God's Spy (29 page)

Sunday, 10 April 2005, 8.41 a.m.

This time it was Fowler who woke up to the aroma of fresh coffee. ‘Here you are, padre.’
He glanced at her, puzzled by the formal address. She looked at

him unwaveringly, and he understood. Hope had given way to the clear light of morning, which already filled the room. He didn’t say anything more and she wasn’t expecting him to; he couldn’t offer her anything except pain. Even so he felt a little better, comforted by the certainty that they had both gained something from the experience, taking strength from each other’s weakness. It would have been easy to think that Fowler had strayed from his calling in those early hours of the morning, but that would have been wrong. The truth was that he was grateful to her for taming his demons, even if only for a short time.

She was happy he understood. She sat on the edge of the bed, a smile on her face; and it wasn’t a cheerless smile, because in the last few hours she felt that she had overcome something. She wasn’t any more sure of herself that morning than she’d been before, but at least her confusion had dissipated. Perhaps she was keeping her distance from him just to be on the safe side, to steer clear of any new pain. But it wasn’t true: she understood Fowler, knew that he kept his promises and wasn’t about to give up his personal crusade.

‘ Dottoressa, I have something to tell you, and it won’t be easy to take.’
‘Go ahead, padre.’
‘If you ever leave your career as a criminal psychiatrist, don’t open a café,’ he said, grimacing in the direction of the coffee she’d brought him.
They both laughed, and for a brief moment everything was perfect.

Half an hour later, showered and refreshed, the two went over the details of the case: Fowler standing by the window in Paola’s room; Paola sitting at her desk.

‘You know what? In the light of day, our theory that Karosky is an assassin following orders from the Holy Alliance seems strange and unreal.’

‘Very possibly. Nevertheless, in the light of day, the mutilations he’s carried out are still very real; and if we’re right, we’re the only two people who can stop him.’

Those words were enough to take the sheen off the morning. Paola felt her soul become as tense as a tightrope. She was more aware than ever that it was their responsibility to catch this monster – for Pontiero’s sake, for Fowler and for herself; and when she’d caught up with him, she wanted to ask him who exactly was on the other end of his leash. In the mood she was in, she could barely contain herself.

‘The Vigilanza is compromised – I understand that much. But the

Swiss Guard?’
‘Beautiful uniforms, but they’re quite useless. They probably don’t
even know that three cardinals have been murdered. I can’t take
them seriously: they’re just traffic police.’
Paola rubbed her neck. She was perplexed. ‘So what do we do
now?‘
‘I’m not sure. We don’t have a clue where Karosky is going to
attack next, and since yesterday he’s going to find it easier to kill.’ ‘What do you mean?’
‘The cardinals have begun the novendial masses for the Pope’s
soul. They are celebrated during the nine-day period after the death
of a pope.’
‘You’re not telling me . . .’
‘I am. The masses will be held all over Rome, at San Giovanni
in Lateranor, Santa Maria Maggiore, San Pietro, San Paolo fuori le
Mura . . . The cardinals say mass, in groups of two, in the fifty most important churches in Rome. It’s the tradition and I don’t think they’ll change it for anything in the world. If the Holy Alliance is mixed up in all of this, it would be the perfect opportunity for an assassination. The story still hasn’t got out and, as it stands, the cardinals would rebel if Cirin tried to stop them from celebrating the novenas. No, the masses will take place, come what may. And damn it, another cardinal could already have been murdered and we
wouldn’t even know about it.’
‘Christ, I need a cigarette.’
Paola looked all over her desk and felt inside her coat for Pontiero’s
packet of cigarettes. She put her hand in the breast pocket. Her
fingers touched something tiny and hard.
‘What’s this?’ She pulled out a card a few inches long, with the
image of the Virgin of Carmen printed on one side: the card that
Brother Francesco Toma had given her when she was about to leave
Santa Maria in Traspontina – the false Carmelite, Karosky the killer.
She was wearing the same black jacket she had worn last Tuesday
morning and the card was still there.
‘How could I have forgotten this? It’s evidence.’
Fowler walked over, his interest piqued. ‘It’s a devotional card.
The Virgin of Carmen. There’s something written on the back.’ Fowler read the text out loud. It was in English:

‘ If your very own brother, or your son or your daughter, or the wife you love, or your closest friend secretly entices you, do not yield to him or listen to him. Show him no pity. Do not spare him or shield him. You must certainly put him to death. Then all Israel will hear and be afraid, and no one among you will do such an evil thing again.’

Paola translated it into Italian. She was livid.
‘I believe it’s fromDeuteronomy. Chapter , verses 7 to .’ ‘Shit!’ Paola said between clenched teeth. ‘It was in my pocket

the whole time. It should have set off alarm bells when I saw it was written in English.’

‘Stop beating yourself up. A friar handed you a card. Considering your lack of faith, it’s no wonder you didn’t give it a second look.’
‘Maybe so, but we found out who this friar was a short time later. I should have remembered he gave me something. I was too busy trying to remember what I saw of his face in the dark. Even if . . .’
‘I tried to preach the word to you, do you remember?’
Paola held her breath. Fowler turned around with the card in his hand.
‘Look, Paola, it’s just an everyday card. He stuck a piece of adhesive paper on the back –’
‘Santa Maria del Carmen.’
‘– which is very helpful in locating the text. Deuteronomy is –’
‘Take it with you wherever you go.’
‘– a pretty unusual source for a quotation on a card, wouldn’t you say? I think that –’
‘It will show you the way in these uncertain times.’
‘– if I tug a little on the corner, I can lift it off—’
‘Don’t touch it!’ Paola grabbed Fowler by the arm.
Fowler blinked, taken aback. He didn’t move a muscle as she took the card out of his hand.
‘I’m sorry I screamed at you,’ Paola said, trying to calm down. ‘I just remembered that Karosky told me the card would show me the way in uncertain times. I think it’s a message, and he put it there to mock us.’
‘Maybe. Or maybe it’s another of his attempts to throw us off track.’
‘The only thing we know for sure is that we are very far from having all the pieces to the puzzle. Maybe there’s a clue here.’
She turned the card over, held it up to the light, sniffed the paper.
Nothing.
‘The quote from the Bible could be a message. But what was he trying to say?’
‘I don’t know, but I think there’s something else here – something you can’t see at first glance. I think I’ve got the perfect instrument for a case like this.’
Dicanti rummaged around in a nearby wardrobe. After a few minutes she pulled out a box, laden with dust. She put the box down carefully on her desk.
‘I haven’t used this since I studied at the institute. It was a gift from my father.’
She opened the box slowly, reverently. She still remembered the advertisement for the device, how expensive it was and how careful you had to be with it. She took it out and sat it upright on the desk. A standard microscope: Paola had worked with equipment a thousand times more expensive when she was at college, but she hadn’t treated any of it with the respect she showed this piece. She liked feeling that way: the microscope was a connection to her father, and a rare one at that, especially for someone who’d mourned ever since the day she’d lost him. She fleetingly asked herself if it wouldn’t be better to treasure the glittering memories she had rather than holding on to the idea that they had been snatched away from her too soon.
The wrapping paper and plastic had protected the instrument from dust. She put the card under the lens and adjusted the focus. With her left hand she moved the multicoloured card around, slowly inspecting every speck of the image of the Virgin. Nothing remarkable. She turned the card over.
‘Hold on . . . There’s something here.’
Paola let Fowler look through the eyepiece. Fifteen times their normal size, the letters on the card were like enormous black chess pieces. There was a minuscule white circle around one of them.
‘Looks like a perforation.’
Paola took the microscope back from Fowler. ‘I’d say it was done with a pin and it appears to have been done intentionally. It’s too perfect.’
‘Where does the first mark appear?’
‘In the “f” of “if”.’
‘Keep looking. Check to see if there are perforations around other letters.’
Paola checked each letter in the first line of text. ‘There’s another here.’
‘Go on.’
After eight minutes of looking, Paola had successfully identified eleven perforated letters:

‘I
f
you
r
very own brother, or your son or your d
a
ughter, or the wife you love, or your closest frie
n
d secretly enti
c
es you, do not yield to h
i
m or li
s
ten to him. Show him no pity. Do not spare him or shield him. You must
c
ertainly put him to death. Then
a
ll I
s
rael will hear and b
e
afraid, and no one among
y
ou will do such an evil thing again.’

When she had checked that there were no more perforated letters, Paola wrote them out in the order they appeared. What they read shocked them. And then Paola put the pieces together.

If you very own brother tries to seduce you in secret : the psychiatric sessions.
Do not spare him or shield him: the letters to the families of the victims of Karosky’s sexual depradation.
You must certainly put him to death.
She recalled the one name that figured in all of it.
Francis Casey.

Reuters News Feed, 10 April 2005, 08.12 GMT
CARDINAL CASEY WILL CONDUCT THE NOVENDIAL MASS IN SAINT PETER’S TODAY

roma
(Associated Press) – Cardinal Francis Casey will officiate today at the midday novendial mass at Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome. The American cardinal will enjoy the honour of directing the ceremony on this, the second day of the nineday mourning period for the soul of John Paul II.

Some organisations in the US have not looked upon Casey’s participation in the ceremony favourably. Specifically, the SNAP (Survivor’s Network for those Abused by Priests) has sent two of its members to Rome to formally protest the fact that Casey has been al lowed to officiate at the most important church in Christendom. ‘There are only two of us, and we will protest in a peaceful, orderly fashion and tell our stories to the press,’ said Barbara Payne, president of SNAP.

The organisation is the principal group representing the victims of sexual abuse by Catholic priests, and it has more than 4,500 members. Its chief activity is to locate and support victims, which it does via group therapy sessions that help victims to acknowledge what hap pened to them. Many of its members only join SNAP once they have reached adulthood, after years of shame and silence.

Cardinal Casey, at present Prefect of the Congregation for the Clergy, was involved in the sexualabuse scandal that exploded in the United States in the late 1990s. Casey, cardinal for the Boston archdiocese, was the most important figure in the North American Church at the time and, many say, the strongest candidate to succeed John Paul II.

His career suffered a severe setback when it was discovered that, for years, he’d kept more than three hundred cases of sexual abuse in his jurisdiction out of the public spotlight. He frequently moved priests accused of crimes of this nature from one parish to the next, hoping to avoid scandal. In almost every instance he limited himself to recommending only ‘fresh air’ to those charged with abuse. Only when the cases were of the most serious kind did he send the priest in question to an institution where he could receive treatment.

As the first serious charges began to surface, Casey agreed to set tlements with the families of the victims – settlements whose financial remuneration was accompanied by a vow of silence. After a period of time the scandals became common knowledge throughout the country, and ‘highly placed Vatican authorities’ found themselves forced to re place Casey. He was transferred to Rome, where he was named Prefect for the Congregation of the Clergy, a position of some importance but one which would seem to be the last chapter in his career.

There are nevertheless some who continue to regard Casey as a saintly man who used all of his strength to defend the Church. ‘He has suffered persecution and calumnies for defending the faith,’ his personal secretary, Father Miller, said. But in the media’s eternal betting over who will become the next Pope, Casey’s chances are not rated. The Catholic clergy is in general cautious and no friend to extravagance. Casey can count on some supporters, but, short of a miracle, it seems likely he will receive very few votes.

04/10/2005/08:12 (AP)

Sunday, 10 April 2005, 11.08 a.m.

The priests who would celebrate the mass with Cardinal Casey were helping each other with their vestments in the auxiliary sacristy near the entrance to Saint Peter’s. They were to wait there, along with the altar boys, until five minutes before the ceremony began, when they would be joined by the cardinal himself.

Until that moment, the museum was deserted except for the two nuns who served under Casey and the other cardinal who would be celebrating the mass, Cardinal Pauljic. There was also a Swiss Guard, who stood in the doorway to the sacristy.

Karosky felt the comforting bulge of his knife and pistol nestled inside his clothing. He calculated his options.
At last, he was about to carry off the prize.
The moment was at hand.

Sunday, 10 April 2005, 11.16 a.m.

‘We’ll never get in through the Santa Ana gate. It’s heavily guarded and the only people they’re letting in are those authorised by the Vatican.’