"I almost forgot," I said and tried lifting myself off the sofa. A wave of dizziness crashed over me. I sat back groaning. "Uh, I guess I won't be helping you tonight, Anton."
"Stay put. Take care of your head. I can handle things." Anton turned then shot a glance in my direction. "I guess Luke can help you out pretty well."
"I'll be taking Mr. Hollister home when we're through here," Luke said pointedly. I noticed he didn't say he wouldn't return to make sure I was going to be all right for the night. Which is probably what he had in mind.
"Just get things sorted out at Bubbles. I'll be there tomorrow unless someone surprises me with another concussion."
Anton bent down and placed a kiss on my lips. It wasn't his usual chaste peck, there was something more behind that kiss. Longing, sweetness. It was intoxicating and I wanted more. Then I realized Anton wanted me to feel just that. He'd succeeded.
I watched him pull on his soft-blue suede jacket and open the door. He waved at all of us, winked at me, then closed the door behind him.
The faint sweet scent of him lingered in the air around me and I took a deep breath. I stared at the door as if he'd come waltzing back in. He knew he had me hoping that very thing.
"I hate to pull you away from staring at the door," Nina said. "But we've gotta find a password. Unless you like paying me overtime?"
"Yeah, Marco. Back to earth," Luke said. He'd obviously noticed everything.
"I was lost for a minute. My head feels as big as New Jersey." I looked over at Hollister silently peering at the laptop screen. "Any ideas, Tim?"
"Nothing we haven't gone over already."
"Anton said the book was going to be about the same Pope." Luke asked. "The same Pope as the previous book?"
"Yes," Hollister said. "He claimed he had more information on the Pope's murder. Names, dates, documents."
"But there was no publication date set yet?" Luke pressed.
"He had two or three publishers after him. No one had bought the book yet."
"We're missing something that's probably right in front of us," I said.
"The book wasn't published but in a sense, something else was," Luke said.
"What could you mean?" Hollister asked.
Knowing the way Luke's mind worked, I guessed what he was going to suggest.
"Well, Mr. Hollister, it might be something simple or I could be flat wrong. The book wasn't finished and wasn't bought. So there's no publication date. But the Pope, in a sense, was published."
"You mean something the Pope himself wrote?"
"I don't think that's what Luke means. Do you, Luke?"
"What I mean is that the Pope himself was sort of published. Twice in a way. Like Ben Franklin's epitaph. He refers to himself as a book being published. So maybe..."
"Brilliant! I know exactly what you mean." Hollister shouted. He stood up and hugged Luke who blushed. But who, I knew, loved the accolades.
"So," Luke continued, once he'd wriggled out of Hollister's grip, "you can use his birth date and maybe the date he became Pope."
"I'm on it," Nina said.
"I'm surprised you know the dates," Hollister said.
"I didn't but while you were all celebrating, Wikipedia revealed it to me." Nina raised her eyebrows and laughed. "He was born October 17, 1912 and became Pope on August 26, 1978 according to them."
"That's correct," Hollister said.
"I'll try different combinations." Nina tapped away at the keyboard.
"Do you think this will work?" Hollister glanced from the screen to me and back again.
"We'll know in a..."
"Got it!" Nina said. She'd done this kind of thing a thousand times at least, but this must have been particularly satisfying because she sounded happy.
"Wonderful!" Hollister pulled his chair around so he could see the screen.
I eased myself off the sofa. I had to see the contents of that folder for myself. This could either break the case open or be another dead end.
Luke quickly pulled a chair out for me and I sat at Nina's side while Luke looked over my shoulder and massaged my neck, which was just what I needed.
The four of us peered at the screen. There were about twenty-five Word documents, several .pdf documents and even a video. Helmut had been a busy man.
"Can you tell anything from the titles, Tim?"
"It's Helmut's usual method of noting files. Some are named for the people I recommended to him. People who said they had documents, diaries, things like that. Perhaps those files contain what we're looking for?"
"Nina can you get my printer to make two copies of everything here?"
"Set your computer to share its printer and it'll work."
"Luke, can you handle that?"
He nodded and walked into my home office to make the necessary changes. Before long I heard the printer humming, turning out page after page of material.
"Nina?"
She turned from the laptop which she'd been tending.
"What's up?"
"I'd like you to make a couple of back-ups for all these files. I don't want anything happening to them."
"Got writeable CDs or DVDs?"
"And a couple of flash drives. Make several copies."
Luke knew where things were and got them for Nina.
After everything had been done, we sat around feeling pretty satisfied with ourselves. We'd cracked the codes and found a load of documents. The question now was whether or not the contents would help with the case.
"Gonna take you a while to go through all of that," I said. "Let's call it a night. I'm still feeling like I smacked a wall going ninety-five miles an hour."
"We can talk tomorrow," Hollister said. "What you need is sleep."
"Tomorrow? You may need a bit more reading time..."
"Nonsense. I never sleep much and having found all this, I couldn't sleep anyway. I'll call you some time tomorrow and let you know what I've found."
Luke volunteered to take them both home and after he shuttled them into the hall he turned around and gave me a kiss which made me dizzier than I'd been in hours.
"What was that for?"
"I'm just glad you're okay. When I saw you in the hospital today, I was kinda scared. I never saw you look so helpless."
"I'm fine. My head is harder than you think."
"Just watch your back from now on." Luke stared into my eyes, as if searching my soul.
"Don't worry."
He'd cleaned up everything before they left so there wasn't much for me to do but lie on the sofa and relax. Of course, the moment I did that, the telephone rang.
"Everything okay, Marco? How's your head?" Anton asked.
"I'm fine, Anton. Just relaxing. Everybody's gone."
"Just wanted to know," he said. I knew he also just wanted to know if Luke had stayed behind. "I wanted to tell you... that you'd better be more careful from now on. I can't manage these guys all by my..." He stopped.
"Everybody worries too much. I'll be fine. Everything okay at Bubbles?"
"Sure, except Nando hasn't shown up. He hasn't missed a night in six months."
Chapter 19
The clock said seven which meant I'd slept ten hours. I awoke to the blissful sense that I didn't have a headache. The pain from the whack on the head was gone. What I needed was a hot shower and a hotter cup of coffee. I rolled out of bed, opened the blinds and felt a stab of pain from the brightness.
***
"I am hearing news only this morning!" Olga opened the door for me. A first. "You are all right? All in one of the pieces? I am worrying until I am seeing you for myself."
"I'm fine, Olga. But it's nice to know you care."
"I am caring but I am also needing job." She moved back to her desk.
"Your job is secure. Any messages this morning?"
"I am placing them on desk. Why you are coming in to work? With knock on head, you should rest."
"Who would you have to bother you?" I walked into
my office and sat down. I wasn't dizzy but the effects of being hit on the head weren't entirely gone either.
I picked up the phone and called Hollister.
"Is this that big, handsome detective again?" Bancrofft cooed before I even gave my name. Good memory for a voice and never shy.
"Well, it's Marco Fontana, anyway. I don't know about the handsome part."
"Modest as well as mannerly, strong, and sexy. You, sweetie, are a catch. Hold out for a good man."
"I'll settle for talking to Tim. How's that?"
"Coming right up, hon," Bancrofft said.
The phone was muffled a moment.
"Marco. I'm afraid I haven't got any news for you. Not yet."
"You finished that entire stack of papers?"
"No. I fell asleep in the middle of it all and Lyman found me slumped over the papers this morning. I was apparently snoring like a pig. His description."
"There wasn't anything in the documents?"
"Names. A long list of names. Men of the Church. All dead as far as I can tell. Three documents stood out because Helmut named them Head One, Two, and Three."
"The Bridge of Four Heads. But..."
"You're going to ask what about the fourth. It isn't there. At least I haven't seen it. Maybe Nina can help."
"Worth a shot. Get me that list of names. I'll have Olga do a search. You never know the connections we'll find."
"I've started a list. I've saved the longest documents for last. I want to be absolutely alert when I read them. Those, what did you call them, pee-dee-something files? I think those might hold the new information Helmut talked about."
"The .pdf files?"
"Yes. Yes, those. I'm a neophyte when it comes to computers. I'll read those files and add any names I find."
"I think it'd be good to have a second set of eyes go over things."
"My feelings exactly," Hollister said. "Who have you got in mind?"
"I'm hoping we can find someone knowledgeable about Church history and the workings of the Vatican. Maybe someone with personal experience."
"It's not a bad idea. Let me think about who," Hollister said.
"Call me before you make any moves."
***
It was way too early to try and corner Scanlan at Stella's. That would have to wait.
As much as I hated the thought of returning to Archdiocesan headquarters, I needed to confront Marlon. Something stuck in my craw about the phony way he'd responded when I questioned him and the way others characterized his reaction to Brandt. I also wondered if Quinn was a name he'd react to. Or Clifford and Navarro. I didn't trust Marlon and needed a better feel for the man behind that façade.
Lingering dizziness tempted me to take a taxi. The near-concussion and a still unsettled stomach sealed the deal. I hailed a cab in front of my building and zipped up to the Cathedral.
By the time I arrived, I'd decided that Monsignor Kusek might know the most about the reactions of people to Brandt's work. After all, as the Cardinal's adjutant, he was the eyes and ears of the head honcho and despite the nice guy appearance, I was willing to bet he kept good mental notes on everyone. He and I had never really gotten a chance to talk privately and, if he was around, I'd take the opportunity. The fact that he was a hot man with an angelic singing voice had nothing to do with my wanting to question him. Nothing at all.
I was directed to take an elevator to the top floor for Kusek's office. When you hold a lofty position, you need an office that soars over everything.
The elevator was filled with black-robed priests. All but one looked either jaded or tired. The youngest one had that devout, I'm-going-to-do-something-wonderful look that told you he'd just been admitted to the club and hadn't found out the real rules yet.
When I reached the top floor, I was alone. Probably none of my fellow passengers got to visit with the pooh-bahs very often. A thrill passed through me when I stepped into the cool and dimly lit corridor. This had to be where they hid the secrets. It was more elegant than other floors I'd seen, more serene and restrained. Gold-veined green marble flooring coexisted easily with walls clad in creamy marble shot through with rust-colored veins. Muted lighting in the ceiling cast a dignified glow over everything.
There was only one door. A solid, golden-oak color, it was imposing and solemn. I knocked and entered the stately reception area. A prim and proper woman in her sixties, sat behind an old, dignified, wood desk, one hand propped on a complicated-looking telephone. On an extension to the right a flat panel computer monitor held her attention. The carpet was red and thick, muted cream colored walls held paintings which were lit by tiny spotlights concealed in the molding around the ceiling. This was without doubt the outer office of an immeasurably important official. The office of the right hand man of a Prince of the Church.
The reedy receptionist eyed me suspiciously. I introduced myself and admitted to not having an appointment which didn't please her. I explained I was investigating a murder and that the Monsignor had spoken with me earlier. She didn't budge. I dropped hints that I was a good Catholic boy. An exaggeration, okay, but in a good cause.
"The Monsignor's schedule doesn't permit..."
"Could you tell him it's a Mr. Fontana? I only need a moment of his time? Like I said, he spoke to me a few days ago. He's aware of the serious nature of the case."
"But... if I..."
"I'll tell him I twisted your arm. He won't blame you. I'm sure he knows how persistent private investigators can be."
"Well... if you promise not to take too long." She picked up the phone and tapped a button, then spoke in low tones. As she placed the phone in its cradle, she looked up at me, a curious expression on her face. "Go on in. He sounded happy to be interrupted."
She followed me with her eyes as I moved, intensely interested in this person who'd been admitted so easily to her boss's presence.
I knocked and entered Kusek's office. It was as posh as the rest of the bigwig offices I'd seen, maybe more so. A sleek modernity marked the place, a cleaner set of lines and colors made it fresh. There was no hint of stuffiness. Lots of windows brought the sun into the room and there was no pious stained glass. Large, crystal clear windows gave you the sense you were standing on a pinnacle overlooking the city, able to survey several directions. The room's style reflected Kusek's age which was probably close to mine. Of course, the fact he was a knock-out in the looks department made everything in the room appear happier and more alive.
He winced as he stood then smiled as if he were genuinely glad to see me.
"Mr. Fontana. How nice to see you again."
"Monsignor." I extended my hand.
"Call me anything else. Monsignor makes me feel ancient." He took my hand and held onto it. His hand was tender and warm; the hand of a man not used to heavy work, not accustomed to having to prove strength in his grip. There was comfort and confidence in that grip.
"In that case, call me Marco."
"Deal. Have a seat, Marco." He continued standing. "Can I get you some coffee? Just simple coffee-maker brew but it's got caffeine and that's all I need."
"Never passed up caffeine in my life and don't intend to start now." I laughed.
He poured two mugs of hot, aromatic coffee, set one next to me on a table and sat behind his desk. It may have been brewed in a coffee-maker but he used primo coffee.
"A Monsignor who plays with toy trucks?" I said, picking up a small scale-model delivery truck from his desk. It seemed out of place, as nothing on his desk was remotely playful or whimsical. It was all business except for the truck which was marked along the sides with "Augustine Pankowski, Butcher. Fine Meats and Poultry. Chicago, Illinois" in fancy script.
Kusek looked up from stirring sugar into his coffee.
"Playing...? Oh. My grandfather's business. It's the only thing left of him or his company. Poor guy went bankrupt and the family was destitute. That truck was a Christmas present he gave to all the grandchildren the year before the business
failed. He died shortly after that."
"I'm sorry." I gently placed the truck back on his desk.
"It was a long time ago, in fact I never really knew the man." Kusek fumbled with papers on his desk. "I understand you've been a frequent visitor to the building," he said, letting me know he was aware of what went on under his roof.
"Not enough to rack up frequent flyer miles," I said. "But, you're right. This case has brought me here a few times. I'm still trying to get a handle on the effect Brandt's work had on people here. On how upset people were. Maybe still are."
"You want to fill your list of suspects from among our ranks." He smiled knowingly. "People here were understandably perturbed. But not enough to kill anyone." Kusek gave me a look as if he thought the whole idea of killing over Brandt's work was insane. "It would take someone with powerful hatred, or some real insecurity to resort to killing. Wouldn't you say?"
"I see all kinds of things in the work I do. You'd be surprised at the reasons people have for violence."
"I've got to admit that in my job, violence is kind of remote." Kusek took a long drink of coffee. "I've never come face to face with anything even close."
"I wouldn't find that hard to believe." I looked him in the eye and he stared right back, refusing to shy away. I felt him taking my measure.
"You might think I've had a sheltered life. I went into the seminary right after high school. Got assigned to the Cardinal when he worked in Rome and I've been working for him ever since. I've seen more than you think."
"You've traveled, you deal with people and organizations, you handle situations all over the diocese, and you lay the groundwork for your boss. You haven't been sheltered from everything. Just some of the nastier things."
"Managing a church-related organization or coping with trouble in a parish lets you see quite a lot and understand even more. Things can get rough."
"So how did Brandt's work affect people? When I saw you that first time, in Fr. Marlon's office, he laughed off Brandt's theories. Yet, someone told me he'd been livid, furious beyond words about Brandt's book."
Kusek laughed. "I told him his temper would get him into trouble one day." He took another pull from the mug and relaxed in his swivel chair. "But he's no murderer."
Murder on Camac Page 20