The Abomination Read Online Free PDF Page B

back to her tiny apartment near the seafront in Mestre, fell into bed, and caught a couple of hours’ sleep. A shot of espresso from her beaten-up stovetop Bialetti got her going again, followed by a quick shower that was even hotter than the coffee.
    Her uniform was still hanging on the front of her wardrobe where she’d left it the previous evening. The Valentino-designed skirt and jacket, with its elaborately silvered collar and red-piped epaulettes, had been her second skin since she’d left the Carabinieri training academy three years earlier. Now, for the first time, she wouldn’t need it: homicide investigators wore plain clothes. She reached inside the wardrobe to where a navy blue pleated skirt and a crisp tailored jacket from Fabio Gatto in Calle della Mandorla had been hanging for months, waiting for just such an occasion. Though unshowy, the fabric was impeccably tailored and had cost almost a month’s wages. She wondered, briefly, if Piola might consider her a little overdressed for a captain, then dismissed the thought. Even a captain needed to make a good impression.
    Hurrying from her apartment, she took a train across the Ponte della Libertà, followed by a vaporetto to Campo San Zaccaria, the ancient square near Piazza San Marco where the Carabinieri’s headquarters were housed in a former nunnery. Francesco Lotti, the friend who’d swung her assignment onto the case, had already established an operations room on the second floor. It was buzzing with activity.
    Colonel Piola was standing in a small glassed-off office, deep in conversation with another man. Despite having told her to go home and rest, he looked as if he hadn’t yet done the same. As the man with him turned, Kat saw a grey clerical shirt and white collarino under his dark suit. A priest.
    Seeing her, Piola gestured for her to join them.
    â€œThis is Father Cilosi, from the bishop’s office,” he said by way of introduction. “He’s kindly offered to tell us all about priests’ garments.”
    Father Cilosi nodded. “Not that I can be of much help, I’m afraid. The robes seem authentic, from the photographs.” He pointed to the pictures from the mortuary that were scattered across the desk. “This outer garment is a chasuble. All priests are required to wear one when they take Mass. And underneath that, the usual tunic and alb.”
    â€œWhen you say ‘take Mass’, Father, I assume you mean as a celebrant?” Piola asked.
    â€œCorrect. A priest attending Mass as a visitor would wear a surplice – a plain white robe.”
    â€œAnd the fact that the chasuble is black – could you remind us what that means?”
    â€œThe colour of the chasuble reflects the nature of the Mass. During this season, for example, we usually wear a white chasuble, to commemorate Christ’s birth. Black is only ever worn for the most sombre rites, such as an exorcism or a Mass for the dead.”
    â€œSo there’s no possibility,” Piola asked thoughtfully, “that this could be some other kind of robe, worn legitimately by a woman in a non-ordained role? An altar girl, say, or some kind of lay reader?”
    Father Cilosi shook his head. “Every vestment a priest wears has a very precise symbolism. These red ribbons, for example, symbolise Christ’s wounds. This long strip of silk is the stole, worn in remembrance of His bonds. Even the fringes on the ends of the stole are based in scripture. Numbers 15:38, if I recall correctly: “Speak unto the children of Israel, and bid them that they make them fringes in the borders of their garments. . . . that ye may look upon it, and remember all the commandments of the Lord.”
    Kat pulled a pad towards her and jotted down notes as Father Cilosi continued. “Each garment is accompanied during robing by a specific prayer. When the priest puts on the tunic, for example, he recites the words