The Death Mask Murders

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘The Camino de Santiago?’ said Jack.

  ‘Yes, the famous Way of Saint James, the pilgrim’s walk. I was hoping this would help me and show me the way out of this nightmare. I was wrong, as it turned out. While kneeling in front of the main altar in the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, seeking guidance, I met an old monk who worked in the Archive Library of the cathedral. His name was Junipero de Avila, a very learned man. He took me back to the monastery where he lived, and gave me shelter and a meal. That was in June 1993, two years after I discovered The Navarro Chronicles. The next day came another fateful encounter that led to the discovery of the Rodriguez Letter, which as you will soon see, is the reason I wanted to meet you, Mademoiselle Darrieux.’

  Landru stopped and looked intently at Darrieux, who had difficulty holding his gaze.

  ‘No doubt you will tell us why?’ she said softly.

  ‘Once again, I had accidentally, so it seemed, discovered a significant piece of the Llanganates treasure puzzle in the most unexpected way. I went back to Paris and published another paper – The Rodriguez Letter – which immediately caused a sensation in academic circles. This elevated my career at the Sorbonne to dizzying heights. However, a few weeks later, the old monk was murdered in the Archive Library. The only thing found was the monk’s death mask left on the altar in the cathedral where I had been praying. Neither his body nor his killer have been found.’

  Landru ran his fingers through his hair as if this would help him remember. ‘There’s something else you should know about the death masks left behind—’

  ‘Oh?’ said Bartolli.

  ‘Each mask has a section attached at the neck that makes it clear how the victim died.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Dupree.

  ‘Once your Forensics team has a closer look, they will find that each of the masks displays clear markings – deep cuts at the neck showing signs of garrotting. Each victim died just like Atahualpa at Cajamarca on twenty-nine August 1553.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Jack exclaimed.

  Looking incredulous, Dupree held up his hands. ‘Stop it right there!’ he said. ‘Are you telling us that you knew about all these killings, how the victims died, and their connection to your work, and did nothing about it?’

  ‘Yes. I was in too deep and totally dependent on the arrangement I mentioned. But there was more …’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Jack.

  ‘After the old monk had been murdered, I had enough and wanted out.’

  ‘What happened?’ said Bartolli.

  ‘The voice on the other end of the phone line just laughed at me. I was told there was no way out. If I tried to terminate the arrangement, a dossier of compromising photographs would be sent to the chancellor of the Sorbonne, making it clear that I was a raging homosexual and drug addict who was on the take, and involved in murders connected with my sensational discoveries.’

  He’s closing the gaps, thought Jack. Landru was telling them about the missing bits in his journal that he’d obviously saved up for later. Very clever. I wonder where he’s going with this.

  ‘You were blackmailed; is that what you are telling us?’ said Dupree.

  ‘Yes. But I was also shown a way out.’

  ‘What kind of way out?’ asked Bartolli.

  ‘I was told that if I managed to find the Llanganates treasure, everything would stop. From then on, that was all I could think about. The Rodriguez Letter had given me a vital clue I was convinced could help me achieve this.’

  ‘What kind of clue?’ asked Darrieux.

  ‘James Mascarino—’

  ‘The notorious pirate killed by Amaro Pargo on Tenerife, who you told us about last night?’ Jack cut in.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And this is why you asked me to bring Mademoiselle Darrieux along this morning?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘You also said it was all about catching the Death Mask killer.’

  Landru nodded.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because of what I found when I had Mascarino’s body exhumed.’

  Silence.

  He’s doing it again, thought Jack. This time, he was trying to pull all of them into his web.

  ‘What did you find? Can you tell us about that?’ asked Bartolli, leaning forward.

  She’s hooked. Jack was fascinated by Landru’s tactics.

  ‘I will. After all, that’s why I’ve asked you all to come here. It is the missing link that will explain it all and, if the goddess Fortuna smiles on us and we work together as a team, will lead us to the Death Mask killer.’

  ‘You’re serious? said Dupree.

  ‘Deadly. It happened in Tenerife in July 1997. I was on holidays and the weather was so beautiful ...’

  42

  Tenerife, Canary Islands: July 1997

  Looking relaxed and sipping a cocktail, Landru sat by the resort pool overlooking the beach, enjoying the warm sun caressing his face. After an unseasonal stretch of bad weather in Paris, it was nice to see the sun again. Shielding his eyes with his left hand, he watched Salah Cherif, a young Spanish colonial history student from Tunisia he had recently met in a Paris nightclub, performing amazing dives from the two-metre board. Tall, well-built and incredibly athletic, Salah reminded Landru of Louis, his young lover who had been so tragically murdered in Seville six years earlier.

  Landru’s career at the Sorbonne had advanced rapidly after the publication of The Rodriguez Letter in 1993, which had opened a new, exciting chapter in his research into the fate of the lost Llanganates treasure, on which he was considered an authority without equal. Other publications followed in quick succession, and each time he discovered another piece of the puzzle he passed it on, as his pact with the mysterious stranger pulling the strings in the background demanded. Huge amounts of money then appeared in his bank account, which financed his extravagant lifestyle to which he had become accustomed and could no longer do without.

  The trip to Tenerife was one of the many holidays he indulged in regularly with lovers during university breaks, but this one had a specific purpose. Marshalling all of his contacts and influence at the university, Landru had worked in vain for months trying to obtain permission from the local authorities in Tenerife to embark on some unusual research relating to the Llanganates treasure. Because the research concerned the legendary Amaro Pargo – a local hero – and more specifically, locating the grave of Pargo’s friend, James Mascarino, who Pargo had killed in a duel in 1721, such reluctance was more than understandable.

  Part of that research included permission to open Amaro’s family tomb in the church of the Santo Domingo de Guzmán Convent in San Cristóbal de La Laguna. A big ask, for sure. Landru had all but given up when quite unexpectedly, the mayor of San Cristóbal de La Laguna, Miguel Barrera, granted permission. Excited, Landru had dropped everything and arranged a trip to Tenerife.

  ‘You should join Cirque du Soleil,’ said Landru and handed Salah a drink. ‘You’re a born acrobat.’

  ‘You think so?’ Salah dried his face with a towel and sat down in a deck chair next to Landru, his muscular body glistening like polished ebony in the morning sun. ‘Well, tomorrow’s the big day you’ve been waiting for,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘It is that. The Rodriguez Letter showed me the way, and everything I’ve discovered about the treasure after that has been pointing to James Mascarino.’

  ‘And you think he’s buried right here, somewhere close to Amaro Pargo? Is that it?’

  ‘Yes. Everything hinges on that.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. Tell me about Amaro, this legendary corsair,’ said Salah, sipping his drink.

  ‘What would you like to know?’

  ‘Why is he such a legend?’

  ‘Well, he was without doubt one of the most successful corsairs of his time. You do know what a corsair is, don’t you?’

  ‘A pirate.’

  ‘Of sorts, yes, but he’s a lot more than that. He’s a pirate
with a licence.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘Unlike pirates who attacked anyone they could find, regardless of nationality, a corsair like Amaro plundered ships in the name of the king, in this case the king of Spain. He was an incredibly successful trader with his own heavily armed fleet, which attacked ships belonging to enemies of the Spanish Crown – mainly British and Dutch – along the busy trade routes between Cadiz and Havana.’

  ‘He had royal permission to plunder?’

  ‘That’s about it. He was a shrewd businessman and excellent negotiator who made a fortune and owned a lot of property right here in La Laguna, his hometown, and became the richest man in the Canary Islands. He also fought some of the most ferocious pirates of his time, like Blackbeard and notorious Turkish raiders along the Barbary Coast. But he also had a softer side and looked after the poor in prison, and made generous donations to the Church.’

  ‘What a guy. A Spanish Francis Drake.’

  ‘Something like that. As a reward for services to the Spanish Crown he was made a caballero hidalgo in 1725, and was elevated to the nobility in 1727 with his own coat of arms. You’ll see it tomorrow, engraved on his headstone just above the famous skull with the winking right eye and two crossbones.’

  ‘Wow. A pirate fairytale of the high seas?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  With two bored-looking gravediggers by his side, Miguel Barrera met Landru and Salah in front of the church just after sunrise the next morning. The mayor wanted to get the annoying exhumation over with before it could attract too much unwelcome attention in the old town, where everyone knew everyone and gossip was a pastime to be enjoyed over a morning coffee, or a glass of wine before an afternoon siesta.

  Short and portly, his oily black hair parted in the middle and wearing small, steel-rimmed Trotskyesque glasses that made him look like an ageing Russian revolutionary, he was clearly uncomfortable in his ill-fitting, dark-blue three-piece suit and tie, which would have been more appropriate for a formal council meeting or a funeral than supervising an exhumation on a hot summer morning.

  ‘You must have friends in high places, Professor Landru,’ said the mayor and extended his sweaty hand.

  ‘Very good of you to meet us here in person,’ said Landru affably. ‘On behalf of my university, I thank you.’

  Somewhat mollified, Barrera pointed to the doors leading into the church. ‘Shall we go inside?’

  ‘Let’s do that,’ said Landru and followed the little man into the church.

  ‘Well, here it is,’ said Barrera and pointed to the marble headstone on the floor. ‘The family tomb. What exactly is your interest in Amaro Pargo, Professor?’

  ‘James Mascarino.’

  ‘Ah. The tragic duel between two swashbuckling friends in 1721. Over a woman; what else? According to legend, it had to do with a nun, Sister Mary of Jesus, who was close to Amaro and gave him spiritual advice.’

  ‘You are very well informed,’ said Landru, surprised.

  ‘I am a historian,’ said Barrera, puffing out his chest. ‘I have written a book about Sister Mary of Jesus and Amaro.’

  ‘Well, that explains it. A fellow scholar. How opportune. According to another legend, there could have been more to that relationship than merely devotional reasons.’

  ‘Yes, those rumours have been around for a long time, but I couldn’t find any reliable, historic evidence to support them.’

  ‘I see. Just rumours then, as so often happens. I come across this all the time in my line of work too. The siren calls of tempting research conclusions trying to seduce us and lead us astray.’

  ‘Quite. I have read your papers about The Navarro Chronicles, and the Rodriguez Letter and their connection to the lost Llanganates treasure. Is that what brings you here?’ asked Barrera, watching Landru carefully.

  Landru took his time before answering the question. He knew he had to tread carefully. Trying to hide the real purpose of his visit could be counter- productive. On the other hand, trying to harness Barrera’s local knowledge, which was obviously considerable, could be advantageous and helpful in the circumstances. For that reason, Landru decided to make an ally out of Barrera rather than keep him guessing in the dark.

  ‘Yes, my visit has to do with the Llanganates treasure. In fact, it’s about a vital missing piece of information that could throw some light on where to find it.’

  ‘Intriguing,’ said Barrera, his interest aroused.

  ‘Yes, and it’s all about Mascarino. You know, of course, who he was?’

  ‘Of course. He was the son of Mad Dog Regan, the notorious pirate who was hanged in Havana in 1664.’

  ‘Correct. As you seem to be familiar with my paper about the Rodriguez Letter, you would know that Regan gave an amulet to his son just before he was executed, which allegedly had a map engraved on it showing the location of the wreck of the San Cristobal.’

  ‘Yes. Treasure hunters have looked into this for years. We know from historical material that Mascarino and Amaro went to the island shown on the amulet several times. They were looking for the wreck but couldn’t find it and gave up in the end. That’s why this story has been dismissed as a dead end by scholars and treasure hunters alike.’

  ‘That may be so, but the identity of the island has never been discovered.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I’m here to change that.’

  ‘How?’ Looking incredulous, Barrera took off his glasses and began to polish them with a handkerchief.

  ‘I’ve recently come across a letter from Mascarino to his daughter, who lived in Havana. Apparently, they were very close. I was doing some research in the Archivo de Indias in Seville when I discovered the letter by accident. In it, Mascarino talks about the amulet and what it means to him. He tells her that he never takes it off and wants to be buried with it when his time comes because it was his only link to his father.’

  ‘Interesting, but how is this relevant?’

  ‘If you’ve written a book about Amaro, you are obviously familiar with that ill-fated duel we just talked about.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Amaro and Mascarino were close friends, right?’

  ‘Yes. Very close.’

  ‘The duel took place right here in La Laguna, Amaro’s hometown.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Amaro wept at Mascarino’s funeral and said that when his time came, he wanted to be buried next to his friend.’

  ‘Yes, there are records about that in our archives here on the island.’

  ‘Then surely you can see where I am going with this, can’t you?’

  Barrera looked stunned. He put his glasses back on and stared at the tombstone in front of him. ‘There are several bodies buried down there next to Amaro that have not been identified—’

  ‘You’ve seen what’s down there?’ interjected Landru, becoming excited.

  ‘Yes. In fact, there are six additional bodies buried in there belonging to nephews or great nephews of Amaro. We are not sure.’

  ‘So, it could be possible that—’

  ‘One of those bodies belongs to Mascarino? Yes, I suppose it is. We have no records of where he was buried, although he died right here in La Laguna in 1721, and we know he was close to Amaro.’

  ‘Then, why don’t we find out?’ said Landru.

  Barrera signalled to the two gravediggers standing behind him. ‘Let’s do that. Please remove the stone.’

  43

  Gatekeeper’s Cottage: 1 November, afternoon

  Landru looked pensively at Jack. ‘To cut a long story short, when we examined the remains of the bodies buried next to Amaro in the family tomb, we found it.’

  ‘Found what? asked Bartolli.

  ‘The amulet I was talking about. It was next to one of the skulls. A curved piece of whale’s tooth about the size of a man’s thumb, with a leather thong still attached, threaded through two small holes at ea
ch end. We had evidently found Mascarino’s final resting place right next to Amaro, the friend who had killed him.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘This is incredible. What happened to the amulet?’

  ‘As you can imagine, Barrera became very excited as the implications of what we had just discovered began to dawn on him. To keep him on side, I promised I would acknowledge his contribution in any publication about this find that may eventuate. He seemed very pleased about that.’

  ‘What happened to the amulet?’ repeated Jack.

  ‘Obviously, there was no way I could take it with me. It had to remain in La Laguna. Barrera said he would take it to the local archives. So, I did the next best thing: I took detailed photos that clearly showed what was engraved on it. As far as I was concerned that was what really mattered, apart from the circumstances of the find, of course. And bearing in mind what was to come, I was right.’

  ‘What happened next?’ asked Bartolli.

  ‘Salah and I went back to Paris and I reported the find to my …’ Landru hesitated without completing the sentence, and looked sadly into the distance. ‘It shames me to say, I even sent the pictures I took because I knew this would result in a generous payment,’ he continued softly. ‘Then I began to write a paper about the find – The Mascarino Amulet – my next instalment in the Llanganates treasure saga, perhaps the most important one. And the most deadly.’

  ‘Deadly? How so?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Because three months later, just before I published my paper, Barrera was murdered in La Laguna. His death mask was found in the church on Amaro Pargo’s headstone, next to the winking skull and crossbones. Neither his body nor his killer have ever been found, and neither has the amulet. It was stolen from the archives at the same time.’