"I think that about covers it." I stood and was about to extend my hand. "Wait, do you know a Mr. Navarro? A boarder at Clifford's home."
"Doesn't sound familiar," Marlon said. His eyes were droopy and I thought he'd doze off any minute.
"He's an Opus Dei adherent."
"Well that explains it. Opus Dei is its own prelature. They report to their own bishop."
I extended my hand to shake and Marlon stood, at least I thought he stood.
"You've been helpful."
"My pleasure," he said, smiling.
"I may call on you again. This is a tangled case."
"Warn me before, so I can leave town." He laughed.
Tony winked at me on my way out.
"Niko says you're OK. He likes you."
"Everybody likes me. Except the ones that don't."
"Well, Niko's a good judge of character. Anything you need, just ask," Tony said.
"That's an offer I'll take you up on some time."
"Hey. Anything but that, Fontana." Tony laughed. "Niko doesn't like you that much and he's not crazy about sharing."
"Well, how about some information, then?"
"Sure, anytime. Just call me. Take this." He handed me a card with his cell, home, and work numbers on it.
"How's Jared doing? He didn't look so great when I saw him."
"Jared's a mess. Losing Helmut like that. Scanlan beating him. His boss is giving him a hard time, too. Poor kid's a wreck."
"Take him to Bubbles some night. If you need me, just say the word."
"Gotcha," Tony said, then the office phone rang.
Back in the hall I snapped open my cell phone to call Kent. I had an assignment for him. He didn't answer.
I called Hollister and he agreed to meet for lunch. Said he was finished with the papers and we could talk. That was one of my objectives, that, and telling him I wasn't much further along on the case. I also wanted his take on Quinn and Scanlan.
Walking back to the gayborhood from the Archdiocesan headquarters, I felt more aware of everything around me. No one was getting the drop on me again. I thought about who might've sent the thug to bash in my head. Quinn was a leading candidate. According to Jane Palmer, he seemed generally prone to violent solutions. Of course, Scanlan wasn't a genteel soul either, judging from the beating he'd given Jared. Quinn wasn't an organized type and hiring someone took thought and organization. Scanlan was more likely the organized guy. But there were others just as capable.
If someone had hired a thug to bash me, they could easily have done the same to kill Brandt. Connections, money, planning, and organization. Whoever did it would have to have it all. I'd have to dig up more on Quinn, Scanlan, and others.
As I thought, I remembered something about the voice of the guy who took me by surprise. I'd recognized that voice just before all the lights had gone out.
Where had I heard him before?
Chapter 20
More Than Just Ice Cream is one of my favorite places to eat. Reasonable prices, good food, and cute waiters. Not a large place, it's comfortable and not overwhelming. A wall of floor to ceiling windows make it light and airy. I liked that. All that light made it seem like everything was right with the world even if it wasn't.
Hollister agreed to meet there. Said he'd never been there, another reason I'd never bumped into him in the neighborhood before.
I took a seat at the back. No one could look over our shoulders or overhear what we were talking about. Not that I thought anyone would understand what we'd be discussing. That knock on the head made me even more inclined to be wary. Besides, my uncle Fanuccio told me that it was good mafia practice to sit with your back against the wall. At least you knew no one would come at you from behind. I didn't want to know where or how he'd learned that rule and he never told me.
The waiter was new. He was cute, filled out his jeans like no one should be permitted to do in public, and was bouncy. He smiled so much I thought maybe he was a little off balance. No one smiles that much, not even the perkiest of wait-staff. But every time I caught his eye, he had a mile-wide smile plastered on his pretty face. And he was attentive. Brought me a cup of coffee quickly, gently placed two menus on the table, and kept checking to see if there was anything else he could do for me.
I was just about to tell him what else he might do, when Hollister walked in carrying a black leather briefcase. He smiled and headed over to the table.
"Tim. You look all business with that briefcase."
"You gave me homework and I did it." He laughed. "I hope the results are helpful. I have my doubts."
Bouncy the waiter came over to the table. It struck me that if he needed extra income, he was just the kind of guy the customers at Bubbles would love to see dancing on the bar. I decided to leave him my card.
"Can I get you anything?" He glanced at Tim then concentrated his gaze on me.
Hollister asked for black coffee and requested a moment to look at the menu.
We ordered when the waiter returned with the coffee. Hollister pulled a notepad from the briefcase and placed it on the table. It was filled with notes, arrows, rectangles, lines, and circles. He made notes the way I did and I liked that.
"Lots of names, a few dates and places. Whoever wrote it reports conversations he supposedly overheard." He emptied several packets of sugar into his coffee, stirred, then looked up. "It's interesting and even incriminating but I'm afraid all the names on the list are of men long dead. The most recent was Archbishop Marcinkus who died a year or two ago."
"Would he have been ruined if this information had leaked?"
"Not really. His reputation was already in tatters because of his involvement with the Vatican Bank financial scandal. Someone even wrote a novel implicating Marcinkus in the poisoning death of the Soviet Premier Andropov. If you can imagine that. Not that he wouldn't have been capable of doing it. To get that high up in the Vatican you've got to have ice water in your veins."
"Sounds like a handy person to have around when you want to get rid of someone. Say, like a Pope."
"Marcinkus sued the author but lost. His reputation had been tarnished by then anyway. Now he's dead. Reputations of dead men aren't worth a whole lot, especially dead churchmen."
"Have we hit a dead end with the documents?"
"There are some interesting things in what I've read and there are some larger documents I still need to scour."
"Anything we can use? Because it's feeling like a dead end to me."
"One major document is a kind of diary by a low level priest. He calls himself one of the bagarozzi."
"Beetles?" My Italian was a rusty but that word was easy. Except I wasn't sure about the reference. "He calls himself a beetle?"
"The Italians call them black beetles. The priests, the clerics who do the Vatican's daily business. You see them all over the city. Dressed in black from head to toe. Up one street and down another, they're all over the place. Like a crew of black beetles scurrying through the streets."
"Clever name. Italians are good at that. So, what's the bagarozzo's significance?"
"He describes the plot to murder the Pope," Hollister said and gave me a knowing look. "Helmut really did have his hands on something hot. It's amazing."
Bouncy brought our food and Hollister remained silent until the waiter was out of earshot.
"Whoever wrote this knew what those men were up to. He lists details."
"Yes, but..."
"You're still wondering how to connect this with Helmut's death."
"I usually follow the money, so to speak. It doesn't seem to me that anyone stands to lose or gain much with this information. But conspiracy nuts would love it."
"Is it possible that some pious fanatic thinks this information could destroy the Church? A person like that would think there's a lot to be lost if the documents were made public and a lot to gain if they're not." Hollister's eyes gleamed with his desire to find a connection between Helmut's death and the documents.
"Anything is possible. But, killing someone... that's the ultimate step. There's either got to be something very personal going on or something big at stake. Somebody's got to have a lot invested in keeping those documents secret. A run of the mill fanatic doesn't take the time to plot a murder for hire and make it look like a mugging. Your garden variety fanatic would take a gun and do it himself." I was sorry I said that as soon at the last word slipped my lips. "I apologize. I didn't mean to be callous."
"I understand. You're into the case, you're enthusiastic. I want you to be excited about it. I'm hoping you'll see something in these documents that will spark an idea."
"So far, all we've got is a bagarozzo who details a murder plot. Who are the plotters? How believable is he? Even more important, why didn't he warn the Pope or the authorities?"
"He claims he wasn't sure that what he'd heard was true until it was done. He couldn't believe it was real. When it actually happened, he says he was stunned. Then frightened out of his mind that they'd kill him if he said anything."
"Okay. He was probably too scared to tell anyone until they were all dead or unable to touch him. But why reveal anything now?"
"Maybe his conscience bothered him. Maybe he's just dedicated to the truth even if no one pays for their deeds."
"Who does he implicate?" I was still skeptical about connecting this to Helmut's death but I had to explore possibilities.
"The names are where it gets interesting. To me, anyway." Hollister took a forkful of omelet and savored the taste. He closed his eyes a moment then looked at me and smiled sadly. "Helmut loved omelets. I'd make him one every Sunday."
I bit into my turkey burger and allowed him to enjoy his memories. He probably had a difficult time conjuring up any good ones right now.
"Well," Hollister said breaking his reverie, "the names of the plotters are intriguing. From what I already know the bagarozzo's list sounds believable to me."
"And? They are?"
"Archbishop Marcinkus. It's not surprising to see him mentioned. So many others point the finger at him and that lends credibility."
"Okay." I held my skepticism to myself. Just because the black beetle mentioned the archbishop didn't mean squat to me. The name could have been added for the express purpose of making this document seem consistent with other theories.
"Did you know he was originally from Chicago? Marcinkus. He even went back there to work for a while after his disgrace with the Vatican bank."
"Didn't know that, but I wasn't wrapped up in that scandal."
"The interesting thing is that another of the plotters also had a Chicago connection. Cardinal Cody."
"Interesting but..."
"The Vatican's Secretary of State, Cardinal Villot is mentioned. There was also someone from P2, Archbishop Giovanni Martuzzi. He had connections to Licio Gelli, a financier and a big P2 man himself."
"Helmut mentioned P2 when he called me that morning. Truthfully, I don't know what it is."
"Propaganda Due is what it stands for and it's a shady Italian Masonic group. It was officially put out of business in 1976 but they say it operated covertly until 1981. If it was a covert organization, I have no doubt it still exists."
"But you can't be sure."
"It included some of the biggest names in Italian political, cultural, and economic affairs among its members. These are not people who fade away when told to do so by a government or a hierarchy they care nothing about. P2 was considered a shadow government in Italy for years. Who's to say they aren't still operating in Italy and elsewhere?" Hollister said.
"You're thinking they don't want word to get around about their possible participation in the plot?"
"Well..."
"Doesn't quite make sense. They supposedly don't exist anymore. So what if people suspect they were involved? So what if they actually know?" I asked
"On the surface you're right. But, think about it. There were some highly placed people in P2 and some of them are still alive."
"They'd have to have a long reach to harm Helmut. All the way from Italy," I said. "Can't say I'm buying the P2 story. The source has got to be closer to home. I like the Chicago connection. But they're all dead."
"The big names, yes. But what about possible assistants? The bagarozzo who produced this diary was an assistant to Villot, I think. They all had them."
"But even the bagarozzo wasn't sure about what he'd heard. Not until after the Pope had died. These assistants were all too low on the totem pole to be included in anything," I said.
"True."
"And would any of the big shots really want to risk having some flunky know what was really going on? Maybe one of the assistants would grow a conscience and the whole plot would be blown to hell and all their careers along with it."
"They could at least verify the truth of these documents," Hollister offered.
"If they knew anything. Which we both know they probably didn't. If they did know something, what would motivate them to tell the truth thirty years later?"
"You never know, Marco. Anything is possible."
"Does the bagarozzo give any indication who any of the assistants were?"
"No," Hollister said sounding genuinely sad. "It would be very difficult to find out who assisted whom thirty years ago. The Vatican guards its records with a ferocity you can't imagine."
Things looked bleak.
"I was really hoping these documents would tell us more," Hollister said. "Helmut was so certain."
"Is it possible Helmut knew something that isn't easy for us to see in the documents? Are there are other documents? Maybe we're missing something."
"Anything is possible."
"Did you figure out why he named the files after the bridge?" I asked.
"We got talking about P2 and I forgot to tell you." Hollister took a sip of his coffee and patted his lips with his napkin. "According to the bagarozzo, the conspirators met at a cafe on the other side of the Bridge of Four Heads in Rome. It's not a well traveled place. I suppose it made the perfect spot for a clandestine meeting."
"Send me the rest of the names you culled. I'll add them to Olga's research. She's good at background stuff like that."
"I'll get through all the documents and have a more complete list of names for you." He finished off the last of his omelet.
Bouncy was sharp and zipped over to the table the minute he thought we were through.
"Dessert? The chocolate cake is dreamy today," he crooned as if he'd just fallen in love. I was certain that neither chocolate nor any other flavor cake ever touched his lips. With a shape like his, sweets were not usually on the menu.
"What about it, Tim? They have great stuff here," I said.
"No, no. I'd better not."
"Just the check." I glanced up at Bouncy who looked at me as though he were disappointed I'd be leaving.
"You don't think these documents amount to much, do you, Marco?"
"Hard to say, Tim. Doesn't sound like they contain anything worth killing over. Of course, to me, there isn't much worth killing over. If you're right, and that information is why Helmut was killed, then it means something to somebody. But it's a big 'if' right now."
"I haven't changed my mind. This," he patted the papers and notes, "is the reason he died. I'm certain of it."
"Then we have to figure out who wants that information to go away."
***
Hollister walked with me as far as my office and promised again to drop off the list. I watched him shuffle away and noticed how bent over he was as he moved. I knew the walk. Grief bore down on him. He was strong but even the strongest people can be undone by grief. I resolved again to get to the bottom of the case.
I got into the rickety elevator. For some reason, the thought of taking the stairs wasn't so appealing. Maybe I didn't feel as good as I'd pretended.
"Boss is back from lunch. Now hired help can be having time to eat?" Olga looked at me as if I was on the verge of collapse. "You ar
e feeling not so hot?"
"Go have lunch. I'll be fine." I opened the door to my office wanting peace and solitude.
"I am coming back soon. Since they are knocking you on head, there is more work to do."
"Well," I said, not understanding why my being hit on the head should increase her work, "I'll have even more work for you this afternoon. Mr. Hollister is bringing in a list of names. I need some deep research."
"Is my specialty," she said as she waddled out the door.
I sat in my comfy desk chair and lay back against it, forgetting the bump on my head. I winced, sat up sharply, then lay back, more gently this time.
Silence.
Not even a siren destroyed the moment. I felt the thoughts and concerns of the day slide away and I drifted into that state between sleep and wakefulness. It was a pleasant sensation, like rocking in a boat tethered to a dock, the sun high in the sky, a breeze caressing my skin. The gentle movement of the boat buoyed me as the water rocked it like a cradle.
After a while the phone warbled and for once I was grateful for Olga's insistence on that gentle ring tone.
"Fontana," I answered, the near-sleep state slurring my voice.
"Mr. Fontana, this is Jane Palmer. I have some information."
Chapter 21
"I'm leaving town, Mr. Fontana. And..." Palmer cleared her throat.
"Did Quinn harm you?"
"No. Nothing like that. I just can't work for the man any longer."
"Does he know you're leaving?" I already knew the answer. From her breathing and tone of voice, I knew she was clearing out before he found out.
"I'm moving back to New York. I've had... job offers. My family is there and that's where my heart is." I heard the sound of a boarding call in the background.
"You haven't told him, have you?"
"I left a letter. I don't want to be there when he finds it."
"You're doing the right thing. But, why tell me?"
"I heard Quinn planning something... He's insane. Someone will get hurt."
"I'm listening."
"I overheard a phone conversation Quinn had. Something about giving someone a warning. But it was the way he wanted the message delivered. He said he wanted to be sure the person would never be able to go through with whatever it was. He said he'd paid good money and expected results."
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