The arrival of Marshal Caruso and Judge Alberto Carchivi at Piona Abbey marks the opening of an investigation that immediately breaks all conventional wisdom. In a place filled with silence and sacredness, the scene awaiting them reveals a calculated violence, exposed with clarity and intention.
While the lake and the ancient walls form a motionless backdrop, signs emerge that point to a deliberate staging, designed to be seen and interpreted. Carchivi's personal and professional past intertwines with the present of the investigation, lending moral depth and tension to the narrative. Nothing appears random: not the chosen location, nor the actions taken, nor the first clues that emerge. The chapter thus introduces an investigation destined to transcend geographical and symbolic boundaries, paving the way for a layered and disturbing truth.
Ritual murder at the Abbey of Piona: the beginning of an investigation that crosses sacred places, symbols, and buried memories
Detective novel. The Secrets of the Abbey of Piona. Chapter 5: Friar Leone’s Sheet
A blue Fiat 1100 moved slowly along the road that ran beside the lake, its engine subdued, almost respectful. It stopped in front of the abbey’s closed gate, black against the pale light of morning. Inside were Marshal Bortolo Caruso, the Como judge Alberto Carchivi, and two escort carabinieri seated in the back, motionless, their eyes vigilant.
Inside the cabin the air was thick with words; Caruso and the judge spoke rapidly, in low voices, like two men who know they are facing something that does not belong to ordinary cases. There was no urgency in their gestures. The sirens had been left off by choice—this moment did not call for speed, but for clarity; not for clamour, but for attention. Every detail, even the most insignificant, could prove decisive. And Caruso knew it well: the worst murders are not solved by running, but by looking.
“A staging like this…” the judge murmured, slowly shaking his head. “This isn’t amateur work.”
Caruso nodded without taking his eyes off the gate.
“No. It’s a message. And whoever sent it wants to be seen.”
They stayed silent for a few seconds, watching the abbey beyond the bars. The walls looked still, but not calm—like they were holding something back.
Then the gate began to open.
The metal creaked slowly, a sound that broke the balance of the air. A friar appeared briefly, gave a quick nod, and the Fiat 1100 started forward again, crossing the entrance and entering the courtyard in front of the abbey. The car stopped shortly after, its wheels crunching on the cobblestones.
When Caruso and Carchivi got out, the first thing they saw was not the building, nor the friars gathered at a distance. It was the sheet.
A large white sheet was stretched against the abbey’s outer wall, held fast with care—like something that must not be seen, yet for the moment cannot be removed. The fabric moved slightly in the lake wind, swelling and shrinking like an irregular breath.
It was not a sign of welcome.
The judge stopped dead. Caruso took an instinctive step forward, then halted as well. In the same instant they both understood that this scene belonged not only to the sphere of crime, but to something deeper, more disturbing. That white did not speak of mercy, but of belated modesty—of a violence that had already run its course.
“They tried to cover it,” the judge said, in a low voice.
“Yes,” Caruso replied.
The two carabinieri remained a few steps behind, maintaining a distance that was not only hierarchical. The air in the courtyard felt colder, heavier. No friar came closer. Everyone stayed at the edges, as if the centre had suddenly become unwalkable.
Caruso lifted his gaze to the wall, then to the abbey. He understood that this was not a simple crime scene, but a carefully arranged theatre—and that someone, somewhere, was watching their reactions, waiting for the investigation to move in a precise direction.
The marshal turned toward the judge.....
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