The Death Mask Murders

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘Oh? What?’

  ‘Grimaldi has arranged for you to meet Aladdin and Silvanus in jail.’

  ‘What? Are you serious?’

  ‘He thought a lot about what you said. Like you, he can see a possible connection here, and is keen to pursue it. That’s one of the main reasons I’m here. He actually sent me to talk to you.’

  ‘This could be a game changer.’

  ‘Perhaps. I would like to know what you meant by offering Aladdin and Silvanus the right thing to make them talk.’

  ‘Ah. Over lunch. Let’s sit down. I think the first course is on its way. You are staying the night, of course?’

  ‘If I’m invited.’

  ‘Come on. In this place, you are as much part of the family as I am. Come, I feel like getting drunk. Never fun on your own.’

  ‘What is it that Countess Kuragin keeps calling you?’

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

  The countess, who had overheard the remark on her way to the table, put an arm around Cesaria. ‘Incorrigible rascal,’ she said quietly. ‘But keep this to yourself.’

  20

  Palazzo da Baggio, Venice: 20 October

  ‘I thought I would find you here,’ said Cesaria as she walked into the salon, the flowers – now past their prime – the only reminder of the outpouring of grief and sadness the day before. The makeshift bier had been removed, and most of the furniture put back where it belonged. ‘I knocked on your door to say goodbye, but you weren’t there.’

  Jack sat in front of one of the fireplaces and looked up. ‘Couldn’t sleep. Got up early.’

  ‘Me too. I have to get back to Florence, early train. How are you?’

  ‘I have been better.’

  ‘That was some wake last night.’

  ‘It numbed the pain, but only temporarily. There’s always the morning after. Everything has its price.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Jack pointed to the photo in front of him on the marble coffee table. It was Lorenza’s coffin photo from the day before. ‘She’ll be forever young, you know,’ he said. ‘Just like Marilyn Monroe and Princess Diana.’

  ‘A hell of a price to pay for eternal youth, don’t you think?’

  Jack nodded and pointed to a chair opposite. ‘It doesn’t come with a choice. Come, sit with me. I have something to tell you.’

  Cesaria sat down and looked at Jack.

  ‘Firstly, thank you.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘The prison visit. You must have persuaded Grimaldi?’

  ‘I may have put in a word or two but ultimately, it was his decision. He came round.’

  Jack picked up the folder on the table in front of him and held it up. ‘This is without doubt one of the most extraordinary stories I’ve come across for a long time. Explosive stuff!’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Landru’s journal.’

  ‘Ah. The one you told me about that he wrote in prison?’

  ‘Yes. And gave to me. Exactly why is still a bit of a mystery, except for one thing he said.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘He claimed that there’s a connection between these horror murders and the Stolzfus matter.’

  Cesaria looked up, surprised. ‘Did he say what it was?’

  ‘Yes. Spiridon 4.’

  ‘Did you believe him? Did he explain?’

  ‘No. And for that reason, I dismissed this as nonsense. At first that is, but then came that video I showed you.’

  ‘Teodora’s wrist tattoo.’

  ‘Exactly. I can’t just dismiss that. That’s serious evidence, and no longer just speculation. And we both know how little things like that can quickly turn into major leads that ultimately solve the case.’

  ‘I can see that. I can also see where you are going with this.’

  ‘I know you can. And for that reason, thanks again for the prison visit.’

  ‘It was Grimaldi,’ said Cesaria.

  ‘Sure.’

  Cesaria looked at her watch. ‘The water taxi should be here any moment. I better get going.’

  ‘Sorry I can’t take you.’

  ‘No matter. I suppose you’ll be following those breadcrumbs of destiny you always keep talking about,’ said Cesaria, a coquettish expression on her face.

  ‘You know me too well. And I want to take Tristan with me. He needs to get away from here. Otherwise …’

  ‘Good idea. And those breadcrumbs will take you to Palermo, I suppose?’

  ‘They will. How quickly can you arrange that prison visit?’

  ‘Just tell me when you want to go.’

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  ‘I thought so. I’ll get onto it and call you. I’d better go.’

  Jack stood up and embraced Cesaria. ‘You know what the real treasure is in life? The only thing that really counts in the long run?’

  ‘Yes. You told me in Istanbul after Conti was killed.’

  ‘Ah. You remember.’

  ‘Of course, and I agreed with you.’

  ‘You did. Friendship,’ whispered Jack and kissed Cesaria tenderly on the cheek. ‘Have a good trip.’

  Because it was still early and no-one seemed to be stirring, Jack settled back into his chair. He did some of his best thinking early in the morning before the distractions of a new day intruded and replaced contemplation of the important, with urgency of the trivial. Jack reached for Landru’s journal and opened it where he had earlier underlined a certain passage:

  While The Navarro Chronicles were of huge importance, especially in academic circles where they were seen as the first documentary evidence of note supporting the view that the Llanganates treasure was real and had been retrieved, they were also the source of great frustration, because the account stopped abruptly without giving any clue as to what happened to the treasure after it had been removed from its hiding place in the cave.

  For almost two years, this is where the matter rested, until an unexpected intervention of fate changed everything: I went on a pilgrimage in Spain.

  For the next hour, Jack kept reading, but instead of providing answers, Landru’s account raised only questions and possibilities. Jack suspected this was deliberate and part of Landru’s clever strategy to draw him into his quest. However, he revealed some tantalising titbits of information that would have to be followed up and addressed another time. These titbits revolved around some crisis in Landru’s life and an intriguing pilgrimage in an attempt to resolve it.

  Jack opened his notebook, reached for his pen and began to jot down some thoughts: Landru has some kind of breakdown relating to his homosexuality and goes on a pilgrimage in Spain in an attempt to deal with it. He spends three weeks walking the iconic Camino de Santiago and ends up in Santiago de Compostela. There he visits the shrine of the apostle Saint James the Great, and while praying in the cathedral meets an old monk, who takes him to the archives of the cathedral and shows him something of great significance to do with the Llanganates treasure. Unfortunately, Landru doesn’t say what it was, but hints that it changed the entire direction of the quest.

  Jack paused as he listened to what sounded like the bells of San Giorgio Maggiore conjuring up images of the funeral service the day before.

  Then he wrote down one more sentence – Address with Landru during next meeting! – underlined it and closed his notebook.

  For a while Jack just stared at Lorenza’s coffin photo on the table in front of him. How terribly unfair, he thought, more determined than ever to follow his breadcrumbs and solve the mystery. Because a stubborn little voice inside his head that wouldn’t be silenced, kept whispering that Lorenza’s death and the Death Mask Murders were somehow connected.

  Part II

  The Loss of the Golden Mask

  ‘If you do not accept the yoke of the Church and the King of Spain, I will make war on you everywhere in every way that I can. The death and destruction will be your fault.’

  �
��I have not come here for such reasons. I have come to take away their gold.’

  Francisco Pizarro

  21

  Pagliarelli Prison, Palermo: 25 October

  Built in 1980 in the Pagliarelli neighbourhood of Palermo, the notorious maximum-security prison had a fearsome reputation as one of the most severe and brutal places of incarceration in Italy, if not the whole of Europe. Built of steel and reinforced concrete, this large, forbidding complex was designed for long-term incarceration of inmates who were classified as the most violent and dangerous in the prison system, and therefore posed the highest security risks.

  In a way, it was a prison within a prison. Contact with the outside world was almost non-existent, and solitary confinement was used extensively for long periods to punish prisoners and at the same time protect them from themselves and one another. It was a place where prison guards had a great deal of authority and independence when it came to discipline and punishment, often without accountability, or outside scrutiny or review. This was deemed necessary, because the prisoners assigned to this prison were considered a serious threat not only to law and society, but to the institution itself.

  Grimaldi had to pull many strings in high places, use his influence and reputation as one of the most respected Mafia hunters in the country, and call in some very special favours, before he finally managed to get permission for Jack and Tristan to visit Aladdin and Silvanus in prison. Permission for Bartolli to accompany Jack had been denied by the authorities, but there had been no objection for Tristan to go along with Jack instead.

  As the last two surviving members of Spiridon 4 – one of the most ruthless and violent international hit squads, with strong Mafia connections and wanted in several countries – Aladdin and Silvanus were two of the star prisoners at Pagliarelli. Almost revered by other inmates for their violence and legendary crimes, their apprehension and conviction were two of the biggest feathers in Grimaldi’s prosecution-cap by far, and had considerably elevated his reputation as a fearless Mafia hunter. For this reason, Grimaldi was at first reluctant to facilitate a prison visit. This was further complicated by the fact that Aladdin and Silvanus refused to cooperate and agree to a meeting with Jack, which, strangely, was one of their few rights in that brutal place. This had quickly turned into a major obstacle that threatened to derail the entire plan, and it was only after Jack had sent a personal message to them through Grimaldi that they finally agreed to a meeting.

  The message, which consisted of only a number – 1389 – had at first perplexed Grimaldi. But once Jack explained what it represented, Grimaldi understood it could make all the difference, and be the circuit breaker to the frustrating impasse they had been hoping for. He was right. Aladdin and Silvanus changed their minds, and a prison visit was arranged.

  It had taken Jack and Tristan almost two hours to navigate the complex security arrangements and strict red tape that governed access to the prison. This consisted of a full body search, including in some very private places, and a meticulous examination of their clothing while they stood naked in a cold, stark room. Compared with this, Jack’s recent visit to Fleury-Mérogis Prison to talk with Landru was like visiting grandchildren at pre-school.

  Looking like a windowless, underground concrete bunker, which Jack thought it most probably was, the small, dank meeting room was both claustrophobic and intimidating. No doubt intentionally so. Wearing grey boiler suits, Silvanus and Aladdin sat on metal chairs, their hands and feet chained to the moist wall behind them.

  The first thing Jack noticed when he saw them through the iron grille separating them from visitors like exhibits in a zoo, was how pale and gaunt they looked. Sunken, restless eyes suggested spirits crushed by boredom and mindless prison routine. The boiler suits – several sizes too large – hung limply from their haggard frames, no doubt the result of a poor diet lacking in nourishment and variety. A far cry from the lavish lives of luxury and great wealth Silvanus and Aladdin had enjoyed for years. All financed by an almost endless litany of daring, ingeniously executed crimes – many of them paid for by the Mafia – that very few in the business could have attempted.

  Silvanus was the first to speak.

  ‘I must give you that,’ said Silvanus, looking at Jack, ‘you have balls.’ He turned to his brother sitting next to him. ‘Don’t you think so?’

  Aladdin nodded.

  ‘What does this tell you?’ continued Silvanus.

  ‘They want something.’

  ‘Quite.’ Silvanus looked again at Jack, and then at Tristan, his penetrating gaze disconcerting. ‘Don’t you wonder what two witnesses whose evidence led to our conviction could possibly want from us, here, in this wretched place?’

  ‘I can’t imagine.’

  ‘Can you perhaps enlighten us, Mr Rogan?’ said Silvanus, looking expectantly at Jack.

  That’s one dangerous man, thought Jack as he realised that Silvanus’s spirit was far from broken. He may have looked thin, perhaps even emaciated, but the way he spoke and conducted himself in an almost unthinkably brutal and humiliating situation, spoke of a man who would never give in, and never give up. Only fight. Good, Jack thought. Exactly what I’ve been hoping for.

  Instead of replying, Jack signalled to one of the prison guards standing behind him. The guard stepped forward and placed Jack’s iPad on a small table facing the two prisoners. This had been previously arranged with the prison authorities, who had given permission for Jack to show a video to the prisoners, but only after it had been viewed by the guards and a copy retained.

  Without saying a word, Jack pressed the play button and watched Silvanus and Aladdin carefully while the silent video of the brutal Landru murder was playing. Their faces and body language gave nothing away, but their eyes were glued to the screen, watching the video like two mesmerised children watching cartoons after school.

  ‘Fascinating, Mr Rogan. You came all this way to show us this?’ said Silvanus.

  ‘The number 1389 obviously means something to you, otherwise you wouldn’t have agreed to see us,’ said Jack, calmly. ‘And I believe I know what it means to you, and why.’

  ‘You speak in riddles,’ scoffed Aladdin.

  Jack held up his hand. ‘Please, let’s not insult each other.’ Jack picked up the iPad, called up the frame showing the wrist tattoo and put the iPad back on the table. ‘This is Teodora’s hand, isn’t it?’ said Jack.

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ said Silvanus, shaking his head. Teodora and her sister, Nadia, had been the other two notorious members of Spiridon 4.

  ‘Oh, I think you do,’ Jack countered, undeterred. ‘The number 1389 was tattooed on the inside of Teodora’s right wrist. I know that for a fact. Izabel, Teodora’s former lover, confirmed it. And it’s not just any number, but a number with a specific meaning to a young Muslim woman whose parents were brutally murdered during the Kosovo war. Isn’t that right? Thirteen eighty-nine is the date of the Battle of Kosovo, which marked the arrival of Islam in Serbia and the beginning of a long, dramatic struggle ending in recent persecution and rivers of blood. Right?’

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about, but thank you for the history lesson, Mr Rogan,’ said Aladdin, his voice thick with sarcasm. ‘Teodora is dead. Her body was cremated. Her sister, Nadia, is dead too, buried at sea. So, what is the possible relevance of all this?’

  ‘This may help,’ said Tristan, stepping in. ‘Allow me to tell you what I can feel.’ Jack noticed he’d deliberately said feel instead of see.

  ‘Feel? What on earth do you mean?’ asked Silvanus, sounding impatient.

  ‘Tristan is a psychic with a special gift,’ said Jack, well aware that Romani gypsies like Silvanus and his brother believed in such things and took them seriously. It was in their blood. ‘He can feel and see things others can’t.’

  ‘When I close my eyes, I can feel your presence,’ said Tristan, closing his eyes. ‘When I looked at this video for the first time, I could feel the
same thing.’ Tristan opened his eyes. ‘I believe you were both present when the murder was committed. Teodora and Nadia were there too. Landru didn’t commit the murder he was accused of and sent to jail for; you did—’

  ‘This is absurd,’ interrupted Silvanus. ‘This meeting is over.’

  ‘When I saw photos of that chamber of horrors in Paris a couple of weeks ago, with all the death masks and grizzly remains displayed like trophies,’ continued Tristan, undeterred, ‘I had the same feeling. It was the four of you who committed those murders, not Landru. It was the work of Spiridon 4, no-one else.’

  Silvanus looked at his brother. ‘This is nonsense. We should leave.’

  ‘Before you do,’ said Jack, ‘please just listen to this; there’s a lot riding on it for you.’

  Looking disinterested, Silvanus shrugged. ‘If this is some stupid, clumsy attempt to entice us to admit to something we didn’t do, forget it. Go back to where you came from, Mr Rogan, and let us go back to our cells.’

  ‘Nothing could be further from what we have in mind.’

  ‘In mind? You have something in mind?’ said Silvanus.

  ‘Yes. Something I know you will be interested in.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Please hear me out.’

  Silvanus shrugged.

  ‘We didn’t come here to ask you to admit anything. We simply told you what we know, and what we believe happened. And Tristan told you what he feels. That’s all. But all of this is only the background to what I am about to propose.’

  ‘You have a proposal?’ said Aladdin, looking bemused. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes, seriously.’

  ‘You are full of surprises, Mr Rogan. What kind of proposal?’ asked Silvanus, suddenly interested.

  ‘All we are after is information in exchange for—’

  ‘What?’ interjected Silvanus.

  ‘Certain benefits.’

  ‘What kind of benefits?’ asked Aladdin.