“My name is Davide Shape and this is Caterina Certaldo who works with Interpol. We are both assigned to an investigation in Rome.” This was the form of words that Caterina and Davide had cooked up to hide his ambiguous status. The description was accurate but not complete. “May I ask who your companion is?”
“She is Miriam …” Inma went blank. She remembered that she had never learnt Miriam’s last name. Now she felt stupid. She turned to Miriam and in English said, “They are from Interpol and want to know your name. I feel very silly not knowing your last one.” She grimaced slightly.
Miriam told Davide her full name, adding, “I’m an American citizen. Have we done something wrong?”
Caterina took over in English: “We would like to ask you some questions and to look around the house. We are trying to find a Michele Severino and a Noach Weizmann and his family who we understand are here. Do you know where we may find them?”
Caterina had decided to play it straight, well almost straight. She doubted they knew what was happening with either Weizmann or Severino. It might prove an advantage.
Inma and Miriam looked at each other. Miriam took the initiative by nodding slightly.
Inma started with: “Mr Severino and Mr Weizmann and his family were my guests along with Ms Smith here last weekend. They left on Sunday morning. If I understood their travel plans correctly they will now be in Rome and Israel. Does this help?”
“It does. Thank you. May I ask, was this a social or business reunion?”
“It was …” Inma stopped, thinking fast. If she said it was social it was easy to disprove. None had been to her place before, which could seem odd, but what should she say? She settled on: “We had business to discuss. Ms Smith’s sister Judith is Mr Weizmann’s wife, so we made a social gathering of it as well, along with their children.”
Davide was impressed. It was a clever answer, stating nothing obviously incorrect and without saying anything specific. He wondered how Caterina would proceed.
“May I ask, what was the nature of your business?”
“No, you may not, but it involved reinsurance, where I am a specialist in Madrid, and potential investment possibilities.”
Another clever answer, thought Davide. Again she had said everything and nothing.
“Might those investment possibilities have involved monies that came from the Vatican’s HolyPhone initiative?” pressed Caterina.
She was relentless. Davide could she why she was successful. But wasn’t she hard? He didn’t really like her behaviour, even though there was nothing overtly wrong.
Inma gasped. Miriam turned white. They stared at each other.
Caterina went for the jugular: “Do you know that both Monsignore Severino and Mr Weizmann were identified at Barajas?”
She said no more. Her words had their effect.
Miriam turned to Inma and then back to Caterina before saying, “Might I talk with my partner in private for a few minutes?”
Inma jumped at her mention of partner, more in surprise than anything, though an element of quiet delight was discernible to Miriam.
“You may, if we may look round the house and garden? Please will you stay in this room?”
“Yes,” accepted Miriam.
The policeman checked outside. Caterina investigated upstairs whilst Davide searched downstairs. They left Miriam and Inma together.
“You said partner? Did you mean it?” whispered Inma.
“Yes, but focus, Inma, focus — and not on us in bed, please. Something’s wrong. They know a lot but perhaps not everything. We may have a chance to cooperate. Given that we each want out, this might be our opportunity. Shall we try to take it and offer some form of cooperation?”
“You are as tough as me, you wonderful partner. Yet you’re right. I can’t concentrate. You have rattled my hormones. You take the lead. I’ll try to do whatever you can arrange.”
They hung onto each other.
Some while later Davide returned with a tablet and a laptop. Shortly after Caterina came back with a bright flush on her face and with an iPad.
Miriam began tentatively: “Is there some way we might be able to assist you?”
“That depends,” responded Caterina. “Help with what?”
Again Davide was struck by how aggressive Caterina could be. Not pleasant. He was glad he wasn’t in the police. He had once seen the same in Conor.
“We do know something about the Santofonino. If we share what we know, would that help us?”
“It might. Would you be prepared to come to Rome to assist us? It would not cost you, other than time.”
Miriam made a decision, hoping it was the right one, and that Inma would agree.
“We will if we can have some assurances …” She trailed off.
Assurances about what? Those were only possible if they admitted something and Miriam did not want to do that until she knew the implications of what she might be admitting.
Surprisingly, Caterina was more sympathetic than Davide expected, saying, “If you cooperate and we believe this is to the best of your ability, I think we can provide the reassurances you would like. Now, if you still agree, I suggest that you go dress for travelling and pack for at least several days.”
At the mention of dressing all three women looked embarrassed. Davide wondered why.
Tuesday, Barajas, Madrid
They had made good time back from Yuste in the two police cars, though it had taken rather longer to leave than Caterina or Davide had expected. Ms Smith had been ready quickly, which was perhaps not surprising given that she was already travelling. She came down with hand luggage and a small suitcase, asking about her iPad.
“Is this it?” replied Davide, holding one up in a silver case.
“Yes, that looks like mine.”
“Would you object if I took a copy of its contents?”
When she looked as if she might do so, Caterina stepped in with: “Anything that helps us may help you; conversely, anything that inhibits us could count against you.”
Miriam shrugged, more in defeat than agreement.
“If you must. But can I have it back for travelling?”
She did not like to think of what was on there, though she was fairly sure it was pretty innocuous, except for what she had downloaded for the flights to and from Tel Aviv. She used the iPad mostly for consuming books, movies, TV and browsing the Internet. She did not think there was anything incriminating on it … except that photo of Inma she had taken this morning. Ouch! Well it was too late to worry; Davide was already attaching it to a laptop.
“May Davide do the same for the Condesa’s tablet and Toshiba? Also, would you hand over your mobile phones?”
Caterina had finally remembered to ask this and was about to go to find the Condesa to obtain hers when Ms Smith replied tartly: “You’ll have to ask the Condesa yourself. I can’t answer for her.”
That gave a second reason for finding the Condesa and Caterina hoped she’d not been making any phone calls. She went upstairs to discover the Condesa in a most un-ladylike state.
Inma had known her bedroom was a mess but not how much. When she’d seen their underwear, some of it definitely risqué at the least, scattered all across the room, she knew why the policewoman had blushed. She had spent some minutes tidying and gathering. This could not be left for the house-keeper to find.
Once finished she commenced packing but realised that all she had were her old-lifestyle clothes, which Miriam disparagingly if accurately referred to as her tents. She did not want to wear these anymore but she possessed nothing else. Inma burst into tears of frustration and worry.
Only a couple of hours earlier she and Miriam had been making plans without a care in the world. Now they were going to Italy in the care of the police. Should she call her lawyer or not? She didn’t know. Was this the end of everything with Miriam? Inma restarted weeping.
This was how Caterina found her. She had not been particularly kind when she sharp
ly suggested that the Condesa pull herself together like the grown woman she was. That shook Inma, but at least she stopped weeping and made an effort to organise herself.
In fact it shocked Caterina as well. She didn’t normally consider herself a nasty person but she had heard an edge in her own voice. She was uncertain why. Was it envy of this impressive house? Was it this pathetic blob of a middle-aged woman with a horse-like face whose most intimate garments, most unsuitable if that brown dress covered a similarly shaped body, should be in the arms of a striking, fit-looking American blonde who was anything but a blob? Was Caterina offended by two women being together? She did not think it was the latter; after all her best friend Emilia liked men and women. Well, grown up boys or girls was more accurate. She had looked on as the Condesa finally finished packing. Remarkably, her luggage was sensibly practical. What had all the fuss been about?
Back downstairs, Inma called her housekeeper before closing up the house. Eventually they got into the cars.
Caterina could bear the Condesa no longer. She agreed with Davide that he would accompany her as he spoke Spanish and she did not. Caterina climbed in besides Miriam, who seemed surprisingly composed. Might she extract something along the road back? No. The only conversation with Ms Smith had been an enquiry about her sister Judith and the boys. Caterina decided not to tell her anything. Instead they remained in an aggressive silence throughout the rest of the journey.
It was not long after five o’clock when they arrived at Terminal 4. Caterina knew from a short telephone conversation with Conor that they were booked on a flight sometime after seven. She prayed it was not Iberia again. She was starving and another Iberia flight without food or drink would make her feel dreadful.
They went through to the room, finding Conor and Pedro on their phones. Conor waved them to seats. To Caterina’s surprise, and Ms Smith’s – as Caterina persisted on calling her – they heard Davide address the Condesa as Inma as well as inviting her to sit down, enquiring whether she would like anything to drink. Even more unexpectedly, Inma smiled at Davide, asking for a Coke. Caterina felt obliged to make the same offer to Ms Smith.
Conor finished his call and turned to the recent arrivals. Before she could say anything, Davide spoke.
“Inma, this is the senior Interpol person, Conor Laoghaire. Conor, may I present to you the Condesa Inmaculada Concepción de Arenas de Ávila, which is such a mouthful that she most generously suggested we just call her Inma. With Caterina is Ms Miriam Smith, Judith Weizmann’s sister who is Noach Weizmann’s wife. Caterina has both their passports and mobiles. They have agreed to accompany us to Rome, at our cost for travelling there and back, and have permitted us to take copies of their laptops, tablets and phones, which I have already done.”
Everybody knew most of this but it was worth reminding them about who had agreed to what.
Conor greeted the Condesa as Inma and Miriam as Ms Smith, suggesting that once Pedro finished his call they should head to the boarding area.
“The good news is that we are all travelling in business, in an area where the spare seat will not have another passenger. I suggest that our guests take the window seats, not that there is anywhere to run to, except the lavatory.” He alone smiled.
“In Rome, as our guests, you will be staying in a small hotel suite. It has a shared sitting room. If that is not acceptable we can change the room reservations. For your information you will have a guard outside the suite. You must be accompanied if you wish to go out, but please confirm with me, via the guard, where you are going if you do wish to leave the suite.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Wednesday, Central Rome
Inma and Miriam had slept together, but with none of the passions of the previous night. Both were upset and anxious. They had talked to each other for an hour or so before both fell heavily asleep from the excess of emotions they had experienced over the past two days.
After a late room-service breakfast Inma started to look apprehensive again.
“What is it, Inma? Are you worrying about getting our stories straight? I’m not sure that it makes much difference. I suggest waiting to see what happens. Sometimes it is better to wait and do nothing than to worry and overreact.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s my clothing. What I didn’t tell you was how the unpleasant Australian lady came into my bedroom yesterday and found me in tears. I couldn’t admit it was because I had realised that all I had to pack were the very clothes that you hate and that I’m now beginning to hate.”
“Oh Inma! Why are you so silly? Where are we? Yes, central Rome. I‘ve never been here before but I know the clothes will be wonderful and probably as wonderfully expensive. Let’s test what Mr Laoghaire said and see if we can do a little shopping. We have our purses and credit cards.”
She went to the door and made the request. After a brief conversation she was told they could but would they please be back by 1 p.m. to meet Mr Laoghaire.
“We have permission to go shopping,” chirped Miriam, strangely cheered by the prospect.
“I’ll still have to wear an old dress but at least I have something good to wear underneath. I brought what you bought me seeing that I had worn them for only an hour or so, if that.”
“Inma, Inma! You can’t possibly wear that sort of underwear when you are trying on clothes. Use your old ones and our first stop should be some sensible but nice underwear, followed by some jeans, a couple of blouses and anything else that takes our fancy. Oh, and some good Italian shoes, though they will likely cost a bomb.”
The next hours were fun. The underwear shop was not first. Instead it was a smart jeans shop where the assistants positively cooed when they saw Inma out of her brown dress. A hasty T-shirt purchase was required and they left with Inma in white jeans along with pairs of black and traditional blue ones in a smart bag, all three figure-hugging. After that they bought a couple of good blouses and a man’s shirt that looked wickedly good on Inma, so much so that she insisted on wearing it over the T-shirt. Shoes followed, and took time. But both bought ones they liked at the expected hideous prices. Finally they found a lingerie store that provided everything sensible they needed and more.
While heading back to the hotel Inma saw a shop with leather jackets. Despite Miriam trying to prevent her, Inma insisted. Thirty minutes later both were wearing exquisitely-cut, though very different, leather jackets, with each being worth a mortgage.
“If I’m going to end up in court I want to look good,” was Inma’s attitude as she paid for both. “I think I would, no?”
Miriam could only agree. Now it was Inma’s enthusiasm that proved infectious.
By the time they headed for the hotel they were late. Luckily Conor was too: crossing Rome the traffic was slow. As they waited apprehensively they also congratulated each other. Inma looked totally different and Miriam loved her new jacket. It was so smooth and luxurious that she could not believe it possible, and in a shade of blue that she adored.
There was a knock on the door. Miriam opened it to face the expected Mr Laoghaire. Within seconds their good humour was damped.
Conor entered the suite. What he saw was not what he expected. Ms Smith looked much the same as yesterday, physically taut like a runner but with a lovely blue jacket on over a white blouse. In contrast the Condesa was another woman. Gone was the lump of Caterina’s description and the flight the previous day. The face was the same, rectangular and severe. But without the brown dress of the flight she was transformed. In white jeans, a smart top, and a black leather jacket she could have stepped out of any limousine in Paris, New York or Rome. His mind boggled as he gawked at her.
“You like the new appearance?” enquired Miriam, noticing his expression, feeling pleased with what she had wrought in a couple of hours and by his expression.
Conor managed to rise to his best Irish heights: “The Condesa looks truly wonderful, like a new person. It suits you well.”
Inma almost preened.
&nb
sp; “As I instructed your nice Davide, please drop my full name and title. Inma is sufficient. And forget the Ms Smiths. She is Miriam.”
“I hope, in spite of the circumstances, you will feel able to call me Conor?”
He wanted to smile in welcome but felt it better not to.
His instinct proved right when Miriam responded with, “I don’t feel comfortable being so informal with authority. I understand what Inma suggests. I will conform, but not happily — at least until you show us that you will give us credit for our cooperation.”
Conor mentally stepped back. These might not be the pushovers he thought they would be. It seemed Davide was a better judge than Caterina. Interesting. That was surprising.
“How should we proceed? I would like to ask many questions. We can do this in a confrontational manner or a cooperative one. I would prefer the latter.
“That said, let me tell you what we know and surmise. No, I’m not going to explain or differentiate between the two. First, Miriam, let me explain that your sister did not return to Israel. Instead she flew to the States with your nephews.”
Miriam gasped in surprise: “When?”
“Yesterday morning. Continuing to show my hand, her husband has sought protection with El Al and its hangers-on at Barajas. He did this and left his wife and children to fend for themselves.”
“Typical!”
“He remains in Madrid airport, unable to travel, and is now the subject of a diplomatic dispute.”
“Your other — is colleague the right description? — is Michele Severino. He is also back in Rome, in preventative custody.
“Now, what’s been going on? Will you volunteer to tell me? If you do, as my colleagues have said and if what you tell us is found to be accurate, we may be able to come to some deal. Anything you tell me today I will undertake will not be used against you.”
Conor knew this was correct but hardly the whole picture. If there was evidence of criminal activity that did not come from either woman in this conversation, it would be used against them. He hoped they did not realise.
The HolyPhone Confessional Crisis Page 31