God's Spy (19 page)

Thursday, 7 April 2005, 5.15 p.m.
‘We have to take care of our business discretely,’ said Dante.

Paola was livid. If she had had Cirin himself in front of her at that moment, she wouldn’t have been able to control herself. She found herself thinking that this was the third time she’d wanted to knock the bastard’s front teeth out, just to see if he’d still maintain his calm air and that monotone voice.

After they’d run into the obstacle at the top of the stairs, they’d turned round and gone back down again, all of them crestfallen. Dante had to walk over to the other side of the piazza to get his phone to work, and he spoke with Cirin about reinforcements and requested an analysis of the crime scene. Cirin’s response was that he could only allow access to one investigator from the UACV, and that this person had to be wearing plain clothes. Whatever equipment they needed had to be brought in an ordinary suitcase.

‘We can’t allow this to go any further. You understand, Dicanti?’ ‘I don’t understand any of this bullshit. We’re trying to capture a killer. We must empty the building, find out how he got in, collect evidence . . .’

Dante looked at her as if she’d gone mad. Fowler shook his head, not wanting to interfere. Paola knew she was letting the case slip through an unguarded part of her soul, poisoning her sense of wellbeing. She tried to be as rational as she could, since she knew her own sensitivities well. When something got under her skin, dedication often turned into obsession. At that instant she felt her anger corroding her spirit like a drop of acid falling every few seconds on to a slab of raw meat.

They stood in the third-floor hallway, the same hallway where everything had happened. Room 6 was empty. Its occupant, the man who had told them to look in Room 7, was the Belgian Cardinal Petfried Haneels, 7 years old. He was very much affected by what had happened. The building’s doctor was tending to him on the floor above, where he would be staying for the time being.

‘Luckily, most of the cardinals were in the chapel, participating in afternoon meditations. Only five heard the shouts, and they’ve already been told that a mentally ill person somehow managed to get in and went about screaming through the hallways,’ said Dante.

‘And that’s it? That’s your damage limitation?’ Paola was breathing fire. ‘To make sure that none of the cardinals realise that one of their own has been killed?’

‘That’s easy. We’ll say that he was indisposed and was taken to

Gemelli with gastroenteritis.’
‘And with that everything’s been resolved,’ Dicanti replied with
venom.
‘Well, there’s one more thing. You can’t speak to any of the cardinals without my authorisation, and the crime scene has been limited
to Room 7.’
‘You can’t be serious. We have to look for fingerprints in the
doorway, the points of access, in the hallways. You can’t really mean
that.’
‘Just what do you want, bambina? – a whole set of squad cars?
thousands of cameras flashing away? Bellowing it to the four winds
is a sure way to catch your degenerate,’ Dante said, as arrogantly as
he could. ‘Or are you only looking to wave your degree from the
FBI in front of the cameras? If you’re so good at what you do, why
don’t you prove it.’
Paola refused to let him provoke her. Dante completely supported
the theory that gave priority to secrecy above all else. She had to
choose: either to lose time banging her head against a two-thousand-year-old granite wall, or to give in and try to move as quickly
as possible to maximise the few resources at her disposal. ‘Call Cirin. Tell him to have Troi send his best investigator. And put his men on alert for a Carmelite monk in or around the
Vatican.’
Fowler cleared his throat to get Paola’s attention. He took her
aside and spoke to her in a quiet voice, his mouth close to her ear.
Paola couldn’t help it: his closeness gave her goose bumps, and she
was glad that she had worn a jacket, so no one else would notice. She
still remembered his strong, unwavering hold on her the day before,
when she had thrown herself into the crowd like a madwoman and he
had held her back. His good sense had anchored her. She wanted him
to hold her again, but in the situation they were in her longing was
completely out of place. Things were complicated enough already. ‘Those orders will already have been given and I’m sure they are
being carried out as we speak. Forget about standard police procedure, because in the Vatican that’s never going to happen. We’ll
have to play with the cards we’ve been dealt, however weak they
may be.’ Then his tone changed. ‘All of this puts me in mind of
something we say in the US: “In the country of the blind, the oneeyed man is king.”’
‘We have a Roman version of that one. You’re right: I shouldn’t
have argued . . . and for the first time in this case we have a witness.
At least that’s something.’
Fowler lowered his voice even further. ‘Talk to Dante. Be diplomatic for once. Tell him to let us have a free hand in speaking to
Casey. Maybe we can get a description.’
‘But without a forensic artist—’
‘That comes later. If Cardinal Casey saw him, we should be able
to come up with a portrait, a quick sketch of the killer. The most
important thing is to have access to his testimony.’
‘His name rings a bell. Is Casey the cardinal who appears in the
report on Karosky?’
‘The same. He’s tough and intelligent. Let’s hope he can help us
with the description. But don’t mention the name of our suspect.
Let’s see if he recognised him.’
Paola went back to join Dante.
‘What, are you two love birds already done trading secrets?’ Dicanti decided to ignore the running commentary. ‘Fowler has
advised me to remain calm, and I think I’m going to follow his
advice.’
Dante looked at her with distrust, thrown off balance by her
attitude. He had no idea what to make of this woman. ‘Very wise of
you, ispettore.’
‘“Noi abbiamo dato nella croce.” Right, Dante? “We’ve run smack
into the Church.”’
‘That’s one way of looking at it. Another way would be to say that
you’ve been invited into a country that isn’t your own. This morning
we did things your way. Now we’ll do it ours. It’s nothing personal.’ Paola took a deep breath. ‘Fine. I need to speak with Cardinal
Casey.’
‘He’s in his room, recovering from his ordeal. Denied.’ ‘Dante – do the right thing, for once. If you do, maybe we’ll catch
our killer.’
The policeman stretched his thick neck, first to the left and then to
the right. A few of his bones made a creaking noise. He was thinking
things over.
‘OK. But with one condition.’
‘Which is . . .?’
‘You say the magic words.’
‘Go to hell.’
Paola turned around, only to walk straight into Fowler’s disapproving glare. He had been following the conversation from a short
way off. She spun back around to face Dante.
‘Please.’
‘Please what?’
The fat pig was enjoying her humiliation. All right then, here it
was. ‘Please, Superintendent Dante, may I have your permission to
speak to Cardinal Casey.?’
Dante broke into a smile. She had passed with flying colours.
Then he suddenly turned serious. ‘Five minutes, five questions. No
more. I can play at this too, Dicanti.’
Two members of the Vigilanza, both wearing black suit and
tie, exited the lift and took up positions on each side of the door
to Room 7, inside which lay the body of Karosky’s latest victim.
They would guard the entrance until the specialist from the UACV
arrived. Dicanti decided to make use of the down time to interview
her witness then and there.
‘Which one is Casey’s room?’
It was on the same floor. Dante led them to Room , the room
next to the door leading to the service stairs. He knocked softly. Sister Helena opened the door. She wasn’t smiling now but, on
seeing who it was, a look of relief appeared on her face. ‘Ah, at least
you’re all right. I heard that they chased the lunatic downstairs.
Were they able to catch him?’
‘Sadly, no, sister,’ Paola answered her. ‘We believe he escaped
through the kitchen.’
‘Oh Lord! Through the delivery door? Blessed Virgin of the Olives,
what a disaster.’
‘Sister, didn’t you tell us that there was only one entrance?’ ‘There is only one entrance: the main door at the front. That one’s
not an entrance; it’s just for delivery trucks to pull up to. It’s a heavy
door, with a special lock.’
Paola was beginning to realise that sister Helena wasn’t speaking
the same Italian as everyone else. She took her nouns very much to
heart.
‘The kill— I mean the assailant, could have got in through there,
though,’ Paola said.
The nun shook her head. ‘The only two people with a key are the
head of the kitchen and myself. And she only speaks Polish, as do
many of the sisters who work here.’
Dicanti deduced that the head of the kitchen must have been the
woman who opened the door for Dante. Only two copies of the key.
The mystery deepened.
‘May we come in to see the cardinal?’
Sister Helena shook her head energetically. No, again. ‘Impossible. He is – how do you say – zdenerwowany. In a nervous state.’
‘Just be for a moment,’ said Dante.
The nun’s face took on an even more serious look. ‘Zaden. No,
and no again.’
It seemed that she preferred to take refuge in her native tongue
when replying in the negative. The door was already half-closed
when Fowler stuck his foot in the jamb, preventing her from closing
it all the way. And then he spoke, a little hesitantly, chewing his
words. ‘Sprawiać przyjemność, potrzebujemy źeby widzieć kardynalny Casey, siostra Helena.’
The nun’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Wasz język polski nie jest
dobry.’
‘I know. I ought to visit your beautiful country more often.
Haven’t been there since the early days of Solidarity.’
The nun shook her head and wrinkled her brow, but it was clear
that Fowler had gained her confidence. She reluctantly opened the
door and moved out of the way.
‘How do you know Polish?’ Paola whispered as they were going
in.
‘I only know a few phrases. Travel broadens the mind, as the saying goes.’
Paola glanced admiringly at Fowler before giving her attention
to the man stretched out on the bed. The room was dark, the blinds
nearly all the way down. Cardinal Casey lay there with a handkerchief – or perhaps it was a wet towel – across his forehead; there
was so little light it was hard to tell. When they drew close to the
foot of the bed, the cardinal propped himself up on one elbow and
sighed. The towel slid off his forehead. He was a heavy set man with
sharp features. His hair was completely white and was matted into a
clump where the towel had soaked it.
‘Forgive me, I . . .’
Dante bent over to kiss the cardinal’s ring but the cardinal stopped
him.
‘No, please. Not now.’
The Vatican officer took a step back, a little unnerved. He had to
clear his throat before continuing.
‘Cardinal Casey, we apologise for the intrusion, but we need to
ask you a few questions. Do you feel well enough to respond?’ ‘Certainly, my children. I was just resting a moment. What a terrible thing to be assaulted here, in this holy place. And the fact is, I
have a meeting about several important issues in just a few minutes.
So please be brief.’
Dante looked at Sister Helena and then at Casey. The cardinal
understood: no witnesses.
‘Sister Helena, please tell Cardinal Pauljic that I am running a bit
late. If you would be so kind.’
The nun exited the room, grumbling unpleasant words on her
way out – certainly things that were inappropriate for a nun. ‘Can you tell us what happened?’ asked Dante.
‘I had gone up to my room for my breviary when I heard a terrible
scream. For a second I was frozen in my tracks; I suppose I was
trying to figure out if it was all just a product of my imagination.
I thought I heard the sound of people racing up the stairway, and
then a crash. I went out to the hallway, very much alarmed. In the
doorway of the lift was a Carmelite friar. He was trying to hide in
the small recess there. I looked at him and he looked at me too. At
that instant there was another crash and the Carmelite attacked me.
I fell to the ground and cried out. You know the rest.’
‘Did you get a good look at his face?’ Paola broke in. ‘It was almost completely covered by a thick beard. I don’t remember anything specific.’
‘Could you describe his face and his complexion?’
‘I don’t think so: I only saw him for a second and my eyesight
isn’t what it used to be. All the same, I do remember that his hair
was a greyish white. I knew right away that he wasn’t a real friar.’ ‘What made you think that, Your Eminence?’ Fowler inquired. ‘The way he was acting, of course. Standing there pressed up
against the lift door, he didn’t look much like a servant of God.
Absolutely not.’
Sister Helena came back into the room, clearing her throat nervously. ‘Cardinal Casey, Cardinal Pauljic says that as soon as it’s
convenient the commission is waiting for you to begin organising
the novendial masses. I’ve set up the meeting room on the first floor
for you.’
‘Thank you, sister. Go ahead with Antun, because I am going
to need a few things. Tell him that I will join you there in five
minutes.’
Dante took that to mean that their meeting with Casey was over.
‘Thank you for everything, Your Eminence. We must leave you
now.’
‘You don’t know how sorry I am. The novena masses will be
celebrated in churches all over Rome and in thousands of others
throughout the world they will be praying for the soul of our Holy
Father. It’s an immense undertaking and I am not going to step back
from it just because somebody pushed me.’
Paola was about to say something, but Fowler discreetly pinched her elbow and she swallowed her question. She too said goodbye to the cardinal, but, just as they were leaving his room, the cardinal
asked them a very compromising question.
‘Does this man have anything to do with the disappearances?’ Dante turned around very slowly to respond to the cardinal’s
query, ladling thick syrup on to every syllable. ‘Absolutely not, Your
Eminence. It’s nothing more than a provocateur. Probably one of
those young people caught up in the anti-globalisation movement.
They frequently dress up to attract more attention, as you know.’ The cardinal sat up a little more, until he was almost upright on
the bed. He directed his words to the nun.
‘There’s a rumour doing the rounds among some of my brother
cardinals that two of the most eminent figures of the Curia are not
going to participate in the Conclave. I hope that both of them are
OK.’
‘Where did you hear this, Your Eminence?’
Paola was surprised. In her lifetime she had heard only one voice
that was as smooth, as sweet and as humble as the one Dante employed in his question to the cardinal.
‘Ah, my child, at my age one forgets many things – like who
whispered what to you over coffee and dessert. But I can assure you
that I am not the only one who knows it.’
‘Your Eminence, it is most assuredly only a baseless rumour. Now,
if you will forgive us, we must continue looking for this agitator.’ ‘I hope you find him quickly. Too many disturbances have taken
place in the Vatican already; perhaps it is time for a change of direction in our security policy.’
Casey’s veiled threat, as well concealed under a sugary glaze as
was Dante’s question, did not pass unnoticed. It froze the blood
in Paola’s veins, even though she detested every member of the
Vigilanza she’d met.
Sister Helena left the room with the others and continued down
the hallway ahead of them. A heavy-set cardinal was waiting for her
by the stairway – it must have been Pauljic – and the two of them
walked down to the next floor together.
As soon as Paola saw Sister Helena’s back disappear, she turned
to face Dante, a sardonic look on her face. ‘It seems your damage
control isn’t working quite as well as you thought.’
‘I swear to you I don’t understand it.’ Dante had a weary expression. ‘At least we can hope they don’t know the real reason. But still, it doesn’t seem possible. As things stand, even Casey could be the
next man to wear the red sandals.’
‘At the very least, the cardinals know that something strange is
going on. In all sincerity, nothing would make me happier than if
the whole bloody mess blew up in your face so we could just do our
job the way it should be done.’
Dante was about to tear into her when someone came up the
marble stairway. Carlo Troi had decided to send the one man he
considered the best and most discreet of UACV’s personnel. ‘Good afternoon, everyone.’
‘Good afternoon, Director Troi.’
The time had come to take a close look at Karosky’s latest piece
of theatre.