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

by Williams, R. A.

  “Not all Christians are like that,” Pete said. “Sounds like he only thought he was. Got what was coming to him. So what caused the fire, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “They believe he fell asleep while smoking. Passed out drunk, I suspect.”

  “And they know this for sure?”

  “It was from Jeremy’s testimony.”

  “That’s all they went by? Just Jeremy’s testimony?”

  “It was a small town, with scant investigative resources.”

  “That’s interesting, don’t you think, George?”

  “It is,” George said.

  “Was Jeremy friends with Anwar Rahal?” Pete asked. “They’re about the same age and both students at the university. Maybe Anwar came around the lab sometimes to talk with his father.”

  “I wouldn’t use the word friends.”

  “I take it they didn’t get along?”

  “Apparently, Anwar Rahal is a religious terrorist. A pyromaniac, murdering extremist, if what I hear on the news is correct. Naturally, they didn’t see eye to eye.”

  “Did you know Anwar was found dead this morning? It hasn’t been made public yet. We found him not far from here. Just over that hill.”

  “Oh, my,” Dr. Weiss said and sank back into his recliner as the news settled. “I didn’t know about that. It must have been suicide then. Perhaps he couldn’t live with his conscience.”

  “We have other theories,” Pete said.

  “At any rate, I must remember to offer Dr. Rahal my condolences.”

  “I take it you don’t like the guy,” George said. “So why be nice to him?”

  “Social etiquette, of course.”

  “You know, my daughter says Jeremy doesn’t like Dr. Rahal either,” Pete said. “She says Jeremy warned her to stay away from Rahal because he was a religious fanatic, that he was dangerous.”

  “That sounds like Jeremy. I’m afraid the trauma with his stepfather has made him a tad paranoid when it comes to religious people.”

  “So religion didn’t stick with Jeremy,” Pete said. “Despite his stepfather’s efforts.”

  “I made certain it didn’t,” Dr. Weiss said in a scolding tone.

  “I take it you’re not a religious man,” Pete said.

  “Of course not,” Dr. Weiss said sharply, his face turned pink. “I am a man of science. Religion is folly. A weak-minded person’s escape from reality. Fairy tales, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Pete glanced over in time to see George’s eyes flash wide. Did this man just say that? Either he had no concern over who he offended or his feelings came from angry resentment and his response was a knee-jerk reaction. Pete had obviously hit a nerve. Maybe he’d irritate that nerve a little more and see where it led. “I call myself a Christian, Dr. Weiss. Are you calling me weak-minded?”

  “Surely, detective, you can appreciate the harm religion causes. All the wars that have been fought over religion? Powerful men use it as a tool for persuasion, not for good.”

  “I see a lot of people getting fed because of it, getting a roof over their head. And a lot of people finding hope. Guess you got a different perspective. You teach your perspective to Jeremy?”

  “I had to undo the damage done by his stepfather. Naturally, it wasn’t easy. We even resorted to calling him by his middle name instead of his first. His first name is Robert. His stepfather called him Robby. Calling him Jeremy helped him put his dreadful past behind him. It helped teach him a new way of looking at things. A new reality, if you will.”

  “And that seemed to help?”

  “I think so. It took years, but he seems to have come around.”

  “He sounds like a tormented soul.”

  “Sadly.”

  “You ever take Jeremy to a shrink?” George asked.

  “I had considered that, but he seemed to be responding to my methods. As long as it worked, why change the formula? You saw what the psychiatrists did to my own son. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.”

  The more Pete heard, the louder the alarms rang. Most serial killers came from abusive homes. That Jeremy kid could well be the psychopath behind all this. “Are you sure Jeremy used that ten grand a year for tuition?” Pete asked. “Have you seen his grades? How do you know he really goes to class?”

  “You’re not suggesting he used that money for drugs, are you?”

  “I wish that’s all I’m suggesting,” Pete said.

  “Is Jeremy good on a motorcycle?” George asked.

  “He uses one every day. Occasionally, he comes over to use my old car if he needs groceries, or perhaps if the weather is bad.”

  Pete scooted forward on the couch. “What kind of car would that be?”

  “It’s just an old Lincoln Town Car,” Dr. Weiss said dismissively. “Rather than trade it in, I kept it for his use.”

  Pete and George came off the couch at the same time. This was the guy. It had to be. Dr. Weiss stood with them and met Pete’s stare. “Is something wrong?”

  “Does Jeremy have a passport?” Pete asked.

  “We occasionally visit my family in Germany.”

  “Ever go down to Italy?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “Where can we find Jeremy? I want to know where he is, right now.”

  “I haven’t heard from him. I just tried calling, but he didn’t answer. Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “I need to see that Town Car. Can you tell me where it is?”

  “It’s just around back. Jeremy keeps a blue tarp over it. He wants to protect the finish from the sun.”

  Pete and George left Dr. Weiss without another word. They retrieved two flash lights from their car and hurried around the house. A blue tarp laid on top of a vehicle with rocks to hold it down against the wind. Pete went over and tossed the rocks into the yard. George ripped the tarp off, sending dust and dirt into a cloud. Pete waved away the dust and shined his flashlight on the car. The driver’s side of the car had scratches and a long, shallow dent.

  “He’s been in an accident,” Pete said.

  “Like the kind you get when you run someone off the road,” George said.

  Pete went around to inspect the back, while George opened the driver door and pulled out a newspaper.

  Pete moved his light side to side on the trunk. “George, we got bullet holes! Two of them!”

  “Then you’re not going to like this,” George said as he read the newspaper by flashlight. “This is the Campus Newspaper. Says here the reporter talked to the secretary at St. Augustine Cathedral. Says Amari is going to speak with the cardinal in Turin. Oh, crap, Pete. Jeremy was reading this!”

  Chapter 44

  Amari stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel lobby. Cars and trucks clogged the streets and motor scooters buzzed by, traveling within the narrow space between vehicles. A cold breeze bit her skin and she tied her overcoat’s sash tightly around her sweater. She opted for casual flats instead of heels in case she had to do a lot of walking.

  Sunlight broke through the clouds and warmed her cheeks. Instead of comfort, the sun made her feel uneasy, more exposed in the light, an easy target. She imagined every window was a sniper’s nest. Even though she was thousands of miles removed from the killer in Tucson, she couldn’t shake the anxiety that followed her to Italy. The only way she would let her guard down was if the killer were dead or in jail. Kevin didn’t seem worried. He just stood there with his blue blazer and bow tie, totally aloof, clutching the black briefcase that held their research.

  Almost there, she told herself. Once she made her pitch to the cardinal, the killer would back off. Maybe her dad would catch him. And surely, he had no idea she was in Turin.

  Just then, Father Jacob pulled up to the curb in his black Alfa Romeo sedan.

  “Here we go,” Kevin said. He went to the curb and opened the back door for her.

  “Such a gentleman,” she said.

  “Careful with the storm drain,” he warne
d her. “You’ll need to step over it to get in.”

  She made a long step from the curb and into the car. He closed the door, went around to the other side, and let himself in.

  “Are you ready for this?” Father Jacob said from the front.

  “Ready as we’ll ever be,” she said.

  Glass shattered. Kevin’s window exploded inward, tempered glass shards flying. Amari recoiled in defense. Something hard and heavy struck her thigh. An object the size and color of a bumpy avocado laid in the seat next to her. An avocado with a handle. A grenade!

  “Kevin! Look out!” she screamed.

  “Open your door!” he yelled back.

  She pulled the lever and shoved the door open. She started to climb out, but he fell atop of her and lunged the grenade through the open door, into the storm drain. He slammed her door and grabbed her into his lap, covering her head with his arms.

  A sound like thunder exploded from below. The car shuddered.

  “What was that?” Father Jacob called from the front.

  “He knows we’re here!” she screamed. “Kevin, we have to get out of here!”

  Father Jacob revved his engine. “Put on your seat belt!”

  The car lurched into traffic. Tires screeched, followed by the sound of violently crushed metal and the bite of breaking glass. The car flew back against the curb. Father Jacob’s head rested against the steering wheel, his hand holding the side of his face.

  “We gotta go!” Kevin said and clutched her hand.

  He pushed through his door and pulled her out with him. They stepped around the car that had collided with theirs and dodged traffic as they went to the opposite sidewalk. She glanced over to see Father Jacob with a bloody gash on his head. He thrust his finger in a panic, pointing to the narrow alley between buildings.

  He was saying something. Her ears rang from the blast. What was he saying? Run, he was saying—run!

  She tugged Kevin into the narrow, paver-stone ally—too narrow for traffic, away from the street. Balconies hung over graffiti-stained storefronts along the path.

  “The cathedral is this way,” she said.

  A man dressed in black hurried toward them, locking alert eyes with Amari. He had kinky brown hair and a stubby beard—the man from the Mercedes. And he had a gun!

  “Kevin, in here!” She shoved him into a small grocery. She pulled him through the produce section, then cut right, stopping behind a tall wine shelf.

  “What are—”

  She cupped his mouth with her hand. “Shhh!”

  “Why are you shushing me?” he whispered through her fingers.

  “That’s the guy from the Mercedes,” she whispered frantically. “The guy who’s been following me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll never forget that face. And he has a gun!”

  Kevin’s eyes darted behind her, then widened in panic.

  Amari spun round.

  It was him, gun tucked into his belt. He placed his hand on her shoulder. “You need to come with me,” he said forcefully.

  Her response was immediate. She clenched her fingers and brought her fist to her forearm. She flung her elbow back, then lunged it upward into his chin. His teeth clacked and he fell backward into a shelf full of wine bottles. Glass smashed against the floor sending red liquid exploding outward.

  “Let’s go!” She grabbed Kevin’s hand and pulled him back to the alley.

  “Let’s cut through that restaurant,” he said. “We’ll go out the back door and lose him.”

  “Good idea,” she said.

  They ran across the alley and in through the door. A clatter of Italian words and clanking silverware sounded in the room as patrons ate breakfast. Holding a food tray, a waiter pushed backward through swinging double doors, out of the kitchen, and into the dining hall. They rushed into the kitchen. A chef chopped onions on a cutting board. He paused and looked up.

  “Porta posterior?” Kevin asked.

  He pointed his knife to an unmarked door and then went back to chopping.

  They pushed through the door and hit daylight, but soon found themselves trapped in a rectangular prison of stone walls. It was a central courtyard between buildings. Windows with iron balcony railing looked down. TV antennas littered the roofline. Several cars were parked up against the walls. An arched, truck sized entrance led back out into the street.

  “This way,” she said. “It takes us back out, the next street over. Look for the park and we find the cathedral.”

  Kevin stopped her advance. “Hold on a second, shouldn’t we call the police?”

  “Have you seen any? Do you see a phone?”

  “We can find one, back in the restaurant.”

  “Kevin, what is the most secure building in Turin?”

  “The police station?”

  “And where is this police station?”

  “Heck if I know.”

  “The cathedral. Security there is super tight because of the Shroud.” She looked behind her to make sure they weren’t being followed. “Besides, we have an appointment, remember?” She moved toward the arched exit.

  “I think they might understand,” he said, chasing after her. “We almost got blown up!”

  “So we need to get there, where it’s safe.”

  “I am kind of hungry,” he said as they reached the arched exit. “Father Jacob said they’d have breakfast.”

  “You want breakfast, at a time like this?”

  “I had pasta for dinner” he whined. “It’s not very filling.”

  “Kevin, this is no time for jokes.”

  A motor scooter buzzed by as they reached the sidewalk.

  “Can you see the park? It’s right behind the cathedral,” she said, checking behind her again to make sure they weren’t being trailed by the man in the Mercedes.

  “I think it’s this way,” he said and pointed. “I can see the hedge.”

  They jogged toward the park. Passersby on the sidewalk cast odd looks at the two tourists running down the sidewalk in church clothes. They reached the park. It was bordered with equally spaced red brick pedestals, hedge bushes in between.

  “I see the dome,” she said. “This way.”

  They ran through the park entrance, under the spotty shade of leafless trees in winter, and followed a sidewalk toward the cathedral. She looked behind her again. The coast seemed clear. Almost there. They rounded a circular water fountain and cut down a path between two lawns. They followed the path under a small entrance that lead to the cathedral grounds. A large piazza opened before them, surrounded by imposing building walls on three sides. An ornate iron fence blocked the main entrance. A man swept garbage into a dust pan, but other than him, there wasn’t a soul around so early in the morning. Up ahead, three arched doorways revealed a tunnel-like passage through the building, leading to the front of the cathedral.

  They jogged into the arched underpass and stopped under a hanging light fixture to get their bearings. On the other side of the tunnel, they noticed a priest getting off a scooter.

  “We’ll ask this priest,” Kevin said and waited for him to approach.

  The priest wore a black overcoat and a beard hung down to his chest. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. He ambled into the tunnel and met them in the dark shadow from the building overhead.

  “Father,” Amari said and stopped to catch her breath. “Please, we need your help. We have a meeting with the cardinal. Can you help us?”

  The priest stared back through his dark glasses. He gave no response.

  “I’ll talk Italian to him,” Kevin said. “Ci può aiutare per favore. Or something like that. Capire?”

  Though his face was obscured by sunglasses and beard, there was something vaguely familiar about him—the curve of his cheeks, his short stature, his posture.

  “I would be glad to help you,” the priest said in English. That voice, so familiar. “Let me take this beard off first. It really itches.” The priest snat
ched a fake beard off his face and let it fall. He then tossed his glasses onto paver stone.

  “Jeremy!” Kevin said. “What are you doing here? You ain’t no priest.”

  “You always were the smart one, Dr. Brenner.”

  Chapter 45

  “Oh, the irony,” Jeremy uttered. “Don’t you see, Kevin, I’m Father Jeremy. Father is the one who started all this. And now Father Jeremy is going to finish it.”

  Amari moved to Kevin’s side. “Jeremy, what are you talking about?”

  Jeremy snatched a silver .38-revolver from his inside coat pocket. He moved several steps back. “You keep your distance, Amari. I’ve seen what you can do with those pretty little hands of yours.”

  She tensed when she saw the gun, her heart hammering. She had to disarm him, or at least stall him until help came. “Jeremy, why?”

  Jeremy’s ice blue eyes flashed with livid fury. “You think I wanted this? I’m doing this for the good of the world. It’s the least of evils.”

  “Jeremy,” she pleaded and took a step forward. Just a little closer. She’d practiced the disarming move. Maybe Kevin could distract him. It was their only chance. “This is crazy. Put the gun down.”

  Jeremy stepped farther away. “I told you to back off about the Shroud. I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “You warned me about Rahal. You said he was dangerous.”

  “You brought this on yourself!”

  “But you hate Rahal. My fight was against him. Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Religion is a virus, Amari. Can’t you see that? It infects the minds of the weak. Powerful men use this to their advantage. War after war have been fought over it. The Spanish Inquisition? The Salem Witch Trials? Terrorists?” Jeremy’s face reddened and his head trembled with rage. “And my father!”

  “Jeremy,” she said. “I don’t know what your father did to you.”

  “Stepfather,” he snapped back.

  “Okay, stepfather. But what he and some other people do are the exception, not the rule. There’s another side to the coin.”

  “She’s right,” Kevin said. “When there’s good, there’s evil, when there is God, there’s the devil. What you’re describing is evil, not the good preached by Christ.”