Dead Bishops Don't Lie, page 14
Legnano frowned. “I see what you mean,” said Legnano.
“But surely this is a just coincidence,” said Tondino, looking a little pale, slight desperation in his voice. “Even so, I had to tell someone.”
“Of course,” said Legnano, trying to be reassuring, as if to give absolution to his penitent.
“What should I do?” asked the accountant, his shaking hands incapable of bringing the cup of coffee to his lips.
“For the moment, absolutely nothing, young man,” said Legnano. “As you said, this is only a coincidence.”
* * *
The accountant understood that Legnano was trying to convince himself, as much as the accountant. Nevertheless, Tondino was buying into this temporary refuge, a safe haven for his conscience. He felt immensely relieved, the weight finally off the shoulders of his soul.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” said Legnano reassuringly. “Can I give you a lift?”
“No, it’s all right, I prefer to walk.”
Chapter 38
Karen endured one of the most uncomfortable dinners she could remember. She sat at the middle of the table, trying to avoid eye contact with Sarah, and suffering the marchioness’s cold, reproachful gaze. Throughout the meal, Karen had made small talk with her immediate neighbors, then left early and went to her room where, exhausted, she had fallen asleep. At around midnight, she awoke. Unable to get back to sleep again, she turned on the light on her bedroom table and started to read. Fifteen minutes later, she turned off the light. She tossed and turned, tried to breathe deeply. She lay in bed, wide awake, tense, staring into the darkness. This is ridiculous. I need some exercise, some fresh air.
She slipped on her sweater over her night robe, laced her tennis shoes, and stepped out into the corridor. A courtesy light shone dimly at the end.
She made her way quietly down the corridor towards the granite staircase leading to the entrance hall. As she tiptoed down the staircase, she could hear the faint sound of voices coming from somewhere below. When she reached the bottom, she looked to the right and recognized the entrance of the room from where the voices were coming from. It was the small room, the one with the velvet drapes and the Brueghel, to which the Marchioness had invited Dulac, Lescop, and her for that first meeting.
A small ray of light emanated from the room, as the door had been left slightly ajar.
The voices grew louder. Her curiosity aroused, Karen approached quietly. She was next to the door when she recognized Sarah’s angry voice.
“Never. You changed the letter. I never agreed to that last sentence. It changes the whole picture,” said Sarah. “That letter is a murderous threat.”
“My dear Marchioness, you are naïve,” said a man’s voice. “I remind you that when we first discussed this, you agreed to be used as a decoy. As a matter of fact, you didn’t have much choice, did you? When we became aware of your little scheme, to be euphemistic, you either went along or faced the law. You wisely chose to cooperate with us.”
Karen thought she recognized the man’s voice, but couldn’t place it. She tried to get a better angle with the ray of light, but the light was indirect, and she couldn’t see inside the room. She didn’t dare press on the door, lest it squeak.
“I didn’t think you would go this far,” said Sarah.
“In for a penny, in for a pound, as the English say,” replied the man.
“Dulac is getting close. I’m having trouble fending him off. It’s only a question of time until he finds the source of the Pistis Sophia letter.”
“Highly unlikely,” replied the man. “Besides, Dulac can’t prove a thing. He has a few bits of circumstantial evidence, some mythological speculations. We have him exactly where we want him. But I’m quite surprised at how quickly that woman found the Evangelists connection. I thought she would have taken more time. That’s always the risk with A Posteriori thinking.”
Karen felt a flow forming under her armpits and running down to her hands. She could hear the quick thump of her heart, hammering the bell of her chest.
“What if Dulac realizes the Pistis Sophia letter is a decoy?” said Sarah.
“Yes, you see, he has one major problem. Motive. Or more precisely, the lack of motive. He can’t see why Pistis Sophia would have two archbishops killed. Blackmail? Revenge? Possibly, but historically, it doesn’t make sense. So that’s all he has: a dead-end. Besides, Dulac won’t last long in that job.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. In any case, soon all traces of this will have been erased.”
“You mean…”
“Yes, every link, except the highest, will be removed.”
Then a deathly silence. Karen thought, they must hear my breathing. She held her breath. She suddenly felt ill, her legs shaking uncontrollably, giving way. God, not now, please! I have to get back to my room. Don’t panic, don’t run. One step at a time. They don’t know. Don’t change that.
Resisting with all her might her urge to run, she walked back up the staircase, along the interminable corridor, entered her bedroom and locked the door. She undressed, crept into the large bed and shut off the reading light. She sat upright, her arms and hands soaked in sweat, grabbing her still-shaking knees. Staring at the empty darkness, she tried to fathom and digest the enormity of what she had just heard. Her head buzzed with random thoughts. Sarah is involved in the murders, or learned about them. She has some scheme going. It must be the Eastland. This man has an inside track on the investigation, the murders. He may have planned them. I must call Dulac. No, it’s four o’clock in the morning. I have to talk to Anna. Sweet Jesus, how did I get into this mess?
Finally she lay down, feeling very alone and very, very scared.
* * *
The day before, Dulac had been stunned and elated by Anna’s call. If the women were right, the marchioness would have a lot of explaining to do. He immediately contacted Interpol to have the US Coast Guard shadow the Eastland. It left port the next morning, bound directly for Naples. On hydrofoils at thirty knots, if the weather was good, it would take the Eastland five, maybe six days to reach port. The Coast Guard search and rescue helicopters would follow it discreetly until it reached the Azores. The French would shadow it through Gibraltar. Italian police had been advised and were preparing seizure documents in Naples.
He thought of scheduling a meeting with the French Minister of Justice and Minister of the Interior, to request extradition and arrest of the marchioness. He realized, in his elation, that he was getting way ahead of himself. What if the cargo on the Eastland proved to be innocuous packages of wrapped artifacts, or worse, what if the Eastland had been only cleaning its tubes? He knew he needed rock solid evidence before facing the Ministers.
The following day, his phone rang. He saw the mention of encrypted call on the screen.
“It’s Karen.” Her voice sounded agitated.
“How are you? Is everything all right?”
“I’ve got to leave here. You won’t believe what I’ve just found out.”
“More about the “Eastland?”
“No, last night, I overheard a conversation between Sarah and some man. It sounded as, as if she’s being blackmailed into using Pistis Sophia as a decoy. The letter comes from the murderers, and this man is in on it.”
“Which man?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see who was talking. I could only hear through the door, but his voice, that voice, I’ve heard it before.”
“Go on.”
“This man knows the whole thing. He said Sarah didn’t have any choice, after finding out her little scheme. He said you don’t have a case against Pistis Sophia, for lack of motive. He knows I’m involved, and he shared that with Sarah. Now she knows. Thierry, I’m really scared. I’ve got to get out of here.”
This was the first time she had ever called him by his first name. “Don’t worry,” said Dulac, “we’ll get you out.”
“There’s more. He mentioned that all traces of this business were going to be removed. They’re going to kill others, others who know, like me.”
“Karen, don’t panic. They don’t know that you know. Try to remember where you heard his voice before. What does Anna think of this?”
“I didn’t tell her yet. I called you first, it’s six a.m. here.”
“Stay calm, find a reason to get off the island. Your classes, your studies are over at the library, whatever. When do Anna’s courses finish?”
“Saturday.”
“By then we’ll know what’s on the Eastland.
Chapter 39
Cardinal Legnano felt unwell. He relived the pain he had suffered at the news of Salvador’s death, then Conti’s. He realized during his meeting with Tondino, that this could explain Salvador’s letter to Conti. Salvador could be measuring the pros and cons of exposing a scandal. Legnano’s anguished mind raced. What do I do with this? Who do I speak to? Who is not suspect? The members of the investment committee: are they part of this? Why not go directly to Dulac? No, we must avoid another scandal. Besides, the Omerta, the Code of Silence. I am bound.
He remembered Tondino mentioning Archbishop Durivage also had questions concerning the provenance of the donations. He called on Durivage.
The elderly prelate was terminally ill. The anxiety and sadness of a man condemned by prostate cancer had finally overcome his usual joviality.
“Buon Giorno, Monsignor,” said Cardinal Legnano, entering the small hospital room.
“Yes your Eminence, I’m told it is a nice day. I’m quite tired these days and I don’t have the strength to go down to the solarium any more. What is it you wish to see me about?”
Legnano went straight to the point. “I’ve come to see you concerning the late Archbishop Salvador’s letter to Monsignor Conti and---“
“I still think of them every day. I have nightmares,” replied Durivage.
“I know, so do I. I understand how difficult this is for you. I won’t take much of your time, but I’m concerned about what happened after the three of you inquired about these anonymous donations. Salvador wrote that letter shortly after. Didn’t you think Salvador’s letter was connected to the donations?”
“It was so nebulous. I didn’t think there was any connection with the investment committee.”
“Do you have any other thoughts on the matter?”
“I’m waiting for the auditor’s report. I assumed Salvador and Conti were also.”
Durivage wouldn’t live to see the auditor’s report.
* * *
During his meeting with Monsignor Fiore, Legnano found him haughty.
“Why are you asking me these questions? We simply must accept the report from the audit committee. The donor has requested anonymity, and as you realize, Monsignor, we cannot risk losing valuable donations.”
Especially with your terrible investments, thought Legnano, as he bit his tongue. “At any price?”
“No, but Casparelli has assured us of the integrity of this donor. Are we not to trust him?”
“I have no reason not to.”
“Fine, then let’s wait for the report.”
“You don’t think Salvador and Conti’s deaths had anything to do with this?”
“These murderers are misguided religious fanatics, not corporate philanthropists.”
“Possibly, or someone wants us to believe that.”
“My dear Legnano,” said Fiore, with a hint of impatience, “let Dulac make the suppositions. We have enough work to do.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
Legnano realized he wouldn’t be getting any further. He returned to his Venetian style office, where, looking through the high vaulted windows at the walkway below, he paced back and forth uneasily. There was something too smug about Fiore that jarred his earthy Tuscan common sense. He had endured through the Banco Ambrosiano scandal. He didn’t want to suffer through another. He had to see Cardinal Volpe, the Secretary of State.
Chapter 40
The Eastland docked in Naples three days late due to rough weather in the mid-Atlantic. The night before docking, the Eastland had sat at a mooring, quarantine flag hoisted, awaiting customs clearance. The following morning, the Italian customs officers searched it and found nothing. The captain and crew were detained, but let go after the police’s failure to find any incriminating evidence. Afterwards, Stephanopoulos had brought the Eastland to the local shipyard, for routine maintenance.
* * *
“Nothing?” said an incredulous Dulac over the phone to the Italian customs officer.
“Only a few artifacts off a sunken ship,” he replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
Dulac couldn’t believe it. Karen and Anna’s vivid description didn’t amount to a “nothing” finding. He didn’t trust the Naples Port Authority. He had to go to Naples, see for himself. He phoned Karen. “Can you fly down to Naples with me tomorrow? I need you to identify those sounds you heard on the Eastland.”
“I’ve only just returned from Isola Rossa a day ago, I’m wiped out.”
“Italian customs found nothing on the Eastland and—”
“ Nothing?”
“A few artifacts.”
“That’s impossible! Anna and I both heard something being sucked in. The thumping noise went on for over half an hour.”
“That’s why I want to take a look. I want the captain to work those pumps.”
“Can’t Anna go? She heard them also.”
“She’s sick. Gastro-something.”
“Can’t it wait?” replied Karen.
“I’m leaving at eight tomorrow morning.”
“I guess I could make it,” she said, her voice weary.
“Fine, see you at the Alitalia counter at seven a.m.”
* * *
“Napoli Beverello,” instructed Dulac to the taxi driver at the Naples Airport.
Karen sat uncomfortably in the old Lancia, reveling in the special, schoolgirl memories of her first trip abroad. How simple life was, back then. She had fallen in love with Naples and Ischia, where her clean, young, American good looks had attracted the ready hormones of the smooth-talking tour guide, Aldo.
He had been her first lover, whom she had never seen again after that week-long awakening of her womanhood. The letters had been sporadic, and after two months, had ceased. She sometimes wondered what became of Aldo. He was studying law at the time. Had he become a prominent Neapolitan lawyer, judge, or, as he pointed out most of his friends were, an underemployed, permanent student of the human condition?
“Everyone in Naples is a lawyer. I know three waiters and many taxi drivers with law degrees,” Aldo had said. She had sensed that Aldo was somewhat more ambitious.
* * *
As the taxi drove down towards the old port, Mount Vesuvius surged menacingly into view, warming its slopes with a thick coat of pollution. Dulac opened the door, and two policemen walked up and introduced themselves.
“I’m ‘spector Basso. My colleague here, is Sergeant Cotini,” said a short overweight man with bluish-tinted hair, pointing to his subaltern.
“Dulac, of Interpol, and my assistant, Ms. Dawson.”
As they approached the Eastland, Dulac noticed the crew were busy preparing the vessel to be hauled out of the water, next to the shipyard’s lift.
“We are coming aboard,” said Basso to the captain in a tone devoid of doubt.
The captain acquiesced, looking annoyed, but then recognized Karen. “We met before. What are you doing here?”
Before she could answer, Dulac said, “I’m with Interpol, Captain. I want your crew to connect your search hoses and start those pumps.”
“What for?” said Stephanopoulos, hunching his shoulders and opening his palms outwards, then looking at Basso.
Basso nodded.
“Just do it, Captain,” said Dulac.
“If you want,” said an irritated Stephanopoulos.
The crew started pulling out the hoses, and Dulac noticed a bit of brown mud still stuck on the end of one of the hoses.
“What are we looking for? Artifacts in the Port of Naples?” chuckled Stephanopoulos, as the hoses were being lowered into the water.
“Stop! Stop right there,” Dulac shouted to the crew. “Bring back those hoses.”
“Now what?” said Stephanopoulos, exasperated, his brow glistening in the Neapolitan sun. He took out a wrinkled green handkerchief and mopped his face and neck.
Dulac didn’t speak, but walked briskly to the aft deck and, turning to Basso, asked, “Do you have a bag?”
“Yes?” as Basso snapped his fingers at Cotini.
Dulac grabbed the small plastic evidence bag, and carefully removed cakes of the still-moist mud from the hoses. Dulac looked at Stephanopoulos, standing aside one of his men, on the bridge. “There is no mud at Isola Rossa, Captain. The bottom is sand. Where does the mud come from?”
At that moment, a crewmember looked at Stephanopoulos, sweating, not answering, and panicked. He ran to the gangplank and onto the dock before Basso and Cotini could intercept him.
“Stop!” yelled Cotini, from the side of the Eastland, “or I shoot.”
The man continued running down the dock, zigzagging.
A shot rang out and the man fell, clutching his leg.
“Arrest them,” ordered Dulac, and Basso’s man handcuffed Stephanopoulos, swearing in Greek at the wounded man.
“What’s that all about?” asked Karen, looking dumbfounded.
“They’ve pumped the packages back into the bay,” said Dulac.
“Holy shit!” said Karen.
“We’re going to the Port Authority, right now.” replied Dulac
Basso summoned help, as Kostas and his crew were carried off, handcuffed, to the Naples Port Prefetura.
