"Did you ask him who'd sent him to you? I mean why would he pick you out?"
"I assumed it was Seamus. I know a lot of guys. They have rough neighborhoods where I come from, too. I grew up in one. You learn quick who can get things done. Seamus doesn't like to get his hands dirty." Jared squirmed now.
"You think Seamus knew the guy?"
"Probably not. I think the guy had been asking around for a while. Kind've indirectly. Eventually somebody turned him on to Seamus. Seamus threw him my way."
"So Scanlan had nothing to do with any of this?"
"That's a laugh. Seamus is a coward and a bully. He only likes to hit people like me. There's nothin' inside him but sawdust. He brings his dirty work to other people. Like with that stranger."
"Then you hooked the stranger up with Colt? And that was the end of it."
"I washed my hands. I've gotten beyond my background. I'm in design now. I've made a better life for myself. Seamus is the one who dragged me to places like Stella's and made me deal with people like that. I never wanted to bother with that ever again." He didn't look at me when he said this.
"That's not what Colt said." I stared at Jared.
"He's lying. He wants to drag me down." Again refusing to look me in the eye.
"Colt says he's in love with you. Did you know that?"
"He's crazy."
"That's why he told you who the target was. Remember now?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Let me refresh your memory. Colt knew you were in love with Helmut. So, he told you Helmut was the target. He thought you'd want to warn Helmut."
"No. Colt didn't tell me anything."
"If you ask me, Colt really does love you. To give you that information even though it could help his rival. Colt has it bad for you."
"He's unbalanced. You can't believe anything he says."
"Colt told you and you didn't warn Helmut. Instead of warning him, you got in touch with the shooter and told him to shake Helmut up really good. Maybe you even asked him to kill Helmut."
"I'd never do that!" Tears spilled over onto Jared's cheeks as he protested. "I loved Helmut. I loved him. I'd have done anything for him. But he wouldn't leave that old man. He was in love with me but he loved Hollister, too. He could never even think about leaving him. No matter how much he loved me."
"So you told Little B to kill him."
"Why would I do that? I loved Helmut. I still love him." Jared cried openly now, his words tangled in tears and sobs.
"You didn't tell Little B to kill Helmut? You didn't tell Little B anything?"
"I'd never want him to kill Helmut. Then there'd never be a chance."
"You wanted him hurt though. Right? You told Little B to hurt him."
"I never told him anything. You can't prove I said anything."
"You were hurting. You felt abandoned. Helmut said he loved you. But he didn't mean it."
"He did love me. It wasn't just words."
"But he wouldn't come through for you. Wouldn't leave Hollister for you."
"He told me I made him happy."
"But..." I coaxed.
"But Hollister made him happier. That hurt. You know? It hurt me."
"So you wanted to hurt him back. Really hurt him. Maybe kill him?"
"Hurt not kill. There's a difference. I wanted him hurt not dead. Maybe it was that guy in Stella's. Maybe he wanted Helmut dead and he told Little B."
"The stranger never hinted at that to you?"
"Why would he? Little B came to me later looking for Colt. He wanted to get paid. He bragged to me how he'd done what I..." Jared stopped.
"Don't stop now. You were just gonna admit what you did."
"I didn't do anything. You can't prove anything."
"Little B came bragging to you that he'd done what you asked. He'd hurt Helmut. Hurt him real good. Right?"
"No!"
"That's what happened isn't it? It's easy to find out."
"How? Little B is..." He stopped again. There was no way he could know Little B was dead.
"Little B is dead. That what you were going to say?"
"I didn't know Helmut was dead until I saw it on the news." Jared drew in a breath and sobbed. "Then... it was too late and I wanted Little B to pay. I wanted them both to pay. Little B and the creep who hired him."
"Did you kill Little B?"
"When I saw Colt I had a fit. I told him I wanted to kill Little B, make him pay for what he did. But I didn't kill him."
"How'd you know he was dead, then?"
"I... I didn't... Colt... Colt must've told me."
"No, Colt didn't know where to find you. He didn't know Little B was dead. You killed him. Somebody told you where to find him and you killed him."
"I..."
"You're in deep shit here, Jared. The police don't take kindly to murder for hire." I knew he wasn't the only player in the game. I had to find out who the stranger was. "If you told me more about the stranger, maybe that'll help your case."
"I don't know what else to tell you." Jared's voice was low and soft. He was broken. The reality of his part in Helmut's death was dawning on him.
"Anything might help. Think. His voice. Did you see anything at all familiar about him? The way he handled himself. What he was drinking?"
"He had a glass of wine. He shook my hand when we met. He wore a ring but not a wedding ring. There was a scar on his hand. An old scar on the back of his hand."
"A scar." That sounded familiar. But I couldn't remember right then where I'd seen it. "Did he give you a name?"
"Augie. Said his name was Augie. And when he got up from the barstool, he acted like he was in pain. That's all I remember."
Unfortunately that was enough. I remembered now. And it didn't make me happy.
Chapter 38
My office was oddly still. Sundays were always quiet but today the silence was woven of something stronger, sadder, heavier. From what Jared and Colt had told me, I was certain I knew who the stranger was and who'd ultimately been responsible for Helmut's death. What I didn't know was whether or not he'd acted alone.
I needed one more piece of information before I settled the case and gave it to the authorities. I called the one person who could help me with that.
The phone felt like a lead weight in my hand. I didn't want to destroy people's dreams and make a ruin of their lives. But no one has the luxury to operate under the illusion that life is fair. If they thought so, they were in for a horrible surprise.
Tapping in the numbers and waiting for him to answer seemed to take forever. "Kusek." His voice was a buttery whisper.
"It's Marco," I said.
"Marco," Kusek sounded exhausted, frightened. "I was about to call you. I've read the documents... I need to talk with you."
"I need some information from you, too."
"Why don't you meet me here at the Cathedral rectory?"
"When?"
"Now." There was a finality in his tone.
***
The unassuming, grey stone building sat short and squat in the shadow of the immense cathedral at its back. I approached slowly, carefully choosing the words I'd use, trying to subdue the feelings that had begun to well up inside me.
I rang the bell and a small, pale attendant came to the door. I told him the Monsignor had called me to a meeting and he led me to a waiting area.
After a moment, he returned to show me to the Monsignor's quarters on the second floor. The inside of the building was elegant. Wood paneling, crown moldings, the works. The oak staircase was polished to a high gloss and the carpeting was a rich sage color. We climbed the stairs noiselessly and the attendant left me at a tall, solemn-looking oak door.
I knocked and before my knuckles left the wood, Kusek opened the door. He looked tired. His eyes red, his hair uncombed, and his face unshaved. Even disheveled, he was still one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen. His unkempt condition added a vulnerability that was not usually
present.
"Marco, I've got so much to tell you. So much I need to say. The documents have been a revelation. I'm still reeling."
He waved me into his suite and shut the door. The main room was large, nicely furnished, and painted in restful colors. There was a sofa, a couple of soft chairs, a desk with a computer, a flat panel television, sound equipment, and more. The walls were hung with paintings and photographs. Doors led to several other rooms in the apartment.
Kusek sat on the sofa as if he were weighted down. Papers were strewn everywhere. The soft yellow light creating a glow around Kusek made him appear ethereal. But he also looked drained and defeated.
"Have a seat." He waved to the chairs.
I was too edgy to sit but I did. None of this would be easy.
"I've got a few questions for you, Tad." I felt a deep pang of sadness. "But you said you had things to tell me."
"Ask your questions. What I've got to say will take a while." The spark of animation that had filled him previously was absent now.
"I've talked to a lot of people the last few days," I said and paused. "There's no easy way to put this, Tad."
He looked at me, then away. He must've known what I would say.
"You hired someone to scare Brandt. That much is clear. What I want to know is if you took it a step further."
"I must've left an easy trail. It's not something I ever dreamed of doing."
"You hid your tracks fairly well. But little things eventually added up. Like your accent. Sometimes people think you're foreign, don't they?"
Tad said nothing.
"That Chicago accent and whatever little flourishes you picked up in Italy gives some people the impression you have a foreign accent. And the ring and that scar on your hand. They got noticed."
"I thought I'd covered all the bases. All amateurs think so, don't they?"
"And that pain in your back. The one that makes you wince and limp sometimes. I'd noticed but it never fully registered."
"From the accident. The one I told you about. That accident was my salvation and my undoing. Funny how things work out."
"You used the name Augie. Didn't register either at first, but it made sense eventually."
"You even recognized that name?"
"I remembered it was your grandfather's name. I'll bet no one ever called him Augie."
"Oh." He hung his head and I heard him choking back tears.
"Did you, Tad?"
"Did I...?" He looked up, eyes red.
"Did you ask the kid to kill Brandt?"
"No. No." He shuddered. "I didn't want Brandt to die. I wanted him scared off his project. I'd sent him an e-mail threat knowing the kid would follow up with the attack."
He hunched over now, head down, talking to the ground. A few tears fell, making a small pocking sound on a sheet of paper on the floor.
"He wasn't supposed to hurt him. Just scare him." There was no anger in Kusek's voice, just remorse. He seemed resigned, acutely aware of his guilt, and ashamed. "But I have to take responsibility."
"One other question, Tad." Sadness blanketed me. "Was there anyone else in on this? Did anyone ask you to do this? Force you?"
"No. It was only me."
"The Cardinal didn't have a hand in this?"
"No." He took a deep breath. "I respected that man."
"Did he make you do this?"
"No, I did it. All myself. I felt sorry for Galante."
He paused, cleared his throat and shuddered as if he'd rid himself of something and regained his composure. He wiped his eyes and stood, then moved to his desk.
"G worried that Brandt was ruining his life with his books on the Pope's death. He'd said even though it was all lies, it might wipe out any chance he had to be elected pope. The first American pope."
I nodded.
"He's a good person. He can be arrogant, even imperious but he truly believes in the mission of the Church. He goes out of his way to help people. I owe him everything. And I'm not the only one. He believes it's his duty to help the poor and those in need." Kusek sat at his desk and faced me.
"So Galante had no part in this?" I felt there had to be more.
"He kept saying he wished Brandt would go away," Tad murmured. A fresh bout of tears overtook him. I let him cry. Eventually, he stopped and took hold of himself. "He hoped Brandt's work would quickly sink into obscurity. But it didn't. Brandt was a publicity hound. He kept things going. G never took action against Brandt, though. He cursed his own luck. For having been in Rome when John Paul the First died. Then having Brandt exploit the conspiracy theories and implicate people even without naming them. G became more depressed each day. It hurt to see him that way. I couldn't stand watching the man who'd saved my life suffering from Brandt's poisonous treatment."
"So you decided to do something about it?"
"I didn't come to it lightly. I saw G going downhill, saw his dreams evaporating. I had to do something," he said. "He gave me my life back. You understand? I owed him."
"How did you know what to do?"
"I'd heard about Stella's indirectly from Scanlan. I overheard a conversation in my outer office. Scanlan thought I was away. He tried to convince Tony that Stella's wasn't a bad place. I heard Tony say Stella's was filled with druggies and lowlife types. I remember he said you could get anything you wanted there. I knew it was probably the opportunity I was looking for."
I shook my head. I felt for him and I felt horrified.
"Then you came along," he continued. "You appeared and something inside me changed again. I began regretting everything I'd ever done. Every step I'd taken, every choice I'd made up until I met you. Especially hiring that man. But mostly not being myself." He remained silent, his hands covering his face. "Then you asked me to read those documents."
"And?"
"That changed everything again. It was as if I was standing on sand. My whole world was a sham. I'd managed to make it worse by dirtying my hands in the service of someone who didn't deserve it."
"What're you saying, Tad? What did you read in those documents? I went over them, Hollister went through them. Neither of us found anything that made sense."
"You didn't know what to look for. I'd heard G tell stories of his years in Rome a thousand times. Each time he added more details, more names. He told me about a nickname Cody and his friends had for him, Piccolo Titta. When I read the documents, it made sense."
"I don't understand," I said.
"Titta refers to Mastro Titta, a Nineteenth Century Papal executioner in Rome who was never allowed to cross the bridge from Trastevere into Rome unless he was going to do his job. In the documents, the men gathered at the Bridge of the Four Heads referred to a Piccolo Titta and said he helped them in their work. Who else could they have meant?"
I was beginning to get the picture and I didn't like it.
"G was one of the black beetles scurrying around Rome then, but he was more like a lethal spider. He'll undoubtedly say he was following orders, but he knew what those orders meant." Tad paused and shuddered. "No matter how wrongheaded you think someone is, you don't kill him. G must have been a zealot back then just like the men who plotted to assassinate the Pope. I'd never seen that side of him before. Not until I read those documents and then things made sense."
"Are you saying he had something to do with the death of the Pope?"
"He was like the bullet they fired. He brought the poison to the man on the inside. G helped poison the Pope's tea. The documents clearly say that Piccolo Titta was the go between. That no one would know what he was doing. He'd have been viewed as a messenger boy for Cody. He allowed the Pope to be poisoned that night. He did it and lived with it all these years."
"Son of a bitch." There was no joy in learning this. Especially seeing how it ripped Kusek apart.
"It's not something I can live with, Marco. Not now. Not ever. So, I had to tell you first." He pulled open a drawer as he spoke. "Galante has made a mockery of everything I ever believed
. I can't wear the collar any more."
I'd been watching his face but suddenly I noticed he had something in his hand. Something metallic, dull, and deadly.
"Tad." I rose from my chair and faced him over his desk.
"Don't worry. I feel good now, Marco. I've made a choice and I feel good about it. For once I'm doing something for myself."
"Tad. Put that away. Please," I kept my voice low and calm. "There's no need to do this. We can talk. We can have dinner and talk. Like we did..."
"But there is a need, Marco. I need to pay for what I did and I can't pay with prison. That wouldn't be enough." He held the gun to his head. The cold gray metal against his golden hair. His hand trembled as he moved, then his resolve took hold.
"Tad! Please. Don't do this." I moved toward him.
"G will know why. He'll have to remember that he saved me and he killed me."
"Put it down, Tad. Let's talk. Just a little more."
"There's nothing left to say, Marco."
I reached over the desk trying to stop him. I felt my muscles tighten as I stretched.
His determination made him quicker. He placed the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger before I could do anything more.
The sound in that small space was deafening. His head exploded in red spray, spattering blood and brain everywhere. His body flew back throwing over the chair and spilling him onto the floor with a crash and a thud.
A millisecond later the silence was complete.
Chapter 39
I watched him approach. The sun was high overhead and he was just another elderly man in casual clothes making his way down the street. The sight of him was jarring and satisfying at the same time. Galante didn't look like the embodiment of evil. Didn't look like much of anything to tell the truth. Just a broken old man whose dreams had just been thrown down a sewer.
He'd been obstinate and dismissive when I confronted him after Kusek's death. But faced with the documents and with what I'd learned from Kusek, he had little choice but to agree to terms. He agreed to resign claiming poor health. It was either that or public humiliation and condemnation or worse. He chose the course of least resistance for himself and for the institution he professed to love.
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