Murder on Camac

by Joseph R. G. Demarco

  "Deal," Tad said coming to a stop. "Here we are." He pushed open a door.

  The windowless pastel green room had several paintings of pastoral scenes on the walls. The conference table was made of honey-colored wood and on it was a tray with bottled water and several glasses.

  "Do me one favor." He smiled mischievously.

  "What's that?"

  "I know this doesn't fit your personal views or anything, but as a favor to me..." He teased with a look.

  "What? You want me to kiss his ring?"

  "Nothing like that. Well, something like that. Could you address him as 'Your Eminence'? It'll get you off on the right foot with him. Make him happy and you'll get to ask your questions."

  Tad was matter of fact and not apprehensive, but I detected a note of something other than procedural advice in what he'd said. As if my potential lack of cooperation in even a small detail could have consequences.

  "Just remember, I'm doing it for you." I smiled. "And for my Aunt Yolanda. She called to make sure I behaved myself around you guys. She knows all about this case."

  "Thanks for understanding," he said. "And I haven't forgotten about reading the documents."

  I sat facing the door, which Tad closed quietly behind him, and the silence felt good. I needed to gather my thoughts. I had memorized details of the supposed plot against John Paul the First, and knew all the key players. I wanted to see what Galante knew or how he might slip up in pretending not to know. If he allowed me to get that far. The thoughts and facts swirled through my head and I closed my eyes.

  Before long there was a soft knock at the door. I stood, shaking off the sleepiness which had begun to spin its web around me.

  Tad entered followed by Galante. The squat, grandfather of a man filled the room with his presence, obviously used to being the center of attention. But there was something contradictory about him. The genial grandfather, smiling, laughing, and making you feel good was the first impression he gave. He brightened the room with that persona. At the same time, however, there was an air of condescension about him, as if he were deigning to do something for the little people. That contradiction swirled about him like dust motes.

  The peaceful silence was shattered by the disturbing sound of the Cardinal's presence.

  Today he dressed in a plain black clerical suit, Roman collar, with not a hint of scarlet. The severe cut of the suit presented an incongruous contrast with his plump, avuncular face and brilliant white hair.

  Tad followed him, not obsequiously but not with the absolute confidence I'd seen in him earlier.

  "You've met, I know, but this time I'll make it formal.... Allow me to introduce His Eminence Carlo Cardinal Galante."

  I extended my hand and inclined my head slightly, as much deference as I was willing to offer.

  "Your Eminence," I said. It nearly stuck in my throat but I said it.

  "Your Eminence, this is Mr. Marco Fontana."

  "Good to see you again." He shook my hand. His pudgy hand had the firm grip I remembered from that day in Tad's office. He held on just long enough to show this was a favor he was doing and not an obligation.

  "I don't know about you, Mr. Fontana, but I've got to sit. The knee surgery was successful but they didn't tell me how painful it would be." His smile was broad and warm, but didn't make it to his eyes.

  He placed a hand at my back gently pointing me to a chair.

  "Please have a seat, Mr. Fontana." He turned to Tad, nodded and said only, "Monsignor."

  At which point, Tad, his face solemn, gave a curt bow and left the room, pulling the door shut. I imagined him standing, like a sentry, outside.

  Galante, favoring his right leg, sat delicately in one of the chairs and exhaled a sigh of relief.

  "So much better. Now, young man, what can I do for you? I confess I don't have a lot of time but Tad... the Monsignor... is a wonderful assistant and asked that I speak with you. He's like my right arm, really. So, when he asks a favor, which is rare, how can I refuse? You have a powerful ally in him, Mr. Fontana." The smile again. But there was a disingenuous quality behind that smile.

  "He speaks of you in glowing terms, Your Eminence," I said. "He's a compassionate man. He'd like to see this situation resolved so people can get on with their lives."

  "The monsignor has a compassionate nature," he said, as if it were an unfortunate flaw. "He feels for the people he ministers to and that's not a bad thing for a priest." He delivered the line without much conviction.

  "He's lucky to have you as a patron. Also not a bad thing for a priest. You're a real power in the Church from what I understand, and a close advisor to the Pope." These guys are human, too, and love to think their importance is impressive to others. "My Aunt Yolanda will be thrilled to hear I had a personal meeting with you."

  "Please give her my regards." His smile was not as broad or as warm. "Flattery aside, I'm sure you didn't ask for this meeting so you could impress your aunt." Now, he was getting down to business and his persona tweaked itself ever so gently to the darker side of his personality. He glanced at his wristwatch.

  "That's right. I didn't." I produced my notebook, opened it, and took out a pen.

  "I understand you wish to discuss the unfortunate death of Mr. Brandt. Again," he emphasized the last word. Picking up one of the bottles of water, he offered it to me. I declined. He twisted off the cap and poured himself a glass. "I don't think I can add anything to what I've already said. But ask your questions. Let's get this out of the way."

  "I've heard you dismissed Mr. Brandt's work as just so much nonsense."

  "Not nonsense." He sipped some water. "Dangerous nonsense. His work is meant to further erode the confidence people have in the Church. After the unfortunate recent scandals, all the Church needs is some lunatic theory being given credence."

  "You didn't believe Brandt when he claimed to have new, more damning evidence?"

  "I gave his work the attention it deserved. That is to say, none." Galante sipped more water.

  "True. Why fan the flames of curiosity? That would only bring more attention to his accusations."

  "Exactly!" Galante said. "I refused to be an unwitting part of the promotional plan for his books."

  I made a show of flipping through some pages in my notebook.

  "Did you know you were mentioned in the latest documents? The ones he claimed had new information."

  I watched the Cardinal's face, his eyes, his body language. There was a slight and passing reaction. His eyes shifted, he pulled himself in defensively, ready for battle.

  "I can't imagine why, but I can't say I'm surprised."

  Now that was a lie. The signs were there in his eyes. Of course he was surprised. I'm certain he knew he was listed as a clerical functionary. But the mere appearance of his name as a small time flunky for one of the conspirators proved nothing. And he knew, that, too. Which made his reaction more interesting.

  "So you had some notion that your name might come up in documents? Is that why you aren't surprised?"

  "Not at all, Mr. Fontana. I am not surprised because Brandt searched for excuses to trap anyone and everyone in the snare he set. It didn't matter to him who he smeared. His real target was the Church itself, not any one individual or group. Don't you see?"

  "You're familiar with Seamus Scanlan?"

  "He works for us. Beyond that, I have no association with him."

  "You've never spoken with him about his work?"

  "I'll say this, Mr. Scanlan does his work well. What he does on his own time, is his own business. He's not a man I care to know very well."

  "Did you know a John Wren or a John Navarro?"

  "Wren? Mr. Wren works in Public Relations for us."

  "John Wren, not Peter. John worked in Rome assigned to Cardinal Villot at the same time you were there."

  "I don't recall." Galante's eyes drew down to a squint. He tried his best to conceal his lies. "Peter does have a brother, John, who is a bishop in some diocese
in Montana or Utah or somewhere like that. Whether he was in Rome, I have no idea."

  "What about John Navarro? Attached to Silvio Calvino. At exactly the same time as you and Wren."

  "No recollection. Mr. Fontana, your questions make no sense. What have these men to do with Brandt's death?"

  "You had a pretty heady assignment as a young priest." I said tacking away from my other direction.

  "Heady? Not really. My assignment to Rome was the same opportunity given to many seminarians and newly ordained priests."

  "You're being modest, Eminence." I smiled and took a bottle of water from the tray. "In Rome, you were assigned to Cardinal Cody of Chicago."

  "For the few times he visited. It wasn't a permanent assistantship. I had other duties."

  "But you had to stick with the Cardinal whenever he was in Rome?"

  "I don't see what this has to do with anything."

  "Cody was kind of controversial, if I remember correctly." I should remember since I'd just read a lot about him in Brandt's documents and on the Internet. "The man had money problems, was involved with the Vatican Bank, had what seemed to be a mistress, and was asked several times to resign. He was even reported to be on a list of Cardinals the new Pope, John Paul the First, was going to force to step down."

  "Rumor and hearsay," Galante snapped without looking at me. "The man was controversial because he demanded a lot of those who worked under him. He saw to it that things got done. Men of action, like Cardinal Cody, are often disliked, even despised. But that doesn't mean they..." He paused, then glanced at me. It felt to me as if he thought he'd said more than he wanted to.

  "You worked for him in Rome at the time John Paul the First was elected and died in office. Is that right?"

  "All right. And that proves...?"

  "That you were associated with Cardinal Cody when he and a group of others within the Church, like Cardinal Villot and Bishop Martuzzi, met to plot the Pope's death."

  "This is appalling." He glared at me. "I think, Mr. Fontana," he said and began, with some effort, to lift himself out of his chair. "I think, this interview..."

  "They met at the Bridge of Four Heads. Do you recall that name?"

  "I recall nothing of which you are speaking." He stood and grimaced with pain. "I've had enough of your vile insinuations. This interview is over."

  Like hell. I thumbed through my notebook.

  "The Bridge of Four Heads, Eminence, do you recall that? Did you assist Cody at those meetings?"

  "Paranoid, disgusting fantasy. What has this got to do with alleviating the grief of Brandt's friends? What good can come of your questions?"

  He straightened his back and stared at me imperiously. The grandfatherly image was submerged and he became a formidably angry and powerful man. His smile was replaced by a thin-lipped expression of disdain. The warmth he'd radiated on his entrance had become an icy wall of contempt.

  "Your confirmation that these men plotted to kill a pope would let Hollister know Brandt's death had some meaning. That his search for the truth wasn't in vain."

  The Cardinal peered at me. He twisted his episcopal ring a few times, then folded his hands.

  "I cannot confirm what I do not know. I cannot admit that lies are truth just so someone will feel comforted. Lies and the clouded judgment of a vengeful man are what Brandt has left his loved ones. I won't be complicit in continuing his deceitful fantasy."

  "You were there, Your Eminence. You knew those men. You watched them operate. You must have had some suspicions at the time."

  "I have no knowledge of plots. Nor am I aware of anyone who does."

  "Did you attend any of those meetings yourself? Is that why you're afraid to answer?"

  He raged silently. His face took on a rosy hue as his fierce gaze raked the room. He wanted to leave, anyone could see that, yet he couldn't make the move.

  "How dare you? How dare you malign my good name and that of others? What right have you?"

  "You're familiar with details of the plot those men devised. Isn't that right, Your Eminence?" I pushed.

  "You know nothing. Nothing!" He raised his voice and it was like the rumble of thunder. The storm was yet to break.

  "I have documents. They mention you. In detail. I know more than you think." Which is what I wanted him to think even though he was only peripherally mentioned. I needed to get under his skin.

  "You couldn't possibly have anything because there is nothing!" He bellowed like a wounded bull. "There is nothing to know. No plots were devised. No one was murdered." He pounded a fist on the table and the glasses jumped and clinked as if they'd been intimidated.

  I held his stare.

  He regained control in seconds, a huge feat considering his shuddering rage. The transformation was something to watch. Once again calm, Galante peered at me, his lips formed a mockery of a smile.

  "I'm sorry for you, Mr. Fontana." He turned toward the door. "I'm even sorrier for Hollister. He lived a lie even before he met Brandt. That lie was compounded because he felt he'd been rejected and abandoned by his Church. In truth, the Church never hurt him. He rejected the Church, he abandoned his vows. When he met someone who had presence and a connection to the media, Hollister did his saddest, dirtiest work. He filled Brandt's head with distorted ideas, connected him to deluded individuals who lived only to ruin the lives of others. He forced Brandt down the road which got him killed. Now he seeks comfort." He paused, turned toward me. "I can't give him any. He ruined his life and that of Brandt. The hell he created for himself will have to be his only comfort now."

  "Is that why you wanted Brandt silenced? Because he might ruin your life?"

  "I wanted no such thing." Galante fumed silently.

  "Is that it, Your Eminence? Were you afraid of losing everything? Losing your reputation. Maybe even losing that shot you imagine you have to become the next Pope."

  "I could no more silence anyone, than I can keep you from asking questions, Mr. Fontana. And if you knew anything about my life, you would know how wrong you are."

  "I know that some men never have enough power or control. Capturing high office is what they live for. An office like the papacy, for instance."

  "One does not choose the papacy. You don't set your sights on it as if it's some prize to collect. God chooses His servants. The Holy Spirit moves a conclave to decide. I could never get myself elected, no one can. The selection is in greater hands than ours."

  I knew this was false. The Papacy was as political as the Presidency. Men campaigned, made deals, and voted.

  "But you did want Brandt stopped. You wanted him and his work to go away."

  Galante snorted his contempt, opened the door and stormed out, hobbling along with his painful knees faster than I imagined he could. I saw Tad trailing behind Galante, his off-kilter stride emphasized by his speed. He never turned to look back at me.

  I felt sorry for Tad. He'd done me a favor and I'd gotten under Galante's skin. I'd have to make it up to him somehow. If he'd even talk to me after this.

  Chapter 32

  Stepping out of the Marriott, I wondered if Tad was waiting to whack me for turning his boss into a raving maniac. I wouldn't blame him. I'd really ticked off the Cardinal who would, no doubt, come down on Tad.

  Galante nearly slipped up. He said more in what he didn't say about the plotters. He'd also confirmed that John Wren was connected to Peter. It was clear he didn't like Scanlan but that could just have been an act. The interview didn't get me as far as I'd have liked.

  Navarro and Quinn were still on my list. But what I needed to do was find Jared and Scanlan.

  I couldn't drop my hunch that Scanlan was behind things. I wasn't buying Galante's story about not knowing Scanlan. He was too in control not to know him. That made me think there was something going on that might include Galante. Maybe he took advantage of his relationship with Scanlan. Connecting the Cardinal and Scanlan wasn't much of a stretch. It was all circumstantial but I couldn't escape conne
cting the two in my mind. Marginally linking them was easy. Putting them together as co-conspirators and figuring out how they did it would be the hard part.

  Both had a motive for wanting Brandt out of the way.

  Scanlan had lost Jared to Brandt and Scanlan didn't like to lose or seem weak. I had no doubt he'd do what he had to in order to keep what he assumed was his.

  Galante wanted Brandt silenced to avoid any hint of scandal, even an off the wall scandal few people believed. Talking to the Cardinal reinforced my impression of him as the kind of man who tightly controlled every aspect of his public image. He enjoyed being known as the American Pope and the shoo-in as successor to the current Pope.

  But violence made no sense in Galante's case. It would have served his purposes equally well to neutralize Brandt's work by discrediting him so thoroughly no one would take him seriously. I had a difficult time believing he would want Brandt murdered to solve his problems. The Cardinal was an ambitious man who was also careful and too smart to be sloppy.

  Compelling as the idea of a connection between Galante and Scanlan was, there was nothing solid binding them together. Not yet. Finding Scanlan would help.

  The key to Scanlan was Jared and the path to Jared was through Colt. All I had to do was find Colt.

  ***

  The cafe at Bubbles bustled at lunchtime but Dolph always had a table for me at the back. He knew I liked privacy in case I had business to do. Today I just needed time to think.

  The place was crowded and I recognized a few faces I knew. I waved, winked, and nodded hellos to them then pretended to concentrate on my menu. I already knew what I'd order. Bubble's kitchen makes the best cheesesteaks outside of South Philly and I was in the mood for the greasy mess that tasted like heaven. It came with salty shoestring fries which I needed like a hole in the head. Add a Coke and you've got a perfect coronary confection but one that sends your taste buds into overdrive. When the waiter arrived, that's just what I ordered.

  It meant spending more time on the treadmill, but I needed comfort food. The case made me feel like I was using a teaspoon to dig a hole in a concrete slab.