Hurley pondered. "Well, I guess this is along the lines of what I was thinking," he admitted. "He had something on his mind. Maybe he was warning me about the pope's visit, not just beating the drum to get it cancelled. Maybe he knew something he thought I should know too."
"And a couple of hours later he was dead," Ann said. "You think it wasn't a simple mugging? You think he was murdered to keep him from revealing whatever he knew?"
"I know it sounds pretty melodramatic," Hurley said. "But I can't get it out of my mind. The police aren't interested. They think it's just a coincidence—they want it to be a coincidence. But I'm not so sure."
"To tell you the truth," Ann said, "I sort of hope it wasn't just a street crime. That's so... pointless. If he was murdered because of his politics, I could live with that. If he was murdered because he was trying to do the right thing about something—that would be even better. That might almost make it tolerable." She shrugged and lit another cigarette.
"How can a nurse smoke?" Hurley asked. "Don't you see the results every day?"
"I'm a pediatric nurse," she replied, glowering at him.
"Oh. So, what do you think we should do?"
"Do we have any options? You've told the police. Maybe if they reach a dead end, they'll come back and look at this again."
"But maybe not. Also, if this has anything to do with the pope's visit..."
Ann considered. "I have a key to his apartment," she said. "The police've got the place sealed off now, but they said that once they go through it I can get in. I can check with them, but if they're focused on a street crime, I don't think they'll object if you want to look through his stuff too and see if you can come up with something."
"Uh, why me?" Hurley asked.
"Well, not me," Ann replied. "I don't have the time or the energy or, frankly, the nerve. I'm going to have to clean out his place eventually and be the executor for the estate and handle all the correspondence—Mom is useless at this sort of thing and Matt isn't much better. I'm really not up for solving a murder case, too, if that's what this is. But you—you'd be perfect. You'd know what to look for—and people will trust you because you're a priest."
It was Hurley's turn to consider. Gerry O'Sullivan, Esquire wouldn't be happy, he was sure, and neither would Doyle or Cardinal Monroe. But this was his friend. And it would be on his own time. And if in fact there was some connection to the pope's visit...
"Well," he said, "it couldn't hurt to take a look around. Make a few calls. Maybe it'll set our minds at ease. And maybe I'll find out something important."
"Thanks, Joe," Ann said, smiling at him as she stubbed out her cigarette. "You know, even back in high school I thought you were a good guy."
Now she tells me, Hurley thought glumly. And they went back inside to rejoin Edzo's wake. He stayed for a while and chatted with Pudgy Glennon and the rest, as he considered how to investigate Ed McAllister's murder.
Chapter 11
"Cardinal Riccielli, thank you for coming."
Pope John sat in a white armchair beneath a painting of Christ ascending into heaven. To either side of him were enormous bookcases filled with volumes he would never read. He was in the papal library in the Apostolic Palace. All the meeting rooms in the palace seemed outsized to him, used as he was to the cramped and shoddy construction of his homeland; this room, large enough to house a dozen families, was where the pope's intimate audiences were held.
Riccielli knelt before him and kissed his ring. Pope John had not yet gotten comfortable with this gesture, and was inclined to end the custom. But that was not a battle he wanted to fight just yet.
Riccielli was a thin, dour-looking cardinal with bristly white hair and leathery skin. He was utterly a creature of the Curia, the pope knew. He had been in the diplomatic corps for years, culminating in an appointment as nuncio to France, and had finally been recalled to the Vatican to serve in various congregations. Pope John sensed that there was little joy or holiness in the man; he supposed the Curia did that to people. Or, perhaps, it was people like that who gravitated to the Curia.
"Holiness," Riccielli said as he arose, "allow me to introduce Andrea Donato, the managing director of the Istituto per le Opere di Religioni—the Institute for the Works of Religion."
"Also known as the Vatican Bank, yes?" the pope said.
"Indeed," the cardinal replied.
Donato crumbled to his knees in front of the pope. He was overweight, and looked as if he were about to pass out. Was it his health, or nervousness?
"Again, thank you both for coming," the pope said after Donato had performed his obeisance and staggered to his feet. He eyed the two of them: friends or foes? They seemed to wilt under his gaze. Particularly Donato. Well, most people did, he had found. He would give them the benefit of the doubt. "I am counting on you both," he said, "to help me understand Vatican finances. I am ignorant, but I am a willing pupil. Now, how shall we proceed?"
"Signor Donato has a presentation he has prepared for you, Holiness," Riccielli said. Donato had gotten out his laptop and was in consultation with Paolo Fieri, the pope's private secretary, about how to set things up. Odd to see a computer in this ancient room, but then, he supposed it was no odder than his own presence here.
"I should note some general information before Signor Donato begins," Riccielli said. "First, as I have explained already, the IOR represents only one facet of Vatican finances. The Administration of the Patrimony of the Holy See, for example, is a totally separate entity, which manages many of the Holy See's investments. The IOR is a bank, and specifically your bank, Holiness. We do investing of our assets, of course, and we also handle banking services for Vatican offices, as well as employees, Catholic charities, and religious orders."
"All right," the pope replied, feeling slightly impatient. "Perhaps you can answer the most important question first. At our meeting you talked about money, Eminence. Do we have a problem? It's hard to imagine, when one sees such splendor all around us, but perhaps this is misleading."
"It is indeed misleading," Riccielli said. "Yes, the Church does have a money problem. The splendor means nothing. After all, we are not going to sell our churches or our artworks, valuable though they undoubtedly are; on the contrary, they are a drain on our finances, since we must pay to maintain and guard them. Of course we have postage stamps and admission fees and the like, but the amounts brought in are trivial compared to the upkeep."
"What about contributions from the faithful?"
"The contributions are vital, but most of that money stays in the diocese where it is raised rather than coming to the Holy See. As you well know, Holiness, the Church is growing, but it is growing fastest in the poorest areas of the world, like your homeland. We need to subsidize the Church in those areas; we can't expect support from them. In the areas where we should be able to expect support, alas, many people are Catholics in name only, and contributions have not kept pace with the demands being placed on us. It is not a problem that admits of an easy solution."
"Yes," the pope responded softly. He noticed Fieri signaling to him. "And now, it looks as if we are ready to proceed."
Monsignor Fieri sat down in a corner of the room, and Donato began his presentation. It was as dry as summer in the desert, filled with talk of balance sheets and income statements, assets and liabilities, profit and loss. The wonders of capitalism, Pope John thought. Everything sounded in reasonable shape, as far as he could tell. But why was the managing director so nervous when talking about it? Why did he mop his brow and stumble over his words? Surely he had given presentations like this before, even to a pope. Did he worry that the supreme pontiff would question his arithmetic?
When he had finished, the pope had questions about matters other than arithmetic. "I understand that the Vatican Bank has had its share of scandals over the years," he noted. "What procedures are in place to prevent them from recurring?"
Donato reddened and began to stammer out an answer, but Riccielli interr
upted smoothly. "We believe that in many cases these so-called 'scandals' have been blown out of proportion by the media, which are always eager for stories of this sort. Where there has been an element of truth, and I don't deny that there have been problems, the circumstances have had more to do with naiveté and lack of professionalism than any sinister intentions. So over the past few years we have greatly improved our oversight of the bank, as well as upgraded the qualifications of its staff, from Signor Donato on down. Andrea, perhaps you could put up the slide that shows the IOR's organizational chart and explain the safeguards that are in place?"
Donato found the slide on his computer and droned on for several additional minutes. Yes, there were apparently safeguards, although the pope could easily imagine them being circumvented if someone were determined to do so. When the managing director was finished, the pope asked, "Signor Donato, how do you deal with the ethical issues associated with investing?"
Donato now looked positively panic-stricken. "Perhaps, er, perhaps Your Holiness could be more specific about the information you are seeking?" he stammered.
The question had seemed clear enough. "You invest in companies, yes?" the pope said. "Surely some companies are better than others in following Christ's commandments. But these companies may not be as successful financially, perhaps precisely because they are so moral. How do you reconcile the desire to turn a profit with the desire to follow and support Christian morality?"
The clarified question seemed to calm Donato considerably. "Yes, Holiness, we are of course concerned about such matters," he said quickly. "We have a list of industries we will not invest in—munitions, tobacco, and so on. And specific kinds of firms—drug companies that manufacture contraceptives, for example. This is something that we review carefully, since an investment in such a company could prove to be quite a source of embarrassment to the Holy See. But I do not find that the restrictions have significantly affected our investment performance. We can do quite well without these companies."
"That is certainly encouraging," Pope John replied. He mused, gazing at both of them some more. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?" he asked.
They stared at each other, then shook their heads. "I don't think so," Riccielli said. "But of course if you have any further questions..."
"I will certainly not hesitate to ask them. I thank you both for your time."
Donato packed up his laptop, there was more ring-kissing, and then he and the cardinal left the library. The pope turned to Fieri when they were gone. "Well, Paolo? Friend or foe?"
Fieri, young, bright, and ambitious, was a holdover from the previous pontificate. The pope had confidence in Fieri because he so obviously had no agenda except to get ahead in the Church—and how better to get ahead than by doing the pope's bidding? "Holiness, I don't trust them," Fieri responded. "Too much has gone wrong at the Vatican Bank in the past. They're not responsible for the old stuff, but there's still a bad smell over there."
The pope had asked Cardinal Valli about the IOR, and had received little more than a shrug in return. "The men in charge appear to do their jobs," was all he'd said. Valli was interested in policy, not finance.
"What kind of bad smell?" the pope asked Fieri.
"I don't know, really. People seem to think something's still not quite right—something rotten in the system. I just sense that what you heard from Donato wasn't nearly the whole story."
"So you weren't convinced by the presentation?"
Fieri laughed. "I thought Donato was about to have a stroke. Why should he be so nervous, unless he has something to hide?"
"Should I ask Cardinal Riccielli? Perhaps he has some insights."
"I don't think he'll be very helpful," Fieri replied, shaking his head. "If Donato's doing anything improper, Riccielli put him up to it."
"You have a low opinion of Riccielli?"
"Oh, he's all right. But I wouldn't say he was the most scrupulous cardinal we have in the Curia. He's smart enough that he can rationalize away anything he does, and smooth enough not to appear nervous in front of the pope."
"But what would he be doing? Embezzling from the bank? That doesn't seem likely. He may not be a saint, but he doesn't look like a thief."
"No, I agree." Fieri paused for a moment, hand rubbing chin. "Let me see what I can find out, shall I?" he said finally. "Unofficially."
"I don't know," the pope responded. "They might become upset—with good reason—if they've done nothing wrong, and they find out I've been investigating them."
"They won't need to know," the monsignor pointed out. "If they find out, they'll blame me instead of you. I'm a power-hungry cleric who can't mind his own business. That's what aides are for."
The pope allowed himself to be convinced. He was curious, and perhaps a little worried, and Fieri was just the kind of man who could satisfy his curiosity. "Don't do anything to get yourself into trouble," he warned.
Fieri smiled. "This is the Vatican, and I work for the pope. What kind of trouble can I get into?"
* * *
Riccielli and Donato walked through the endless corridors of the Apostolic Palace, lined with religious paintings and the busts of forgotten popes. The cardinal had read somewhere once that the palace had more than a thousand rooms, and he could certainly believe it; he had been in most of them in the course of his career. His companion was bubbling over with excitement and relief. "It went very well, don't you think?" Donato asked softly, so as not to be overheard. "I'll admit I was nervous, especially when he started asking about the scandals, but I think we satisfied him. Don't you?"
Riccielli glanced glumly at Donato. "There's no way of telling," he said.
Donato looked crestfallen. He was desperate for reassurance, Riccielli realized. "We simply don't know the man and how he deals with people," the cardinal went on. "It could be that the nicer he is to someone, the worse trouble the person is in. I will grant you that it could have been a lot worse, though."
"All we can go on is what he said and what he did—or didn't—do," Donato insisted. "After that meeting, I don't see how we have any reason to be afraid."
Donato may have been pleased by the meeting, but Riccielli was inexplicably disheartened by it. No matter how pleasant the pope was to him, he intimidated Riccielli. Every time he met the man, he had the feeling that Pope John was staring into his soul. And, alas, his soul did not bear looking into. They had survived this meeting, and for that he was grateful. But he had no confidence that they were in the clear.
And, even more inexplicably, a part of him wasn't sure he wanted to be in the clear.
But at any rate, the immediate danger was past. "Andrea," he said, "you're probably right. You should go home, open a bottle of wine, and relax. We have done what we thought was right, and God has smiled on us. Let's not be ungrateful."
Donato smiled. "That is exactly what I intend to do, Your Eminence."
Chapter 12
Sandra let them touch Erin. That was the amazing thing, to Mike. The diseased and the desperate and the simply curious, it didn't matter, they all got their chance, at the healing sessions or just waiting by the front door; Sandra smiled and offered them her child, offered them the hope of a cure for whatever afflicted them. He expected her to rage afterwards, to vent to him about what she had to go through, what she had to put their little girl through, but even that didn't happen. It was as if any kind of negative thinking was not allowed, for fear of offending God and endangering the ultimate miracle for which she was carefully preparing.
Or perhaps Sandra had really changed—really wanted to help Erin help people. Mike could no longer tell for sure what was going on inside her, and that terrified him.
And the cures? After a while he didn't care; he became the way Sandra had been. They were real—he couldn't dispute that they were real. But what did some woman's eczema matter to him, compared to his little daughter's happiness?
When the news of Erin's cures started to spread, the media took not
ice, but Sandra only wanted to talk to the Boston Globe. "They're the only ones around here that matter," she said, and they were the ones who got her cooperation.
Mike McKee had little to say when the Globe reporter came to their house to interview them. Didn't matter; the reporter wasn't interested in him. She was a serious woman with pale skin and thick glasses. All she wanted him for was the family photograph: the proud dad holding the miracle girl on his lap. Okay, he could do that.
He desperately hoped that the reporter wouldn't trash them, wouldn't turn out to be some cynical bitch out to debunk the medieval stories of bleeding statues and miracle cures, out to prove that the parents were either benighted primitives or money-grubbing scam artists. She seemed nice enough, but it could all be an act to get them to cooperate.
And the evidence was piling up, no matter what the reporter thought of Mike and Sandra McKee. The healing sessions had produced at least three more "cures" as compelling as Tiffany's: a tumor that had shrunk dramatically, a birthmark that had disappeared, a case of rheumatoid arthritis that had unaccountably improved. The reporter's real story lay in the testimony of those people, if she chose to pay attention to them.
In any case this was Sandra's big chance, and she was determined not to mess it up. Once Erin's story was in the Globe it became real, it became legitimate, her reasoning went. The archdiocese would have to pay attention. So she had to make the paper take her story, and them, seriously. She made sure the reporter talked to Tiffany O'Doul and the other people who had been cured. She steered her away from the bleeding statue, which she figured wouldn't go over well with readers. She didn't let the reporter anywhere near her mother. And in talking to the reporter herself, she was the new Sandra, through and through.
"I don't know if there is anything supernatural going on," she told the reporter. "I guess I'm not competent to judge. But I have seen things that I can't explain, and if people take this as evidence that Erin has been touched by God, it's difficult for me to disagree with them."
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