Stealing God (5 page)

‘Would I tell you if I was?'

That got a laugh.

‘You might, if you didn't want to be dragged into it any more than I did.'

‘True, but as it happens this is the first I've heard of it so, unless I was lured to Rome under false pretences, I'm exactly what I seem to be, an ex-copper who's training to be a priest.'

‘In that case, you're here and can be made available so you get the job.'

‘Do I get a say?'

‘I didn't, and remember how high up this has to go, a minister then beyond. You want to stick two fingers up at that sort of pull?' Jimmy didn't answer. ‘What would you have done if this had happened in London when you were on the Force?'

Jimmy knew the answer to that one; if the push was strong enough you rolled with it. Anyway, he'd already asked and answered the question himself so why not say it out loud and make it official?

‘I'd do what you did, I'd go along with it.'

‘Fine, so you're on board?'

‘I suppose so.'

‘I report directly to the minister's office via his senior aide. The minister passes anything I give him to whoever made the original request. But I think they want to be sure that I give the minister everything I get. They want me watched every step of the way so they're having their own trained detective watch me. Either they were very lucky or I've been underestimating the power of prayer all these years. Just when they needed it they can put their hands on a detective sergeant from the Metropolitan Police who, because he's training for the priesthood, will do exactly what he's told. If it isn't a set up what would you say that was, good luck or divine intervention?' Inspector Ricci grinned; it wasn't like his previous smile, this was genuine, you could see it in his eyes. Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, he didn't find the situation humorous. ‘Either way, you're going to be my watchdog. What's it feel like to be on the staff of the Vatican already? Unofficial and unacknowledged, but fast work for a new boy who's only been in Rome five minutes.'

Looking at the friendly, grinning face and letting what Ricci had said sink in Jimmy felt a knot of suspicion form in his stomach. It was all too neat, too convenient. Things didn't fall into place like that unless they were very carefully arranged. Maybe he should have second thoughts. Did he really want to go back? Doubt, that deadly enemy of decision, crept back into his mind. Even if he wanted to do it, was he still any good after five years out of it? And did he want to run blind? He knew almost nothing, only what he's been told in this room.

‘If I agree.'

Inspector Ricci's grin changed to a smile, his ‘nice' smile.

‘I strongly advise you to agree. I get the feeling you wouldn't like what would happen if you didn't.'

The delivery was slow, clear, and flat, and the point was taken. Jimmy was glad. This he knew about. This he could deal with. It was still his territory even after five years; it had always been his territory.

‘Is that threat just from you or is it from those friends who are so fucking powerful and mysterious?'

Ricci's smile disappeared. He'd known plenty of dangerous, violent men, men you were wise to be frightened of. Now he recognised one of them sitting opposite him. Suddenly, there it was. Christ, how did someone like that turn up in a priests' bloody training college?

Jimmy sat looking straight at the policeman's eyes. No one seeing him sitting there could have guessed that inside his head there was a voice, his own voice, screaming at him. “I told you so, you stupid bastard. Get out of this or do you actually want to be fucked?”

Suddenly the voice stopped. With an almighty effort Jimmy switched it off. He tried to relax. Then the voice in his head, his own voice, but this time different, came back. “God in your mercy, help me, a sinner. Bernadette pray for me. Michael pray me.” Jimmy's eyes became weak and slightly unfocussed. His voice when he spoke was quiet, almost defeated. Whatever it was had gone back into the dark place it still lived.

‘I'm sorry, Inspector, that came out wrong. What I meant was, will you please explain to me what you mean?'

Ricci didn't answer. He was too busy thinking. Opposite him was a man saying sorry. An ordinary sort of man whose face and body looked crumpled, like his clothes. A tired man with sad eyes. Yet seconds ago something had looked out from those same eyes. Something which had frightened him. Then it was gone, and here was this, this what? He had been told to expect a retired detective sergeant from the London Metropolitan CID, a man with a clean record who had been given early retirement due to ill-health brought on by stress. A man who probably drove a desk for his last few years of service. A man it would be easy for the Vatican to push around, to bully and browbeat if he didn't get into line quickly enough and do what he was told. That was all he had meant but his words had summoned up the thing that had looked at him out of those now weary eyes. This was some sort of Jekyll and Hyde. Ricci didn't understand how that worked but he understood very clearly he didn't want anything to do with it. He didn't want this man anywhere near him while he was working. In fact he didn't want him anywhere near him at all. If ever anyone was, this man was unstable, perhaps even psychotic. He got up.

‘I'm sorry if you thought I was threatening you, Signor Costello. My words were perhaps ill-chosen. All I meant was that a refusal would upset whoever put your name forward. I felt that you, as a priest in training, would regret disappointing anyone in the Vatican. However,' the accent was back and so was the smile, ‘I can see that you are unhappy about getting involved in this.' He moved round the desk. ‘I will inform the minister's office that you do not wish to be further involved.' He put out his hand. ‘Thank you for your time, Signor Costello.'

Jimmy got up.

‘I didn't say …'

‘It's quite all right, Signor Costello. I understand completely.'

They shook hands.

‘
Buongiorno.
'

The inspector left the office. He didn't close the door.

Jimmy slumped back into the chair. He had tried and he had failed, failed miserably. The old Jimmy was still there, he hadn't changed except on the outside, he never would.

SIX

A week later Rome held one of its glittering evenings. Old men were looking their wealthiest and young men their most beautiful. Women of all ages and none sparkled and shimmered. Power, wealth, and beauty mingled easily. The setting had all the magnificence that the occasion deserved, only innocence was absent, not wanted nor missed.+ In one of the brightly lit, crowded rooms, with his back to the wall in all senses of that phrase, the minister listened sullenly, his face that of a naughty boy caught out by his mother in some more-than-usually humiliating practice.

‘My dear Minister …'

The minister looked down at the champagne glass in his hand. He loathed the stuff, why did he continue to drink it? Once, about a million years ago, when he knew what happiness was, or at least how to enjoy himself, he had liked good champagne. But then he had also liked sex with amusing women and passionate men. He had liked driving fast, expensive cars, and eating fine food at the best restaurants. How and why had he let it all go? How had it all come to this? He looked up and tried to assert himself.

‘Really, Monsignor, as the minister I hardly think …'

The sleek, plump man wearing a Roman collar and black suit, fell silent and waited with an exaggerated air of respect. But the minister's words petered out so the sleek monsignor resumed.

‘The inspector has already told the Englishman what he himself has been told and what he has already learned from looking at the autopsy. He may not want him in the investigation but what the inspector wants is not the issue. To allow the Englishman to be left out now is, I think you will agree, not a viable option.' He made a deprecating gesture with the hand not holding his champagne. ‘However, being no more than a humble servant of the Church, I defer, of course, to you, Minister. If, having received the inspector's considered opinion of the Englishman's suitability, you have decided to accept his advice and dispense with him then you have made your decision. It would be presumptuous in the extreme for me to try and persuade you to alter it. That being the case I will convey your decision to …'

The minister jerked to life, splashing a small amount of warmish champagne from his glass onto one of his patent, black shoes.

‘No, no, Monsignor, that will not be necessary, no final decision has been made. But now, having listened to you, having weighed your arguments, having …' the monsignor waited. The minister looked despairingly past the prelate for the help he knew would not come. ‘I can see that you are right. It's just that …'

And still the monsignor waited, refusing to end his misery. Having pulled the wings off the fly he denied it an easy end by stepping on it. He was, he knew, a cruel man by nature, but in this case his cruelty was not at all sinful for it had a perfectly valid motive. The minister had to be reminded that he couldn't make decisions as if this matter rested solely in his hands. He was quite free to run Italy in whatever way he and others like him saw fit. But in certain matters he was a man under authority like everyone else. The words of the New Testament were as true today as they ever were, “those who are not with us are against us”. For Holy Mother Church there could be no neutrals, no middle ground for the uncommitted to occupy.

The minister finally looked at him and smiled the weak smile that was the white flag of surrender.

‘Why don't you go and fuck yourself, you pious piece of useless dog shit?'

His whole being was crying out to shout those words, to shout them out so loudly that the whole glittering, pointless, bloody circus would be brought to a stunned silence. He knew that once, long ago, when he was still a man with balls and not a political eunuch, he might have actually done it. But now his words, when they came, continued in the hushed tones they had both been using and were heard only by himself and the priest.

‘Of course, Monsignor, you are right as always. I will see to it.'

‘Tomorrow?'

The last turn of the screw.

‘Of course.'

The unconditional surrender.

‘Thank you, Minister. Now, if you'll excuse me. I am rather busy tonight.'

The prelate turned and left, moving on to other business. From across the room the minister's closest aide began to hurry through the throng to see if he could breathe any life back into the corpse which was still standing, still with its back to the wall.

SEVEN

At the same table in the same bar Jimmy and Ron had beer in front of them, Danny his usual cup of coffee.

‘Danny, I just don't see the problem. Jesus was human and divine at the same time, sort of half and half.'

‘A mild and bitter God.'

Ron looked at Jimmy, puzzled.

‘Come again?'

‘Mild and bitter, it was a pub drink years ago. You mixed half a pint of mild beer with a half of bitter beer.' Ron's face remained blank. ‘Mild never got to Oz though, did it?'

Danny took a small sip from his cup.

‘It never got to Jamaica either. I thought you were quoting from some poem, “a mild and bitter God”, sounds like it might be George Herbert, someone like that.'

Jimmy tried out his smile. He was getting better at it.

‘You know your trouble? You think too much, always looking for more meanings.' He took a drink. ‘Sometimes it's just about the beer.'

Danny looked at Ron. Ron took his cue.

‘I wish it was always just about the beer. I reckon life would be OK if all you had to worry about was where your next pint was coming from.'

Danny grinned. Well done, Ron, the mild and bitter thing hadn't been much of a joke, but from Jimmy any joke was a good sign and deserved encouragement.

‘If we take Jimmy's metaphor of a mild and bitter God, my problem, Ron, is that the words of the Mass say that He came to share in our humanity. Let's say human beings are the mild beer.'

‘So?'

‘So does that mean that prior to his birth on earth Jesus was all bitter beer? No mild? In no way human? Did his humanity, the mild, only begin at the Incarnation, his birth?'

Ron thought about it for a minute.

‘I suppose so. No, hang on, that's not right, at least I don't think that's right.'

Danny laughed.

‘See what I mean now?'

‘Not really, I'm not like you, I like to keep things simple so I don't ask the awkward questions. The way I look at it, if you're never likely to get asked the question why bother to find the answer?'

‘But what if you ask yourself the question?'

Ron was stumped and fell silent but Jimmy took over.

‘You know what your trouble is, Danny?'

‘You already told me, I think too much.'

‘That's right. You're cursed with an enquiring mind. Maybe it comes from having been a copper.'

‘You were a copper too, so how come you don't have an enquiring mind?'

‘I was a lot of things, but now I'm just a student. I keep my head down, do as I'm told, and don't ask any questions except the ones I'm told to ask.'

Danny took a small sip of his espresso.

‘Let the dead past bury its dead, eh? Well it's not a bad rule when you get to our age. None of us is without a few things we'd rather leave behind, and with some of us maybe it's more than a few.'

Ron decided it was time to change the subject.

‘Do you miss the wife, Jimmy?'

Jimmy looked at him. What sort of a bloody question was that? But he kept any hint of anger out of his voice. Ron might be stupid, but he meant no harm.

‘Every day, Ron, only every day.'

‘You know, you've opened up more in the past three weeks than you did in the previous eight months. Ever since you got hauled in to see your rector, it's as if you're a different bloke. It must have been a real heart to hearter, that meeting.'