand in front of her desk. It was Dorothea Harriman, so she said to Corsico, “Hang on,” and then to Dorothea, “Something up?”
    “You’re wanted, Detective Sergeant Havers.” She tilted her perfectly coiffed blond head in the general direction of Isabelle Ardery’s office. Barbara sighed.
    “Right,” she said, and then to Corsico, “We’ll have to have this conversation later.”
    “Are you completely mad?” he demanded. “Do you think I’m bluffing? The only way for you to stop this is to give me either Lynley or Azhar. You can get me