Grace and Disgrace (10 page)

(E) 0 corresponds to key letter A

(N) 15 corresponds to key letter P

Key is seven letters

TLEAP _ _

_TLEAP_

_ _ TLEAP

LEAP _ _ T

EAP _ _ T L

AP _ _ TLE

P_ _ TLEA

APOSTLE is the key!!

A faint gleam of crimson sunlight filtered through the carriage window, dancing off of Eldredge’s spectacles. “From there, I simply applied the key and deciphered the code.”

Key:

apostleapostleapostleapostleapostleapostleapostleapostleapostleapostl

Ciphertext:

mnrwtcwagooxsevthzxeaoptxboevxhktyhwtasrsevthzxnvohgkhzrtdcayelerzsbx

Plaintext:

mydearsarawehavethetwoaffidavitsandwemayhavethecrosssoontooiftheclaim

Key:

eapostleapostleapostleapostleapostleapostleapostleapostleapostleapostleap

Ciphertext:

msifmxlfojhvhyreazqltrvdznxxiniagopsugrwtcjrxsfwdxobsvytilstgkdefthqtthec

Plaintext:

istrueaboutdonnellysinvolvementmoveourdearfriendstomedfieldforsafetyaiden

My dear Sara,

We have the two affidavits, and we may have the Cross soon too if the claim is true about Donnelly’s involvement. Move our dear friends to Medfield for safety.

Aiden

Tuohay rapped his cane against the floor. “Well done, old friend.”

“It was nothing, really.” Eldredge removed his spectacles and stared at them for a moment. “The affidavits in this note must be referring to those of the late Miss Dwyer and Miss Hart. The ones that were to be used during the appeal, and recorded by the lawyers of the late Father Kearney.”

“McBarron and Thayer, yes. We will be visiting them. I need to see those affidavits.”

“I expected as much,” replied Eldredge. “And what is the Cross a reference to?

Tuohay glanced out the window as if the distant landscape held what he was seeking. “The Templar diamond. The jewel has several names associated with it, among them the Star of Bethlehem, which is its most familiar name, and
Diamant de la Croix
.”

“Diamond of the Cross.” Eldredge nodded in understanding. “It is clear from his message to Sara that Aiden Kearney believed there was a smart chance of danger about.”

“Precisely. So as you can see, I have some pertinent questions to ask of our good friend Father Donnelly.”

Eldredge returned his leather-bound notebook and pencil to his inside coat pocket. “Speaking of Father Donnelly, how did you get yourself an interview with him?”

The carriage ground to a halt. They had arrived in the ancestral home of the Pilgrims. Through the side window a great ivy-coated church was visible, the bell tower stretching above the rooftops of the surrounding seacoast town.

The door of the carriage swung open, ushering in the sharp smell of the sea and diverting the passengers’ attention to the dirt-encrusted driver as he announced their arrival in Plymouth. Tuohay handed the man his bag.

“The interview with Father Donnelly,” repeated Eldredge, “how did you obtain it?”

“I had the chief of the RIC clearly state the importance of the interview via telegram to the archbishop.”

“To the archbishop?”

“We dabble with the upper crust now, old boy.”

Eldredge exited the carriage, eyeing his partner with renewed respect. “You really have moved up in the world, Jack.”

“From pawn to bishop, old boy. But still far from the most important piece on the board.”

*

The door closed behind Tuohay quietly. He was in a large, richly furnished study with the curtains drawn. There were three sets of lavender drapes, one directly behind a desk, the other two adjacent to that at a diagonal, following the contour of the wall. A deeply polished floor rose to meet several strong backed chairs and along the walls numerous volumes of loose-leaf books rested in oaken shelves. Tuohay was well-read, but his eyes barely noticed the precious tomes.

To the right, a portrait hung above the fireplace, the handsome face of a young priest gazing through chestnut eyes. His black hair was combed back straight with the hint of Irish curls. Tuohay studied the portrait intently as he limped across the room. The scent of hickory was thick and sweet, but the evening fire gave little in the way of warmth. To Tuohay’s left, a grandfather clock stood like an old sentinel beside a pair of closed pocket doors. The weights behind the glass hung low along the chains, gleaming in the firelight.

Father Robert C. Donnelly stood behind his great mahogany desk with his hands clasped behind his back. A black biretta sat atop his ancient white head and a matching black cassock with dark buttons extended down his lean frame to his ankles, blending him into the shadows. Tuohay noticed the gold insignia ring with a blood-red ruby on one hand, and a second gold ring with an emerald inset on the other. Both rings sparkled like colored stars in the low light.

“Welcome, Inspector Tuohay,” he said, regarding Tuohay with paternal concern. “You are uncomfortable?”

“Every moment of my waking life,” replied Tuohay, indicating his stiff leg as he leaned against his cane. “But one learns to live with it.”

“Please, sit.”

Tuohay took a seat, the wood unusually cold to the touch. Donnelly took a chair opposite him beside the hearth. “The proximity to the sea brings with it a desperate chill,” said Donnelly, “one that seeps through the walls, clings to the wood, and holds tight.” Despite the melting away of the shadows in the aura of the firelight, the crevices in the old priest’s face created shadows of their own.

“I wish to thank you for granting me this time on such short notice,” said Tuohay, leaning his cane on the side of the chair.

“Your telegram said it was of the highest urgency.” Donnelly poured himself a drink from a glass decanter, his wizened hand steady. “Sherry?”

“Yes, thank you.” Tuohay took a sip and felt the warm liquid run down the back of his throat.

“I do not typically grant interviews. That is what I have curates for. But, when the archbishop contacts me about meeting with an inspector from Scotland Yard, I comply.”

“I appreciate it, Father,” Tuohay responded. “Though I must clarify, I am with the Royal Irish Constabulary. District Inspector, 2nd Class. I am working on a case that Scotland Yard has interest in.”

“Ah yes, that is right. The archbishop mentioned you to me.” Donnelly arched an eyebrow. “It seems you are on probation?” Silence followed Donnelly’s statement. “Does it surprise you that I know?”

“I was recently reinstated to the RIC,” Tuohay acknowledged, “and am operating on probation with further review contingent on the outcome of this investigation.”

“I see.” Donnelly took a moment to regard Tuohay. “So what is the investigation about, inspector?”

“You know of the Star of Bethlehem, of course? The diamond, that is.”

Donnelly smiled faintly. “The Templar Diamond. A 150-carat diamond the size of a man’s fist. Breathtaking to behold, and priceless beyond mention. It was rumored to be formed from a single-faceted diamond. A possession of Rome, it was kept with the relics of Saint Antony in a reliquary for over three centuries. Most intriguing of all, it was rumored to be part of a larger, lost Templar treasure linked to the Copper Scrolls.”

“And what do you know of its disappearance?”

“I was asked these same questions by the authorities several years ago, inspector.”

“I beg your pardon, Father Donnelly. But if you do not mind sharing them again?”

“Of course,” Donnelly said gently. “Six years ago the diamond was purposely separated from the relics in Rome to be sent on a holy circuit. The circuit included the Roqumaure in France, Whitefriar Church in Dublin, St. Peter’s Cathedral in Belfast, and the Cathedral of the Holy Cross here in Boston. The latter visit was a bold plan of Rome’s to lend credence and visibility to the emerging Catholic Church on this side of the Atlantic.” Donnelly’s lips pursed into a humble frown. “Alas, the diamond disappeared from St. Peter’s Cathedral in Belfast, and the investigation—both that of the Church and that of the secular authorities—came up cold. It is true that I was one of the curates responsible for the logistics of transporting the treasure, but my part was performed through remote communications. I never actually
saw
the diamond. The details of the circuit were reviewed extensively by the Church and the authorities at the time.”

Tuohay set the half-finished sherry down and picked up the leather-bound portfolio he had brought. With a practiced hand he rifled through the papers inside and brought forth a handful of documents. “The archbishop informed you of my purpose?”

“Only that you had questions about the Templar Diamond, and would be contacting me. Again, I must assume it is because I was involved in the logistics of its transfer to Boston.”

“It is not that. In fact, I have already versed myself in those details.”

“You have been reading the papers, then?” Donnelly pointed to a small stack by the hearth. “Today’s papers are running articles rehashing old details about the theft in Belfast. All in connection to this shooting on the Boston wharves two days ago. Were you involved in that?”

“I would not rely on the papers for accuracy.”

“Which is why I am asking you, inspector.”

Tuohay regarded the man before him carefully. “Do you know a man named Kip Crippen?”

Donnelly gave it a moment’s thought. “I am afraid not.”

“He was a jewel thief from Belfast, one of the best in the business. I have reason to believe he was involved in the theft of the Star of Bethlehem, and followed him here to find out.”

“Ah. Was he the man who was shot by the Boston authorities?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I see. Quite…fantastic. But it is all beyond me, as you can imagine. I wish I could help you, but there is very little I know.”

“Are you familiar with a priest by the name of Father Aiden Kearney?”

Donnelly paused. “Yes, of course. The
fallen
priest, God rest his soul.”

“Is it true that he accused you of insurance fraud? Of harboring a mistress?”

The priest’s eyes narrowed. “And of many other things. He made many wild accusations, Inspector Tuohay. Against me and other established priests. Surely you are aware that he took the archbishop to civil court? A debauchery. Aiden Kearney, as brilliant as he may have been, was diseased in the head.”

“Miss Mary Hart is willing to testify that you asked her to lie on the stand during Father Kearney’s trial against the archbishop.”

Donnelly’s face remained unchanged. “So I have heard. But what does this have to do with the diamond?”

“If you will bear with me for a moment longer, Father.”

Donnelly did not seem to relish the idea of continuing the interrogation, but he relented. “The truth is this, inspector. Miss Hart is being manipulated by Aiden Kearney’s brother, Dr. Sean Kearney. The doctor removed her from a sanatorium as payment for helping Aiden, who wished to produce false testimony in support of an appeal of the trial against Archbishop Walsh.”

Tuohay met Donnelly’s gaze. “Did you ever visit Miss Hart while she was in the sanatorium?”

“Of course not. Why would I?”

“You are an accomplished physician, are you not?”

“I am a licensed medical practitioner,” Donnelly allowed, “but my field is not psychiatry.”

Tuohay’s chest rumbled with what would have seemed to be laughter in any other circumstance. He took a handkerchief from his vest pocket and patted his lips. The handkerchief came away scarlet where it had touched his mouth. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Father Donnelly’s paternal voice returned. “Inspector, please. You are ill. Let me take a look, or at the very least, refer you to someone.”

“Thank you, but no. I have only one question more, and will be on my way.”

“About the Templar Diamond? That was your original course, but none of your questions have had any import on it.”

Tuohay cast a quick smile at Donnelly. “As it so happens, these questions
all
have import.” The smile dissolved. “Did you receive a letter, recently or some time ago, that looked like this?”

Tuohay produced Sara and Aiden Kearney’s silver-inked invitations, the black paper melting into the shadows so that the script seemed to float in the air, bounded by the golden serpents. Donnelly’s reaction—the subtle difference in facial movement indicating surprise but not confusion—was the only answer Tuohay needed.

“Read them, if you please,” Tuohay offered, sliding the two letters across to the priest. “You will better understand why I referenced Aiden Kearney in my questions to you.”

Donnelly read the invitations carefully, the paper whispering under his fingers as he traced the ink with bony fingers. When he was done, he peered up at Tuohay with a humored frown. “Someone is playing an elaborate hoax.”