Carbon-14: The Shroud of Turin (An Amari Johnston Novel)

by Williams, R. A.

  “Everyone on campus is. What does she have to do with me? My father is the one who has a problem with her.”

  “Maybe so, but since you’re apparently a devout Muslim, I was hoping you had some insight as to who attacked her in the library.”

  “I wish I could help you. But I don’t know anything.”

  “What comes to mind when I mention The Shroud of Turin?”

  “It’s a fake.”

  “It wouldn’t upset you if someone tried to prove it wasn’t a fake?”

  “No, I couldn’t care less,” he said flatly.

  There wasn’t the slightest hint of emotion from this guy, not like you would expect if you thought the police were about to expose your crimes. He showed no anxiety, no remorse. But, then again, psychopaths are skilled at hiding their feelings. “So is that your motorcycle out front?”

  “The BMW?”

  “Yeah, the red one with the two luggage boxes.” George didn’t get a good look at the bike at the synagogue, but he did notice the luggage boxes. The light was too dim to differentiate color.

  “Yes, that one is mine.”

  Bingo, Pete said to himself. Now he was getting somewhere. “You mind coming down with me to have a look at it?”

  Anwar glanced at the door to his room.

  “Tell your girlfriend we’ll be right back. This won’t take long.”

  “One moment,” he said and went back into the room. Seconds later he came out with a young lady. She had a scarf over her dark hair. “She needs to go. She’s not allowed in the halls without a male escort.”

  “Bring her, then. We’ll escort her out.”

  When they got downstairs, Anwar said goodbye to his friend and joined Pete at the motorcycle. The bike was parked next to the tall, red brick dorm tower, in a motorcycle only section, next to a cluster of bicycles that were chained to racks beneath tall, spindly palm trees.

  “I’ve got bad timing,” Pete said, referring to Anwar’s girlfriend. “Sorry about that.”

  Anwar said nothing.

  “So how long have you had this bike?”

  “About four years.”

  “BMW, huh? Sounds expensive.”

  “I bought it used.”

  Pete frowned down at the front wheel. “Did you know one of your spokes is broken?” They weren’t like regular motorcycle tire spokes, but made of formed metal that created a series of X’s around the rim. One X had a leg broken to make it look like a lowercase y.

  Anwar bent over to look at it. He passed his hand into the space where the spoke should have been and then stood, rubbing his beard. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Pete stooped down and fingered the broken metal. “It’s like something hit this and snapped it off. Something coming at it with a lot of velocity. Something lead. Like a bullet.”

  Anwar scratched at his beard again. “Why do you think it was a bullet?”

  “I’m just speculating.” He walked around to the rear of the bike. “Somebody knocked me over with a door a few weeks back. You might still see the lump on my head. He took off on a motorcycle. My partner took a couple of shots at him. Sound familiar? This person didn’t like Jews. Some Muslims don’t care much for Jews. What about you?”

  “We both share Abraham as our father.”

  “We’re all sons of Adam too. One of Adam’s sons killed the other. You would never think of killing another person over religion, would you?”

  “Murder is a sin. Allah does not condone murder.”

  “Unless, of course, it’s in war. Like a jihad. Then it would be okay, right?”

  “Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “Why not? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “You said you had nothing to hide, so relax. You carry your books around in these luggage boxes?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Something caught Pete’s eye. On the maroon-red gas tank, just to the right of the BMW symbol, was a black smudge. He rubbed the smudge with his finger. If it was oil, it would smear. It didn’t budge. It was clearly dry black paint. He felt his blood pressure going up again. “You know, Anwar, when you use a can of spray paint, sometimes you get a little on your index finger. Or the glove of that finger. Anything you touch, like this gas tank, would get paint on it. You been doing some painting lately?”

  “No, when would I have time? I was carrying a twenty-hour course load this fall.”

  Anwar moved in next to him and inspected the tank. “That wasn’t there before.”

  “When’s the last time you rode this bike?”

  “It’s been several weeks. I walk to class and my girlfriend drives me if I need something.”

  “I see. You mind opening this box up for me?”

  “I don’t keep it locked.”

  “So you don’t mind if I take a look inside?”

  “It’s empty.”

  Pete flipped the luggage compartment lid open. He reached in and pulled out a can of black spray paint. He quickly dropped the can back into the box and gripped his revolver with his right hand, but fell short of pulling it out. “I think you need to put your hands behind your back.”

  Chapter 32

  Tuesday, December 27, 1988

  St. Augustine Cathedral had stood in downtown Tucson for over a hundred years. It was sandstone in color and had an elaborate frontal façade that rose over the arched, wooden doorway, sandwiched between two Spanish colonial towers with domed roofs. Kevin had never been to the cathedral before, but Amari had gone there to get books and papers about the Shroud from the bishop’s library.

  The bishop was eager to see her findings, so he agreed to meet with them the Tuesday after Christmas. She and Kevin parked in the lot behind the cathedral and made their way to the bishop’s office. They stepped through the door and went to the secretary’s desk. “We have an appointment to meet with the bishop,” she said.

  The secretary stood and opened his door. “He’s waiting for you. Go right in.”

  Bishop Patrick McClure sat at his desk, jotting down something on church stationery. He was in his late fifties, thinning gray hair parted on the side. He wore the standard black priest’s uniform, except he had a silver chain around his neck and a jeweled ring was on his right ring finger, signifying his marriage to the church. Behind him, two bookends parted a sea of books to make room for a crucifix perched on a stand.

  He came around to greet his guests. “Amari, come, come, have a seat,” he said and motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. “And this must be Dr. Brenner.” He shook hands with Kevin while simultaneously patting him on the forearm. “Sit, please.”

  “I brought back the books you loaned me.” Amari set the books on the desk and took a seat next to Kevin. “They were very helpful. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re very welcome. I should be thanking you. You’re the talk of the diocese. Your brother, Jason, told me you were a pistol. I see he wasn’t exaggerating.”

  “Thank you, but I’ve had a lot of help,” she said and tilted her head toward Kevin.

  “Yes, Dr. Brenner, Amari told me all about you over the phone. I have to say, I was concerned the cardinal in Turin would never lend his ear to a college student with no science background, but when she told me about you, I realized we had a leg to stand on. No offense, Amari.”

  “None taken,” she said. “I agree one hundred percent. Kevin has the clout to make a difference.”

  “Her theory’s every bit as good as mine,” Kevin said.

  “Great,” the bishop said. “So let’s hear it.”

  Amari presented her case, recounting her knowledge of ancient weaving techniques and why she thought the Shroud was patched. She then showed her photos she’d taken at the biology lab and compared them with the ones from Los Alamos to back up her story. Then Kevin started rattling off scientific jargon and formulas as he turned pages and pointed to hand drawn illustrations. When they both had finished, the bishop sat in stunned silenc
e as he soaked it all in.

  “So when can we see the Pope?” Kevin asked. “Once he sees what we’ve got, I’m sure he’ll agree to more tests. He speaks English, don’t he? I heard him once on TV.”

  Amari elbowed him and gave him a stern look.

  The bishop grinned. “Dr. Brenner, I’m afraid it’s not that simple. The protocol involved for getting permission to study the Shroud is very long. They may be unwilling to remove the Shroud from its casket for another round of tests that may prove just as disappointing to the church. The other evidence speaks for itself. They may decide to leave well enough alone.”

  “The other evidence will talk louder if we can prove the carbon date is wrong,” Kevin said. “I think I can prove my theory if I just had a little more money to develop some tests. We’ve all heard about the Vatican’s deep pockets. Let me show them what I’ve got and maybe they’ll ante up.”

  She elbowed him harder.

  “Ouch,” Kevin said and rubbed his forearm. “See, your most reverend? She is a pistol.”

  She whispered angrily in his ear. “I thought I was doing the talking. You’re not helping.” She turned back to the bishop. “I’m sorry, Kevin’s a genius when it comes to physics, but only at the expense of his social skills.”

  Kevin nodded in agreement. “Can’t have it all.”

  Bishop McClure chuckled. “I think he just likes to make people laugh. The world could use more humor.”

  “Sometimes he only thinks he’s funny.”

  “Hit and miss, I guess,” Kevin said. “But seriously, what are the odds of us talking to someone from Rome?”

  “Dr. Brenner, the wheels of Vatican bureaucracy grind slowly. Fortunately, you’ve both made a very compelling argument. But I’m not sure how the Vatican will react right now. The result of the carbon date was a hurtful wound, so this could go either way. On the one hand, they may be delighted to have the results refuted so soon. On the other hand, they may be more skeptical of scientists than ever. They may simply decide to leave it as a matter of faith and refuse all future scientific intrusions.”

  “But if the carbon date is wrong, the truth needs to come out,” she said.

  “And they may well agree with you. Give me a few days and I’ll make some calls. If all goes well, you may indeed have your audience with the Pope, Dr. Brenner.”

  “That would be awesome,” Kevin said. “He seems like a great guy.”

  “We like to think so. But I suspect your first meeting, if there is one, will be with Cardinal Ragazzi of Turin. You may even have to go through his scientific advisor to the Shroud of Turin Research Project first. I believe his name is Professor Messina, and he won’t be easily persuaded.”

  “I would like to try,” she said.

  “I will do everything in my power to ensure that you do,” Bishop McClure said. “Give me a few days and I’ll get back to you.”

  They left the bishop’s office and strolled back to the car. “I didn’t mean to elbow you that hard, Kevin, I was just trying to get your attention.”

  “I’m sorry, Amari, I didn’t keep my side of the deal. I should have let you do all the talking. You’re the one that knows the guy. I just want to do this thing so bad I can’t stand it.”

  “Me too, Kevin. Me—hey!” She pointed to a parking spot. “There’s the car!”

  “What car?”

  “The black Mercedes that’s been following me.”

  She pulled Kevin to the cover of a nearby van. She flipped up the flap of her purse and pulled out her gun. “Stay out of sight,” she said and peered around the corner of the van. She locked eyes on the passenger, searing his face into memory. He had kinky brown hair and one of those short, stubby beards like Sonny Crockett wore on Miami Vice. He was talking on one of those new mobile phones. The sun visor blocked the driver’s face. The passenger had words with the driver and the car quickly pulled out of the spot and sped toward the exit to the parking lot.

  Amari slid the safety back on and set the gun back in her purse. “I got a look at one of them that time. I couldn’t see the driver, but I saw the passenger. He was talking on one of those new mobile phones. You know, the real thick ones?”

  “Those things cost nearly four thousand bucks. They must have some deep pockets.”

  “They’re driving a Mercedes. I think they can afford it.”

  “I guess so. What do you think they want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You think they’re the ones trying to kill you?”

  “You mean us?” she pointed out.

  “You said they weren’t the ones who tried to run us into that truck.”

  “No, they weren’t. If they wanted us dead, they could have shot us both just now.”

  “So what do they want?”

  “I don’t know, Kevin. I seriously have no idea. But if they’re on our side, they should introduce themselves instead of spying on us. I say they’re up to no good.”

  Chapter 33

  The German Shepherd named Foster sat at attention with drool dripping from his black lips as he panted. His long, pink tongue hung out from under his nose and his ears stood on end, pivoting toward the source of sound. He was a retired police dog. Amari’s dad had brought him home for extra security.

  “Hey, there, Foster,” Jenny said in her squeaky voice. “You like your new home? You’re such a good boy.”

  Amari huffed in frustration. “Dad, that’s a very sweet dog. I’m glad you brought him. But I can’t believe you let Rahal’s son go.”

  “You think he’s sweet now, but just see what he does if he hears someone at the door. Only an idiot would try to come in here. He’s a trained attack dog. And he’s only seven years old. That’s my age in dog years. He’s got several good years left in him. I don’t care what the policy says.”

  “I’m sure he is, Dad. He reminds me so much of Max. Thank you. But you still didn’t tell me why you let Rahal’s son go.”

  “It wasn’t my call,” Dad said. “He’s got a good lawyer.”

  “But the evidence!”

  “All we got is a broken spoke and a paint can. Anybody could have put the paint smudge on his gas tank and planted the can in his luggage box. He didn’t even have it locked.”

  “Oh, come on, who would do that?”

  “He passed a polygraph and he’s got an alibi. The night the priest was shot he was at the movies with his girlfriend. He has a ticket stub to prove it. A Nightmare on Elm Street. Number four.”

  “And the fire at the synagogue?”

  “He was in the library with a study group, cramming for an exam the next day. Three of them confirmed he was there until the library closed.”

  Amari digested the evidence for a moment and came to the only logical conclusion. “Then someone really is setting him up.”

  “Looks that way. When the forensic guys went over his motorcycle, they found clear evidence the ignition system was tampered with, and more than once.”

  “So it was hotwired.”

  “It appears so. Somebody was watching him. They knew he didn’t ride his bike much and wouldn’t notice it missing for a couple of hours.”

  “It must be his father then.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you said they had differences of opinion. And he’s a psychopath. That’s why.”

  “Baby, I know you want this to be over. But we have to look somewhere else.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “And his alibi checked out when the Town Car ran us off the road?”

  “It did, Amari, I’m sorry. But we’ll get this guy, I promise.”

  “So did you find out anything about the Mercedes?”

  “It would have helped if you got the license tag.”

  “They were too far away.”

  “I told my guys to be on the lookout for a black Mercedes with two men, but so far we’ve got nothing. We can’t pull over every Mercedes we see. Besides, they haven’t committed a crim
e. Are you sure this whole thing hasn’t made you paranoid? Maybe you’re making connections that aren’t there.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “Could be private investigators for all we know. That stunt you pulled on campus has gone all over the country, maybe even the world. A lot of people have a stake in the Shroud of Turin. Maybe you’ve attracted more attention than you think.”

  “Then why don’t they just talk to me?”

  “That’s the part that smells rotten to me too. You had your gun with you?”

  “I had it in my hand. And I would have used it.”

  “Now don’t be too trigger happy with that thing. Nobody’s likely to hurt you in the light of day. I’ve got a police car on your street twenty-four-seven now. And from now on, you may notice them following you. Everything’s going to be all right, I promise.”

  Foster let out a loud woof.

  “You see there. Foster agrees with me.”

  “I think he just wants his treat.”

  Foster woofed again and scarfed the treat out of Jenny’s hand. He crunched it loudly with content.

  “There you go, Foster,” Jenny said. “Such a good boy. I just met you, and I’m already going to miss you.”

  Amari looked Jenny’s way. “I hope you’re not mad. It’s too dangerous for you to stay here.”

  “That’s right,” Dad said. “It’s better that you stay clear of here for now. When this is all over, you can come back if you want.”

  “I’d love that,” Jenny said. She came over and hugged Amari. She pulled away but still held hands. “I think you should get out too, I really do. Leave town, at least until this guy is caught.”

  “But I have Foster now. And my dad and the entire Tucson police force. I’ll be fine.”

  Jenny let go of Amari’s hands and went back to petting Foster. Then she looked up and said, “I’ll be praying for you.”

  “Thank you for your prayers, Jenny. It means a lot to me. So where are you going?”

  “Graduate student housing. It’s more expensive, but you’re right. It beats living in a war zone. It’s really hard to study here.”