“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” Kevin said. “Over here.” He pointed at a green sign. “Uscita. It means exit.”
She followed him down the hall, dodging hurried passengers as they worked toward the baggage claim. He was a seasoned traveler, so she followed him blindly. They showed their passports at the customs desk, then went through a long hall that terminated in a massive baggage claim area. Once they retrieved their bags, they followed the uscita signs to a large bay with TAXI signs on the front door. Several men stood facing the exiting crowd, holding up white signs.
“Look for a priest,” she said.
“That’s him over there,” he said and pointed.
A priest, in traditional black wardrobe, stood with a white sheet of copy paper with the names Amari and Kevin written on it.
They walked over to the priest and introduced themselves. He wasn’t your typical priest. This one had a thick jaw, dark, heavy brows, and an athletic build. Blue veins bulged in his hands. He looked like Clark Kent, only without the glasses.
“I hope you had a nice flight. I’m Jacob,” he said.
Amari was surprised at his American accent. “You’re American?”
“Is it so obvious?” he said with a friendly smile. “My assignment is in Turin. Since my English is so good, they asked me to come get you. My Italian isn’t bad either. I’m going to be your guide while in Turin.”
“And our translator?” she asked.
“E il traduttore,” the priest said. “And your translator.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Kevin said. “I memorized I-tal-yon on the plane.”
Amari made a weary face. “They said it’s two hours by car to Turin?”
“To your hotel? More or less, depending on traffic.”
“Then you’re in for a long two hours.”
****
Once they got to Turin, Father Jacob drove them around town, showing them all the local landmarks. The sun had set by then, but the streets were well illuminated, and Amari got a good sense of the place. Turin was a mix of old world charm and modern annoyance. Motor scooters buzzed back and forth. Roman style buildings with ornate trim and balconies lined the streets. Overhead, a canopy of electric wire cluttered the skyline to provide power for street cars.
A gentle rain had started to fall when Father Jacob stopped briefly in front of St. John the Baptist Cathedral. Amari was in awe.
“Get a closer look. I’ll stay with the car,” Father Jacob said and handed Kevin an umbrella.
An open space of paver stone was in front of the church, and still more contact electric wires for the trolley stretched overhead. They got out and walked under the umbrella to the foot of some steps that led to the front doors. The massive façade glowed grayish white, bathed in floodlights. A large, carved wooden door was in the center. The Latin letters DO RVVERE CAR S CLE were engraved above the door, part of an elaborately carved marble door frame. Two smaller doors of similar design flanked the large center door. A gigantic bell tower stood off to the left.
To think, just inside, was the cloth that covered Jesus, God made flesh. God’s very blood in its fibers, his image etched onto those fibers, the greatest testimony to the most important event in history. And it was right behind those walls.
Kevin reached for her hand. “That’s pretty neat, ain’t it?”
She squeezed his hand, but words escaped her.
Lightning streaked the night sky and thunder clapped, startling her from her trance. The rain intensified, angrily pelting the top of the umbrella.
“We better go,” Kevin said.
They hurried back to the safety of the car and climbed inside.
“That’s odd,” Father Jacob said. “We don’t usually have thunderstorms in January.”
“I hope God’s not trying to tell us something,” Kevin said with a smirk.
“Don’t even joke about that,” Amari said. “I just hope it’s not raining tomorrow.”
“I know, I was hoping to do some sightseeing after talking to the cardinal.”
“Me too,” she said as she craned her neck, watching the church disappear behind other buildings. She made a note of the way back to the cathedral so they could go back to their room after the meeting, put on their street clothes and walking shoes, and do the tourist thing before leaving for Tucson the next day.
When they got to the hotel lobby, Amari felt like she was in a palace. Father Jacob spoke with the registration desk as she and Kevin gawked. An intricately molded ceiling soared overhead. The floor was complex, with colorful patterns of marble. Lavish red drapes hung over massive windows and elaborate flower bouquets sat atop carved, marble pedestals.
“Fancy,” Kevin said. “Mmm, mmm, mmm. We have arrived.”
“I wish my mother could see this,” she said. “She dreamed of coming to Europe someday. She would be so happy for me. Someday in heaven, I’ll tell her all about this.”
A bellhop set their bags on a luggage cart and Amari, Kevin, and Father Jacob followed him to their room.
When the bellhop opened the door, they stepped inside.
“Holy, moly,” Kevin said. “It’s like we won the lottery.”
White walls with detailed wooden molding contrasted a vibrant blue oriental rug. The yellow curtains were like fine tapestries. Red velvety couches and chairs were against the walls and a gold painted desk sat in front of the window.
“Now, since you aren’t married,” Father Jacob said, “this suite has separate bedrooms. Why don’t you shower and change out of your travel clothes and meet me downstairs for dinner?”
“I don’t think we got enough lire for the restaurant I saw downstairs,” Kevin said.
“Complements of the church, Dr. Brenner. This is an all-expense paid trip. Even this room is under my name, paid for by the church.”
“The bishop said this was paid for by an anonymous donor,” Amari said.
“He made the donation to the church. Then the church signed the checks.”
“So who is this donor?” Kevin asked.
“He said anonymous,” Amari said. “That means he doesn’t know.”
Jacob gave a friendly smile. “I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour.”
After she and Kevin had cleaned up, they found themselves in one of those restaurants with several forks, sitting across from Father Jacob. She wore a simple cream-colored blouse with shoulder pads while Kevin wore khaki pants, dockside boat shoes, and a blue blazer with a maroon bow tie.
When the waiter offered water, he bowed slightly and spoke English. “With gas or without?” he asked.
“Sparkling water or plain,” Father Jacob clarified.
“Well, I don’t know about the gas,” Kevin said with a satisfied grin. “I haven’t eaten yet. Ask me in a few hours.”
Amari crimped her lips to keep from laughing out loud. She considered kicking him with the sharp point of her shoe but figured she’d let him have his fun. It wasn’t like anyone knew them there.
After dinner, Father Jacob escorted them back to their room.
“I know you’ve got to be exhausted,” Father Jacob said. “Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning. It will be a breakfast meeting, so there is no need to wake up early. Your meeting with the cardinal is at 8:00. What you are wearing now would be fine. I’ll meet you out front with the car at 7:30.”
“That sounds perfect,” Amari said. “Thank you so much for everything. We’ll see you at 7:30.”
Father Jacob shut the door on his way out. She frowned at Kevin standing there in his blue blazer and silly bow tie. “Well, that was embarrassing. Food was good, though.” She went over to him and straightened his tie. “Actually, I thought you were funny. Don’t ever change.” She pinched him on the cheek.
“What you see is what you get.”
“We better get to bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” She put her arms around him and gazed into his eyes. “We’re really here, Dr. Kevin Brenner. About
to make history.”
“Maybe so,” he said and kissed her on the lips. He withdrew and hiked his brows playfully. “You think Father Jacob would come back up here and marry us real fast? I don’t want to sin the night before we meet the cardinal.”
She released her embrace. “You’re terrible, Kevin.” She turned and made a suggestive glide toward her room, exaggerating the sway of her hips, peering back, eyeing him playfully. “And I’m going to lock my door, just in case you get any ideas.”
Chapter 43
Pete drove while George read directions from a road map. They took I-10 to West Grant, then took a right onto Silver Bell Rd. When they arrived at Neosha Street, which was barely more than a dirt road, the sun had just set over the mountain range west of Tucson. Blue light glowing from the mountain peak faded into the darkness to the east, where stars made their first appearance. They drove slowly until they found the right street number on the mail box, then turned right into a gravel road with a thicket of saguaro cactus in the center of a circular drive. The home was a flat roofed, tan brick rancher. Another section of driveway led around to the back of the house.
Pete had considered coming by in the morning, but Weiss would probably be at work. Besides, even though he’d asked the bishop to keep the news about Amari’s trip to Turin a secret, just on the off chance the killer might have some insider information and follow her there, he wasn’t wasting any time. He’d already looked up the Turin police department’s number and he wouldn’t hesitate to call if there was the slightest chance his daughter was still in danger.
Pete rang the doorbell and waited as George scanned the scene, looking for anything remotely incriminating. After a few moments, a lanky elderly man with bifocal glasses and combed over hair came to the door. “Are you Albert Weiss?” Pete asked.
“Yes, I’m Dr. Weiss. May I help you, gentlemen?”
Pete flashed his identification. “I’m detective Pete Johnston, and this is my partner, George Sanchez. Do you mind if we ask you some questions?”
“Certainly,” Dr. Weiss said. “Please come in.” He led them to a distressed-leather couch in the den. Shelves lined the walls with hundreds of books, everything from heavy science books to Shakespeare.
“May I offer you gentlemen something to drink?”
“No, we won’t be long,” Pete said. “I know it’s getting late already, so I don’t want to keep you.”
“It’s no trouble at all. I want to keep the streets safe. Tell me, how can I be of service?”
“I understand you teach at the university.”
“I used to. I currently serve as the professor emeritus. I’m retired from teaching, but still involved in the operations more or less.”
“So what department do you work? From the looks of your books, I’d say something in science.”
“The physics department.”
“You don’t say? You must know Dr. Brenner then? And Dr. Rahal?”
“Dr. Brenner, of course. I had a hand in hiring him. Brilliant young experimental physicist.”
“I know the guy. He’s sharp, all right.”
“You know Dr. Brenner too?” Dr. Weiss said, his face registering surprise. “It’s a small world.”
“Boy, it is, isn’t it?” Pete knew it wasn’t that small. This was no coincidence. His gut told him he was about to crack this case wide open. It was time to push a little harder. “What do you think about Dr. Rahal?”
“Honestly, I try not to think of him.”
“I’ve met the guy. I see what you mean.”
“Hey this is a big coincidence,” George spoke up. “You know, you being a professor at the physics lab.”
Dr. Weiss gave George a curious stare. “Coincidence?”
“Sure,” Pete said. “Dr. Rahal is a suspect for the attack of one Amari Johnston.”
“You said your last name is Johnston,” Dr. Weiss said. “Any relation?”
“She’s my daughter.”
“Then I see where she gets her spirit. I’ve met the young lady. In fact, I helped convince Dr. Rahal to let her see the Shroud samples. She is very persistent. Misguided persistence in this case, but still I admire her tenacity. Is that what you came to talk to me about? The attack on your daughter?”
“It is, actually. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t see you as a suspect. I’m more interested in the guy you hired to paint your house. He’s the guy who led me to you.”
“You must be referring to Hasan. Did he get into some kind of trouble?”
“You could say that.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about the man. I have his address on an invoice if that will help.”
“We already know his address. We’re more interested in something he told you. You know, he has a daughter in Iraq. She’s dying and he wants to get her here for medical care. Only he can’t because he doesn’t have the money. You could say he’s desperate for cash.”
“Yes, he did tell me that.”
“So the question is, did you tell anybody else this information?”
“Let’s see,” Dr. Weiss said and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “My grandson was home at the time. He may have overheard us.”
“That must be him,” Pete said, pointing to the side table by Dr. Weiss’s recliner.
Dr. Weiss glanced over at the photo. “Yes, that’s Jeremy. He’s my grandson.”
“Mind if I see that picture?” Pete asked.
“Certainly,” Dr. Weiss said and handed him the picture frame.
“He sure does have some blue eyes,” Pete said.
George leaned over for a peek. “Looks like one of those Alaskan Husky’s eyes, don’t it?”
“He gets those from his mother,” Dr. Weiss said. “Jeremy’s father was my son. Unfortunately, my son died shortly after Jeremy was born. Jeremy’s mother remarried a year later.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your son,” Pete said. “That must have been very difficult. So how did he die, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Suicide, I’m afraid. He was having some, well, problems.”
“Then I’m real sorry to hear that,” Pete said. “Was he depressed?”
“That among other issues. He had psychological problems. But I know you didn’t come to discuss my son. He’s been dead for twenty years.”
“Sorry, I get a little off track sometimes,” Pete said. “Then again, sometimes you have to go off the trail to find the right evidence.”
“If you wish to pursue this evidence, then I would like to see a warrant. I don’t want to discuss my son. The memories are too painful.”
The air got tense, so Pete changed the subject. “I understand, Dr. Weiss. Again, I’m very sorry for your loss.” Pete looked back at the grandson’s picture. “I think I saw your grandson when I interviewed Dr. Rahal. He was wearing a lab coat. I assume he works there. Or maybe he’s a student.”
“He’s a full-time student and works there part time,” Dr. Weiss said. “He has an interest in physics, so I got him a job as a research technician. That way he could learn the ropes before he committed himself.”
“That’s a smart move,” Pete said. “He do okay in school?”
“He passes his courses, I suppose.”
“You must be pretty close to help him so much.”
“I’d say I am. He lived under my roof for five years, until he went to college and got an apartment near campus.”
“You help him with college? UA is pretty expensive. I ought to know.”
“I give him money for tuition. He gets $10,000 a year, and he supplements his cost of living with his job at the lab.”
“Ten grand a year, huh? That’s generous.”
“I don’t want him to graduate and have student loans. Besides, I’m a widower, so he is the sole heir to my estate. The money will go to him sooner or later.”
“That’s good logic. I’d do the same thing if I were you and had the money. So what happened to his parents? I mean his mother and ste
pfather.”
“It’s another tragic story, I’m afraid. His stepfather died in a house fire. It destroyed Jeremy’s home. He and his mother, Belinda, came to live with us after the fire.” Deep sadness dented Dr. Weiss’s face.
“That’s rough,” George said. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“It wasn’t all bad. The death of Belinda’s husband was a blessing. The tragedy was Jeremy’s mother. Shortly after she moved in with us, she contracted the flu.”
George smacked Pete on the arm. “You know what that feels like, don’t you, Pete?”
“You know I do,” Pete said.
“I see you survived,” Dr. Weiss said. “Belinda was not so fortunate. She went into the hospital and died a week later from pneumonia.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Pete said.
“Yeah, me too,” George said.
“Jeremy never fully recovered, I’m afraid. To this day, he is afraid to shake hands, afraid of the germs.”
“He’s a germaphobe?” George asked.
“That is a crude term for his condition, but I suppose he is.”
“We all got our thing, I guess,” George said. “I hate spiders. You don’t seem so sad about your son-in-law.”
“That’s because he was a tyrant. To be blunt, I’m glad he’s dead. Belinda should never have married the man. If Jeremy’s father hadn’t died, she never would have. And Jeremy would not have been abused by that man’s hand for eleven long years before he came to live with me.”
“A tyrant, huh?” Pete said. “Abusive you say?”
“He was a religious fanatic. A zealot of the worst kind. He beat that child without mercy. He made Jeremy memorize entire sections of the Bible. He would beat him with a belt for the slightest infraction of Biblical law. Yet he, himself, was an abusive drunk. Not very Christian, if I understand the doctrine.”
Carbon-14: The Shroud of Turin (An Amari Johnston Novel) Page 25