Dead Bishops Don't Lie, page 6
“What do you have?” said Dulac, his tone and attitude implying he was taking charge.
“The coroner’s preliminary report indicates time of death around 1 a.m. Cause of death is asphyxiation and shock caused by loss of blood. They found a trace of Desflurane on his mouth. Here is the plaque we found on the body.”
“This fits the pattern of Salvador’s murder,” Dulac said. “Anything on the killers?”
Calvino strode forward and thrust a document into Dulac’s hand. “We found this letter in the archbishop’s correspondence on his desk at the hotel.”
“Make me copies,” said Dulac. “Anything else?”
“No, except that a fisherman rented a boat to two tourists a couple of days ago, and they returned the boat last night, but didn’t pick up their thousand Euro deposit. He found that strange and reported it to the Stresa police.”
“Good. Our composite picture specialists will interview him. In the meantime, you have the composites we’ve developed on the Saas Fee killers. Send the pictures out now and put your border guards on red alert.”
* * *
Vasiliev and Kurganski had brought the boat back the previous night to the fisherman’s dock, and had taken the night train to Milan, their grisly task accomplished. Their plane had left Milan for Tallin at 10:30 that night.
The next morning, at their hotel, the Estonian television news didn’t mention the murders, and their plane to Moscow was surprisingly on time. They expected to collect their bonus from Victor. The next day, they met him in Saint Petersburg.
“Any problems?” the tanned, stocky man said, barely casting them a glance as he flicked tiny, imperceptible motes off his dark blue suit.
“This time, none,” said Kurganski.
“Did you deliver the message?”
“As instructed.”
Victor handed them each a brown envelope.
“Well done. Now you must stay in Saint Petersburg for awhile.”
“Why?” asked Vasiliev.
“Interpol has contacted the FSB. They are looking for you in Moscow.”
Victor knew more. His contacts told him that Interpol had found DNA traces in the rented Fiat, and were developing composite pictures of the Saas Fee killers. These composites would only get more accurate when they got the reports of the Borromeo killings. He knew that Vasiliev and Kurganski’s usefulness was fast coming to an end, and that they were living on borrowed time. He had already planned their ‘retirement.’ An inside job had already been contracted and their accidental deaths wouldn’t even make Pravda’s obituary columns. He couldn’t afford to have the FSB arrest them, especially under Interpol supervision, and link him to the crimes. Their fates had been sealed when they had accepted the second contract. Besides, the client had paid for their ‘retirement plan’ in advance.
Chapter 15
All hell had broken loose in Calvino’s office. The Minister of Justice, the Minister of the Interior, the Prime Minister’s office, all had sent their representatives, all wanted answers Calvino couldn’t give them: Who? And why? Calvino passed the phone to Dulac.
“Mr. Dulac, this is Archbishop Fiore.”
“Yes?”
“Could you meet us tomorrow at the Vatican?”
“I’m available.”
“It would be preferable if Ms. Dawson could also join us.”
“Why?”
“We will call her,” replied Fiore. “Someone will meet you at the main entrance, Saint Peter’s Square, at nine a.m.”
“As you wish.”
* * *
It was a grey, rainy morning in Rome. The drizzle heightened the somber atmosphere surrounding Saint Peter’s Square, where hundreds watched for signs of activity, special announcements, possibly a papal appearance.
The Vatican’s message in L’Osservatore Romano, its official newspaper, had been short:
The terrible deaths of Monsignors Salvador and Conti fill us with sadness and consternation. Such unacceptable acts of violence against the Church are also felt by all of civilized humanity. We pray for the souls of our archbishops, and may they find everlasting peace.
As Dulac and Calvino strode up the stairs, a young priest dressed in a black cassock met them and led them to Fiore’s large, richly decorated, Venetian-style office. Karen, dressed in a blue suit, her hair in a ponytail, sat next to two prelates.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” said Fiore. “Let me introduce you to Cardinals Volpe and Legnano. Cardinal Volpe is Secretary of State of the Vatican.”
“Your Eminences,” said Dulac as he nodded perfunctorily. Calvino chimed in.
“Mr. Dulac,” said Fiore, “where does the investigation stand now, with this horrible development?”
Dulac felt threatened. He sensed the uneasy, unpronounced reproach of the inquirer: couldn’t Interpol have prevented the second murder?
“We have evidence linking two suspects, we think they are Russians, to the murders,” said Dulac. “We’ve made composite pictures of them and are running them through Interpol, Swiss, French, Russian, and now Italian police data banks. We will refine the composites with new information gathered by the Stresa police.
“We have no leads yet as to who is behind this, but clearly the assassins’ message hasn’t been understood by its intended recipient. The question is: who? Has the Vatican received any threats, recently?”
Volpe pounced. “Mr. Dulac, the Vatican receives dozens of threats, recriminations, and ultimatums monthly, most of which are known to Interpol. You separate the harangues from the possible real threats. You tell us!”
Dulac’s face turned crimson, and Calvino came to the rescue:
“Our border guards are on highest alert for these murderers, and are communicating with the Russian FSB. Their borders are on red alert. The assassins will not pass those borders,” he added with a bit of Italian bravado.
“Dr. Dawson,” said Cardinal Legnano, trying to defuse the animosity, “do you have any idea what these messages mean?”
“At this time, I can only offer theories, your Eminence.”
“Of course, please go ahead.”
“The naming now of the ox: I think they are referring to the Book of Revelations, and the synoptic evangelists.”
“But the names of Antoine—”
“Yes, I know, but please check the birth certificates of Monsignors Salvador and Conti,” she said.
“Why?”
“They may have other names that match the animal myth names of the evangelists, Mark and Luke.”
“I will have them by end of morning.” Legnano signaled to the secretary.
The room fell silent, as everyone realized the possible implication of a name match. There could be at least two more targeted bishops.
After a moment, Calvino spoke. “We can’t protect every bishop that may have a name of one of the evangelists!”
“This isn’t a coincidence,” Dulac said. “The assassins probably have a religious motive, such as revenge, and are bent on destroying people, either as a symbol, or for more direct reasons. Monsignor Volpe, do you have any idea what Salvador meant in this letter to Conti?”
Dulac showed Volpe and the others the letter. Volpe paused and shook his head:
“None.” The other prelates concurred.
“Were they in committees or organizations together?” asked Dulac.
Cardinal Legnano removed his glasses from his aquiline nose and said: “They were both, I believe, on the Liturgical Review committee, before and during the last Synod, along with other bishops and archbishops. They also attended the Celibacy of Priests committee.”
“Please have the names of all the members of both committees drawn up and sent to my office, along with their birth certificates,” said Dulac. “Let’s see if we can narrow down the list.”
“Dr. Dawson,” Legnano said, “what do you make of the mention of ‘the Dragon is wounded’ in both cases?”
“I haven’t looked into it very deeply, but my first reaction is that it refers to the Church. The Hydra of Lerne’s severed heads grew back, the dragon was only wounded. The church will replace its archbishops. The assassins wanted to make the point that they will keep wounding the church. The reference to dragons could be chosen for their mythical hoarding of treasures. The assassins might point out that the Church also hoards treasures.”
“What do these people want?” said Legnano.
Karen turned and looked at Dulac, who said, “The killers have one of the typical profiles. They like to play cat and mouse with the police. They want us to guess their motives and identity, while they stay one step ahead of us. Eventually, we catch up, when they make a fatal mistake. Right now, we are close to identifying the killers. Finding them is another matter. We think these were hired assassins. In that case, we have to find their contract. Any one of a host of organizations opposing the Church could be the enemy.”
“Not very reassuring, Mr. Dulac,” said Legnano.
“Your Eminence, I’m afraid that at this moment, this is all we can give you.”
* * *
Dulac and Karen flew back to Paris. As they strode towards the taxi stand, Dulac said, “Let me buy you supper. That’s the least I owe you for getting you into all this.”
“Actually, I’m a bit tired,” replied Karen.
“I’d like to continue the discussion while it’s still fresh. You have to eat somewhere.”
“Twist my arm,” she replied.
Dulac wouldn’t admit the real reason. The prelates obviously valued her opinion, and he needed every ally he could get.
Later that evening, Dulac went to pick up Karen at her apartment in the sixteenth arrondissement. After climbing a flight of stairs of unending length, exhausted, Dulac rang the buzzer.
“Come in, the door’s open,” said the joyful voice. “I’ll be a minute.”
As he entered, he felt immediately at ease. The contrast of the late 15th century and modern furniture gave the room a surprisingly warm, welcoming feeling. A Nicolas De Stael reproduction of Port Saint Malo adorned one of the high walls. On the opposite side, a Corot litho lived carefully and tastefully next to a Klimt abstract. Dulac was relieved not to see animals, mythological or otherwise, in the decor. She seemed to know better than to impose her work on others in her home surroundings. At that moment, Karen walked in wearing a beige silk blouse and matching pants, blending perfectly with the soft eggshell and faded green colors of the apartment. She looks stunning, he thought.
The reservation had been made for eight and the maître d’ steered them to a discreet table.
“Fine,” said Dulac.
They sat down, Dulac sensing a slight discomfort on Karen’s part. “You’re probably wondering if an Interpol investigator comes often to the likes of Chez Sanderens.”
“Well, yes,” she admitted, looking embarrassed.
“Don’t report me,” he implored mockingly, “but I feel the taxpayers’ money is well spent. Didn’t Linus Pauling once say ‘A good meal now and then fuels great ideas’?”
“Whatever,” said Karen.
Dulac signaled the waiter over and chose a Chateau d’Abzac Bordeaux 1995 off the voluminous wine list. Turning back to Karen, Dulac said, “How about some calf brain? They do a reasonable job of it here.”
“I’ll pass,” said Karen. “I’ll have the chicken.”
Moments later, the maître d’ brought the Bordeaux for Dulac’s approval, received it, and opened the bottle. Dulac expertly twisted the taster’s glass and swirled a small amount of nectar in his mouth. Turning to Karen, he said, “Pas mal. I think you’ll like this.” Karen shrugged, his forcefulness becoming annoying.
“By the way, what did you think of the monsignors’ reaction to Salvador’s letter this morning?” asked Dulac.
“They were taken by surprise.”
“That was the intent. I got the impression they know more than they are letting on.”
“Hard to tell,” said Karen.
“What do you make of the sign off?”
“You mean ‘affectionately yours’?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe a sign of friendship?”
“Hmm,” Dulac intoned, a little wryly.
“You’re not suggesting—”
“No, of course not.”
As the evening progressed, Karen felt intrigued by the man behind the persona.
“How long have you been at the Sorbonne?” he asked.
“Three years, counting my residency. And you?”
Dulac looked surprised.
“At Interpol, I mean,” said Karen.
“Since my graduation from Montpelier law school.”
“You’re a lawyer?”
“I’ve never practiced,” said Dulac.
“So how does a lawyer become an Interpol agent?”
“Good ancestry helps.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father was a diplomat.”
“You mean you had Piston?” said Karen, slightly mockingly.
“I prefer the term ‘selective appreciation.’ It sounds less nepotistic.”
“Same difference.”
“We French like our nuances.”
“Obviously.”
“So why on earth does one become a mythologist?” he asked, as if she had chosen her career over grave-digging.
“And why not?”
“I’m sorry. I admit I don’t know much about it,” said Dulac.
“Most people don’t understand the human need for myths. Have you read anything at all on their essential role throughout history?”
“Guilty, Madame,” He bowed slightly forward, glass in hand, toasting her with his eyebrows. “By the way, I hope you’ve forgiven me for that reference to your visa.”
She felt the blood rush to her face. “Not yet.”
* * *
As he was pouring the last of the Chateau d’Abzac into her glass, Dulac’s cell phone rang.
“Mr. Dulac, this is Archbishop Fiore. We have the birth certificates, and they read: Antoine Pierre Marc Salvador, born in Metz on July 8, 1958; and Paolo Luca Giovanni Alberto Conti, born in Naples on April 20, 1944.”
“Send them to my office. How soon will you have the others?”
“By tomorrow.”
“Any thoughts as to what Salvador was referring to in his letter?” queried Dulac.
“No,” answered Fiore. “It’s quite puzzling.”
“I may want to question the others, once you have their certificates.”
“I understand.”
Dulac hung up and turned to Karen. “You were right. The birth certificates match.”
* * *
The following day, Dulac got a call from Moscow.
“Inspector Dulac?”
“Yes?”
“Sergei Petrov, from FSB Bureau in Moscow. I contacted Russian National Central Bureau of Interpol, and I have good news.”
“Go ahead.”
“We analyzed your composite pictures. We checked files from the Army. We believe we have a match with two ex-soldiers, Sergei Vasiliev and Andrei Kurganski.”
“How high is the reliability?”
“Seventy percent. For better, we need fingerprints or DNA samples from you.”
“We don’t have them, at least not yet. Can you track them down with what you’ve got?”
“Difficult. If they work for the mafia, they change names often.”
“Thanks for the info. Keep in touch.” Dulac hung up. The race against time had begun. If the Russian mafia found out that the FSB had discovered the identity of the killers, chances were slim they would be found, much less alive.
Chapter 16
The letter was short, hand-crafted in beautiful calligraphy, and illuminated in the Renaissance style. It began with a hand-drawn and painted letter W, in bright colors of gold, royal blue, beige and magenta. A miniature work of art.
We, daughters of Knowledge, beseech thee, your Holiness.
We have stood silent long enough. We shall no longer witness, passively, the continuing hypocrisy of the Church. How many young lives in the villages of Alepa, Adjibian and Mogadishu will be lost this week, this month, this year, while the Vatican sits comfortably, luxuriously, idle? How many young African lives are your Titian, Veronese, Botticelli and Rafael paintings worth? None? Did Christ not say, “leave all, and follow me?” We require immediate exemplarity on the part of the Vatican. We require you sell the following paintings, through Christie’s of London, on the following dates of this year:
Daphnis and Chloe by Titian, on or before July 15th
The Annunciation by Veronese, on or before August 30th
Saint Sebastian by Tintoretto, on or before November 1st.
The proceeds shall be publicly donated through UNESCO to the benefit of needy villages in Somalia, Darfur, Senegal, and Ethiopia. We require your undertaking by the 10th of June, the sign of which shall be the announcement of the Titian’s impending sale.
We commiserate with you the unfortunate deaths of two of your evangelists, Archbishops Salvador and Conti.
The letter was unsigned.
* * *
Upon receipt of the letter, the Holy See immediately summoned the inner council of the Roman Curia, the Vatican’s Board of Directors, to discuss the letter’s implications. On their orders, Fiore convened Dulac and the head of the Italian section of Interpol, Inspector Romano Belli, along with the Minister of the Interior’s representative. Fiore, Legnano and Volpe had been joined by the head of the Swiss Guards, Commander Romer. Fiore had requested Karen’s presence during the deliberations.
Volpe chaired the meeting, as Fiore and Legnano sat on either side.
Volpe started, glancing now and then at his short notes. “Dr. Dawson, your worships, gentlemen, we are here to discuss the possible implications of the letter we have received last Thursday, a copy of which you have before you. We have received similar letters in the past, which we have put aside. However in the present context, we cannot underestimate the portent of this letter. I am instructed not to leave this meeting without a recommendation to our Holy Father. I also ask you to sign the oath of secrecy that I am passing to you now. Let us first address the issue of the letter’s form. We have with us Dr. Giuseppe Franchi, expert in medieval calligraphy, to help us identify the author or authors of this letter. Dr Franchi?”
