God's Spy (3 page)

‘The second victim? Someone has ripped another cardinal to pieces and we’re only finding out now?’ Pontiero’s expression made his opinion of the matter absolutely clear.

Cirin, unmoved, stared straight back at him. He was, no doubt about it, an unusual man. Of medium height, with brown eyes, of indistinguishable age, wearing a plain suit and grey overcoat – nothing about him called attention to itself, which was, in itself, extraordinary: he was the paradigm of normality. He used as few words as possible, as if in doing so he took himself out of the picture. But none of those present were fooled: all of them had heard talk about Camilo Cirin, one of the most powerful figures in the Vatican and in charge of the smallest police force in the world, the Vatican Vigilanza. A team of forty-eight agents (officially), less than half that of the Swiss Guard but infinitely more powerful. Nothing took place in his tiny country without Cirin knowing about it. In 997 a man had tried to outshine him: Alois Siltermann, the newly chosen commander of the Swiss Guard. Two days after his appointment, Siltermann, along with his wife and a corporal with an impeccable reputation, had been found dead. They had all been shot. The blame had fallen on the corporal, who, after supposedly going mad, had shot the couple and then put his ‘regulation firearm’ into his mouth and squeezed the trigger. The entire explanation would have made sense had it not been for two small details: corporals in the Swiss Guard do not carry weapons, and the front teeth of the corporal in question had been knocked out, suggesting that the pistol had been brutally forced into his mouth.

A colleague in the Italian Inspectorate had told Dicanti the whole story. After the event had taken place, he and his fellow officers had set out to give the Vigilanza any assistance they might need, but they had barely set foot on the crime scene when they had been cordially invited to return to their inspectorate and close the door, without so much as a thank you for showing up. The dark legend of Camilo Cirin had travelled from mouth to mouth in police precincts right across Rome, and the UACV was no exception.

Now the three of them stood there, just outside the chapel, stupefied by Cirin’s declaration.
‘With all due respect, ispettore generale, I think that if you knew that a killer capable of committing a crime such as this was running around loose in Rome, you had a duty to report it to the UACV,’ Dicanti said.
‘Absolutely right, and that is exactly what my distinguished colleague did,’ Troi responded. ‘He communicated it to me personally, and we both agreed on the need for the strictest secrecy in this case, for everyone’s benefit. And we both agreed on something else: the Vatican has no one capable of going head to head with a criminal as – how shall I say it? – idiosyncratic as this one.’
Surprisingly, Cirin interrupted. ‘Let me be honest, signorina. Our work consists mainly of containment, protection and counterespionage. In those fields I guarantee we are among the best. But with a man who has – how did you put it? – a few screws loose, we are outside our field of competency. We were thinking about asking for help when we received news of this second crime.
‘It’s our feeling that this case requires a much more creative grasp of the subject, Dicanti.’ Troi was speaking now. ‘And that is why we don’t want you to limit yourself only to producing profiles, as you’ve done up to now. We want you to lead the investigation.’
Paola didn’t say a word. This was work for a field agent, not for a criminal psychologist. Certainly, with the training she had received in Quantico, she could do the job as well as any field agent, but the fact that the request had come from Troi, and the timing of it all, astonished her.
Cirin spun around towards a man in a leather jacket who had just joined the group. ‘There you are. I’d like to introduce Fabio Dante, Superintendent of the Vigilanza. He’ll be your liaison with the Vatican. He’ll bring you up to speed on the first murder, and he’ll work with you on this one, since it’s all the same case. Anything you ask of him is the same as asking me. And the reverse holds true as well: anything he refuses you, it’s as if I have refused it myself. In the Vatican we have our own rules, I hope you understand. And I hope that you catch this monster. The assassination of two princes of the Holy Mother Church cannot go unpunished.’
And without a word more, he walked out of the door.
Troi moved over to Paola, so close it made her feel uncomfortable. Their romantic interlude was still fresh in her mind.
‘Well, you heard him, Dicanti. You’ve just met one of the most powerful men in the Vatican, and he has given you a very specific assignment. I don’t know why he settled on you but he particularly mentioned your name. Do what you have to do. Give me a report every day; keep it short, sweet and to the point. Above all else, get me substantial proof. I hope your castles in the air amount to something this time. Bring me something, and soon.’ Turning on his heels, he headed for the exit in pursuit of Cirin.
‘What utter bastards,’ Dicanti blurted out when she was sure the others couldn’t hear.
‘Keep going; don’t hold back.’ Dante, the most recent arrival, was laughing.
Paola blushed and held out her hand. ‘Paola Dicanti.’
‘Fabio Dante.’
‘Maurizio Pontiero.’
As Pontiero and Dante shook hands, Dicante studied the latter closely. Just short of years old, he was short and well built, his head of dark hair sitting on top of a thick neck that seemed barely two inches long. A mere five foot six inches in height, the superintendent was attractive, even if he wasn’t classically good-looking. His eyes were olive green, characteristic of the south of the Italian peninsula.
‘I take it “bastards” includes my superior, ispettore?’
‘Well, yes. I believe an honour has been bestowed on me that I don’t deserve.’
‘We both know it isn’t an honour, it’s a real pain in the neck. But it isn’t undeserved. Your track record so far and your CV prove that you are ready for this. It’s a pity you don’t have the results to go along with it, but that’s about to change, isn’t it?’
‘You’ve read my CV? Isn’t anything confidential around here?’
‘Not for Him.’
‘Listen, you pretentious little . . .’ Pontiero had smoke coming out of his ears.
‘Basta, Maurizio. We don’t need to fight. We’re at the scene of the crime, and I’m in charge, so let’s get down to work and we can talk later. We´ll leave the field to them.’
‘OK. You’re in charge, Paola. The boss said so.’
Waiting prudently some distance behind the red line were two men and a woman sheathed in dark-blue overalls. They were the team from Crime Scene Analysis, specialists in the recovery of evidence. Dicanti and the two others exited the chapel and walked towards the central nave.
‘Right, Dante, tell us everything you know,’ Dicanti said.
‘Well . . . the first victim was the Italian cardinal Enrico Portini.’
‘No way!’ Dicanti and Pontiero exclaimed at the same time.
‘Take my word for it, friends. I saw it with my very own eyes.’
‘He was the reformists’ great hope, a liberal candidate. What a mess it would be if the media got hold of this.’
‘No, Pontiero, it would be a catastrophe,’ said Dante. ‘Yesterday morning George Bush arrived in Rome with his whole family. Another two hundred representatives and international heads of state are currently staying in your country, but they’ll be in mine for the funeral on Friday. We’re on maximum alert, but you know what the city is like. It’s a very complex situation and the last thing we want to do is spread panic. Come outside with me. I need a cigarette.’
Dante lead them out into the street, where the crowd was constantly growing larger and more tightly packed. The Via del Conciliazione was completely swarming with citizens of every flag: French, Spanish, Polish, Italian, and countless others. Young people were playing guitars; the faithful sat with candles lit; there was even a blind man with his guide dog. Two million people would attend the funeral of the pope who had changed the map of Europe. It was the worst possible environment to work in, Dicanti thought – any scrap of evidence would be completely lost in the whirlwind of pilgrims.
‘Portini was staying at the Madri Pie residence, on the Via de Gasperi,’ Dante said. ‘He arrived on Thursday morning since he already knew that the Pope’s condition was critical. The nuns say that he seemed perfectly normal on Friday evening: he had dinner, and then he spent a long time in the chapel, praying for the Holy Father. No one saw him go to bed. There was no evidence of a struggle in his room. His bed hadn’t been slept in unless the man who kidnapped him made it again perfectly. He didn’t come down for breakfast on Saturday, but everyone thought he must have been praying in the Vatican. It’s not clear to us what actually happened that Saturday, but the city was in complete chaos. Do you understand? He disappeared somewhere in the middle of the Vatican.’
Dante stopped, lit a cigarette and offered one to Pontiero, who turned him down and took out one of his own.
Dante went on: ‘His body showed up yesterday morning in the chapel of the residence, but, just as we saw today, the lack of blood meant that the scenario was planned in advance. Luckily the man who discovered the body was an honest priest and he called us straight away. We took photographs of the crime scene, but when I suggested that we call you, Cirin told me he would take care of it. And he ordered us to clean up absolutely everything. The cardinal’s body was taken to a location deep inside the Vatican, where it was incinerated.’
‘What! They destroyed all the evidence? This I really can’t believe.’
Dante stared at them both, defiant. ‘My boss made the decision, and perhaps it wasn’t the best response. But he did call your boss to explain the situation. And here you are. Are you aware of what we’re dealing with here? The Vigilanza simply isn’t equipped to handle something like this.’
‘Which is precisely why you should have left it in the hands of professionals,’ Pontiero interjected, a stony look on his face.
‘You still don’t get it. We can’t afford to trust anybody, which is why Cirin did what he did. Don’t look at me like that, Dicanti. Try to take into account the reasons for our actions. If Portini’s death had been the only one, we could have invented some excuse, and buried the whole subject. But it didn’t turn out that way. It’s nothing personal, please understand.’
‘What I understand is that we’ve been invited to the second course of the meal – with half the evidence. Just perfect. Is there anything else we should understand?’ Dicanti was furious now.
‘Not at the moment, no,’ said Dante, hiding behind an ironic smile.
‘Shit, shit, shit. This is all a terrible mess, Dante. From now on I want you to tell me everything. And I want one thing to be very clear: I’m in charge. You’ve been ordered to help me as much as you can, but you must understand that, as far as I’m concerned, it matters less that the victims were both cardinals than that the crimes took place in my jurisdiction. Is that clear?’
‘Crystal clear.’
‘It had better be. The modus operandi was the same?’
‘As far as my detective skills can deduce, yes. The body was stretched out at the foot of the altar. His eyes were gone. The hands, just like today, were cut off and placed on a piece of canvas alongside the body. It’s repugnant. I was the one who put the body in a bag and carried it to the crematorium. I spent all that night in the shower, take my word for it.’
‘It would have been a good idea if you’d stayed a little longer,’ Pontiero muttered.

Four long hours later they finished working on Robayra’s body and began the process of removing it. On the express orders of Director Troi it was the men from Analysis who put the body in a plastic bag and carried it off to the morgue, so that no one else would see the cardinal’s robes. It was made clear to everyone that this was a very special case and that the identity of the dead man had to kept a secret.

For everyone’s benefit.

September 1994
Transcript of Interview Number 5 between Patient Number 3643 and Doctor Canice Conroy

Dr Conroy: Good afternoon, Victor. Welcome to my office. Feeling better?
No. 6: Yes, doctor. Thank you.
Dr Conroy: Do you want a drink?
No. 6: No, thank you.
Dr Conroy: Well, a priest who doesn’t drink – that’s a novelty! It won’t bother you if I . . .
No. 6: Go ahead, doctor.
Dr Conroy: It’s my understanding that you’ve spent some time in the infirmary.
No. 6: I picked up a few bruises a week ago.
Dr Conroy: Do you remember how these bruises came about?
No. 6: Yes, doctor. It was during an altercation in the observation room.
Dr Conroy: Tell me what happened, Victor.
No. 6: I went there to undergo a plethysmograph, on your recommendation.
Dr Conroy: Do you recall the purpose of the test, Victor?
No. 6: To determine the causes of my problem.
Dr Conroy: Exactly, Victor. You recognise that you have a problem, which no doubt shows progress.
No. 6: I always knew that I had a problem, doctor. I should remind you that I’m attending the centre on a voluntary basis.
Dr Conroy: That’s certainly a subject I want to explore with you in our next session. But for now I’d like you to keep talking about what happened the other day.
No. 6: I went into the room and took off my clothes.
Dr Conroy: And that made you feel uncomfortable?
No. 6: Yes.
Dr Conroy: It’s medical procedure. You have to take your clothes off.
No. 6: I don’t think it’s necessary.
Dr Conroy: The technician has to attach the instrument that measures your reaction to a part of your body that is normally difficult to reach. That’s why you had to take your clothes off, Victor.
No. 6: I still don’t think it’s necessary.
Dr Conroy: Very well, just go along with me for a moment. What happened next?
No. 6: He attached the electrodes, down there.
Dr Conroy: Where, Victor?
No. 6: You know where.
Dr Conroy: No, Victor, I want you to say it.
No. 6: On my thing.
Dr Conroy: Could you be more explicit, Victor?
No. 6: On my . . . penis.
Dr Conroy: Very good, Victor. The masculine member, the male organ used for copulation and urination.
No. 6: In my case, only for the second function, doctor.
Dr Conroy: Are you sure, Victor?
No. 6: Y es.
Dr Conroy: It wasn’t always like that in the past, was it, Victor?
No. 6: The past is over. I want to change all that.
Dr Conroy: Why?
No. 6: Because it’s God’s will.
Dr Conroy: Do you really believe that God’s will has anything to do with such matters, Victor? – with your problem?
No. 6: God’s will is part of everything.
Dr Conroy: I’m a priest too, Victor, but I believe that God sometimes lets Nature run its course.
No. 6: Nature is an intellectual construct that has no place in our religion, doctor.
Dr Conroy: Let’s go back to the observation room, Victor. Tell me how you felt when the technician attached the electrodes.
No. 6: He had cold hands.
Dr Conroy: Just cold, nothing else?
No. 6: Nothing else.
Dr Conroy: And when the images started to appear on the screen?
No. 6: I felt nothing then, either.
Dr Conroy: You know, Victor, I have the results from the plethysmograph and they show specific reactions here and here. You see . . . those spikes?
No. 6: I felt disgust when I saw certain images.
Dr Conroy: Disgust, Victor?