The Death Mask Murders

by Gabriel Farago

  Bartolli shrugged, took a sip of wine and looked at Jack. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Care to tell me about it?’

  ‘Seven bizarre, unsolved murders. Same modus operandi but seemingly unconnected, except for the death masks. Yet, there seems to be a very precise pattern here; a clear, premeditated purpose.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’

  ‘Dupree and I are working on it,’ said Jack, avoiding the question.

  ‘Come on, Jack.’

  ‘It’s too early for conclusions. We are barely in a position to ask the right questions. And there are so many unanswered questions here.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Yet one thing is becoming very clear.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Landru didn’t commit any of the murders, yet he’s connected to all of them. There’s a common thread.’

  ‘What kind of common thread?’

  ‘A quest.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘What kind of quest?’

  ‘A quest to find one of the greatest lost treasures imaginable.’

  ‘Are you serious? A treasure hunt? Sounds a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?’

  ‘That’s what I thought at first, but the evidence uncovered so far is compelling.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Dupree and I are still trying to piece it all together, but I can tell you a little about what we’ve found out so far.’

  Bartolli sat back in her chair and looked expectantly at Jack.

  ‘As you can imagine, Dupree and I pored over Landru’s journal, line by line, word by word. It’s a very clever, carefully constructed document. It provides enough information to create interest, but does not provide all the answers. It’s designed to draw us in. Get us involved; hook us.’

  ‘And has it done that?’ asked Bartolli.

  ‘What do you think? I’m here, aren’t I? So far, Landru is holding all the cards. He’s a smart operator who’s had a lot of time to think about all this. To plan …’

  ‘He’s a desperate man with an agenda.’

  ‘He certainly is that, and we are part of that agenda. Whatever he has in mind, he can’t do alone. For some reason I haven’t quite worked out as yet, he needs me.’

  ‘Oh, I can tell you why that is so,’ said Bartolli, smiling.

  ‘You can?’

  ‘Sure. He needs you because of who you are. Because of what you do, and how you do it. Your profile, your networks. It’s all in your books; simple.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Jack, it’s obvious. And then, of course, there’s some kind of connection he mentioned. A link. Something to do with the cipher, remember? With this new information disclosed by the cipher – the house of horrors, and now this video – he has all he needs to deal with the authorities and prepare the way for his release. His lawyers will see to that. But obviously, there’s more, much more. And for that, he needs you. And from what I’ve seen so far, he’s doing an excellent job to get you involved. To draw you in.’

  ‘You are right; and does that include you?’ asked Jack, a sparkle in his eyes.

  ‘It does. I’m also hooked. And besides, I want to see this case through.’

  ‘Good, because I don’t want to do this alone. No, I can’t do this alone,’ Jack corrected himself. ‘Dupree and Lapointe are working on the obvious bits. The forensics stuff, looking into the other murders using Europol and Interpol. They are policemen, doing police work. As you can imagine, they are both under enormous pressure to get results.’

  ‘But that’s not for us, right?’

  ‘No. There’s a much bigger picture here, and that’s where we come in.’

  ‘Any ideas of what that might be?’ asked Bartolli.

  Jack took his time before replying, looking dreamily across the terracotta rooftops shimmering in the midday sun.

  ‘Perhaps. We are dealing with a desperate, middle-aged, gay man, a highly intelligent, well-educated academic who has been ruined. I can’t imagine what he had to endure in jail, yet he hasn’t been defeated. He certainly hasn’t given up. On the contrary, he’s coming out fighting. You saw him. Remarkably confident and strong.’

  ‘And what do you think he’s fighting for? Apart from the obvious: vindication and being set free?’

  ‘At least part of the answer can be found in his journal. From very early on in his career, he’s been obsessed with one specific subject.’

  ‘What subject?’

  ‘The legendary Inca Llanganates treasure. And that’s what got him into trouble in the first place and ultimately landed him in jail, convicted of a murder we now know he didn’t commit. It all began with the publication of a paper that caused quite a stir in academic circles when it was published quite a few years ago.’

  ‘I’m impressed! You have done your homework. Do we know anything further about that paper?’

  ‘Not all that much at the moment, but I’m working on it. The paper was called The Navarro Chronicles, after a seventeenth-century manuscript of the same title written by a Spanish monk, which Landru discovered in a monastery library in Spain. I have tracked down a copy and am about to read it. That’s what started it all and, according to Landru, was the reason behind the first Death Mask Murder.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. Dupree is looking into it right now, but I am following a different trail.’

  ‘What kind of trail?’

  ‘I want to find out who’s behind all this, and why. And, of course, that’s what Landru wants me to do. Focus on the bigger picture and leave the murders to the police.’

  Bartolli shook her head. ‘This is amazing. Any leads?’

  ‘Possibly. That’s why I am going to Florence this evening. On the five-thirty train.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘I have a meeting tomorrow morning with Chief Prosecutor Grimaldi, and Cesaria Borroni, the acting chief superintendent of the Squadra Mobile. I know them both quite well. Mafia stuff from the past ...’

  Bartolli looked impressed. ‘Friends in high places. A meeting about what?’

  ‘A tattoo, and a hunch.’

  ‘You are a dark horse, Jack Rogan. What kind of tattoo?’

  Jack pointed to the iPad on the table. ‘A tattoo I saw in this video.’

  ‘And this is relevant because?’

  ‘It’s a long shot, but if I am right it could lead us to whoever is behind all this.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’ asked Bartolli, sounding excited.

  ‘Not yet. But if I am right, I would like you to come with me to talk to someone in prison here in Italy. A notorious criminal. Interested?’

  ‘What a silly question. First you wind me up, and then you ask me this?’

  ‘Sorry. I just had to be sure first. Not all of my hunches turn into bullseyes.’

  ‘I understand. If you want to be on the five-thirty train, you better get going.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I could take you to the station if you like.’

  ‘On the Vespa?’ asked Jack, looking alarmed.

  ‘Only if you’re game, of course,’ teased Bartolli.

  ‘I’ll take a taxi, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Coward!’

  16

  On the train to Florence: 12 October

  Jack loved trains, and preferred train travel to flying. To him, it was a wonderful way to relax and experience at least a little of the countryside. He settled back into his comfortable seat and watched the outskirts of Rome glide silently past as the train turned north on its way to Florence.

  Jack opened his briefcase and pulled out the Landru journal. He wanted to go over the section dealing with the discovery of The Navarro Chronicles again, which according to Landru had marked the beginning of the tragic Death Mask Murders saga that had just taken such a dramatic turn with the discovery of that chamber of horrors in Paris.


  What could possibly motivate someone to commit such atrocities over a period of so many years? Jack asked himself as he kept reading. What kind of mind could come up with such an evil yet ingenious plan and, more importantly perhaps, implement such complex, carefully staged murders without getting caught? This required not only courage and dogged determination, but careful planning and extraordinary resources as well.

  Landru had come across The Navarro Chronicles by accident through a friend he had met in a Paris nightclub. He was in his early thirties at the time, working on his PhD. Eager to make a name for himself, he saw in The Navarro Chronicles the opportunity he had been waiting for.

  Buried deep in the archives in a forgotten corner high up on the shelves in a place where they didn’t belong, The Navarro Chronicles was an extraordinary eyewitness account of a secret expedition financed by the Spanish king into a remote part of the Andes. The expedition was a search for a lost Inca treasure hidden by Ruminahui, an Inca general, after the murder of the Inca king Atahualpa in Cajamarca in 1533.

  Written by Father Sebastian Navarro, a mestizo – he had an Inca mother and a Spanish father – the chronicles turned out to be the only credible documentary evidence not only of the fact that the fabulous Inca treasure did exist, but more importantly that it was actually found hidden in a remote mountain cave, and recovered.

  Landru wrote a paper on the subject that instantly propelled him to the academic prominence he had craved, and secured him a coveted teaching position at the Sorbonne. Little did he know at the time that this moment of triumph was also the beginning of his long and devastating downfall.

  Jack pulled out of the back of the journal the copy of Landru’s paper he had quickly downloaded from the internet that morning, put on his glasses and began to read.

  Llanganates Mountains: June 1659

  Father Morales saw a shaft of sunlight penetrate the dense jungle canopy ahead, like a guiding beacon showing the way through the wilderness, and held up his hand. ‘Let’s stop over there,’ he said and pointed to a small clearing. Exhausted, his parched throat crying out for water, Morales got off his mule and began to rub his stiff legs. That’s when he saw it.

  ‘There!’ he shouted. ‘The volcano!’

  Father Navarro hurried over to him and had a look. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said. ‘That must be it. At last!’

  The party, consisting of ten heavily armed soldiers on horseback and two dozen local porters with mules, had left Quito a week earlier. Officially, the purpose of the expedition was a religious one: to bring the word of God to one of the tribes living in a remote mountain area in the east. The presence of the two Jesuit priests made this believable, but the real purpose of the journey was something quite different known only to the two priests, and the two senior officers in charge of the soldiers acting as escorts. Forays like this into the unknown hinterland were by no means uncommon, and therefore hadn’t attracted undue attention.

  No-one looking at the pitiful party struggling up the mountain would have suspected the real intentions behind the expedition. It had taken Morales four years; a long, arduous trip halfway around the world; and all of his diplomatic skills, influence, and powers of persuasion to make this mission a reality.

  The breakthrough came when, after months of waiting, he was finally granted an audience with the king, Philip IV of Spain. After presenting the stunning golden tumi and the khipu that Diego had brought back from the mountains to His Majesty as evidence that the legendary Ruminahui treasure was real, Morales was able to persuade the king that an expedition to retrieve the treasure was warranted. What Morales couldn’t have known was that his timing was most opportune.

  With his treasury almost drained by costly wars, and therefore always short of money, the king saw in Morales’s proposal a possible way to replenish the coffers of his impoverished empire. If only part of what Morales had described was true, then such an expedition was certainly worthwhile.

  Not only did the king finance the expedition, he also provided two of his most trusted officers to lead it, and promised Morales and the Church a share of the treasure. A week later, armed with the king’s letter of instructions to the Viceroy of Peru, Morales set sail with the two high-ranking officers, and returned to Lima to arrange the expedition.

  Morales spread out the khipu, which was supposed to lead them to the treasure cave, on a rock, and turned to Navarro. ‘What do you think?’ he said, watching Navarro carefully. The reason he had asked Navarro to accompany him on this expedition was his extensive knowledge not only of the language, Quechua, but also as a mestizo he was familiar with local customs and most importantly, knew how to ‘read’ and interpret khipus.

  ‘I think we are getting close,’ said Navarro and pointed to the mountain. ‘I can recognise a number of features described here in these strands. We should approach the mountain from the south, and then follow that ridge over there.’

  Five hours later, they reached what looked like an overgrown entry to a large cave at the base of the steep mountain they had sighted earlier. It was the entry to a complex system of multilevel lava tubes, formed by a pahoehoe flow of very fluid lava under a congealing surface crust thousands of years ago. For hiding a treasure, these huge tubes that reached for several kilometres into the mountain, like shafts and tunnels of an underground mine, were perfect, but without some kind of map it would have been futile to begin searching for a hiding place in this confusing and dangerous underground maze. That’s where the khipu came to the rescue as it provided much-needed directions on how to navigate the complex system without getting lost, and ultimately locate the hiding place of the treasure.

  Just before they entered the cave, one of the officers walked up to Morales. ‘We are being watched,’ he whispered. ‘There are eyes everywhere, even up in the trees. We are surrounded. I believe some kind of attack is imminent.’

  ‘What do you suggest we do?’ asked Morales, looking around anxiously.

  ‘Get into the cave and take cover, and leave the rest to me. Quickly!’

  As Morales and Navarro made a dash for the cave, the officer turned around, drew his sword and barked some orders. His men dismounted immediately and formed a protective line in front of the entry to the cave. Their loaded arquebuses at the ready, they were waiting for the attack. Moments later, it came – suddenly and from all sides at once, even from above.

  It began with a hundred hostile voices chanting ancient war songs to spread terror and intimidate the foe, the strange, high-pitched sounds echoing eerily through the dense vegetation hiding the attackers. This was followed by a barrage of arrows and spears raining down from above, before the first wave of half-naked warriors attacked with clubs. Two of the porters who hadn’t made it into the cave in time were beaten to death, their panicked mules stampeding into the forest.

  The officer lifted his sword and shouted, ‘Fire!’ Ten arquebuses fired all at once, the sound of the shots rolling like thunder through the mouth of the cave behind the soldiers. The first wave of warriors lay dead or dying on the ground, blood gushing from huge wounds. Stunned, the warriors coming up from behind looked on in terror. They had never seen or heard gunfire before, nor had they seen horses, which to them looked like some strange spirit-beasts belonging to another world.

  After the barrage, the officer stepped forward and plunged his razor-sharp sword into the chest of a young warrior who came running towards him, killing him instantly. The soldiers next to him, all war-wise veterans, attacked, continuing the slaughter, the war clubs and wooden shields of their opponents no match for their own superior weapons made of steel.

  Then abruptly, everything went silent. The chanting stopped and the beaten attackers retreated into the bush, leaving their dead behind. The officer held up his hand. ‘That’s enough,’ he said, realising a pursuit would be futile and dangerous. ‘Well done, men. I don’t think they’ll be coming back in a hurry. Let’s secure the entry to the cave and go inside.’

  Holding a
candle in one hand and the khipu in the other, Navarro followed the directions imbedded in the knotted threads with the certainty of a somnambulist. The first clue that they were getting close came when they stumbled upon a mound of human bones.

  ‘Here, look!’ said Navarro and pointed to three crushed human skulls on the ground in front of him. ‘The threads tell us that Ruminahui and his warriors killed the porters who carried the treasure into the cave. I believe we have just found them.’

  Morales nodded, barely able to control his excitement. He too could sense they were getting close. Then something caught his eye: a golden face wedged between two rocks was staring at him out of the gloom like a messenger from the afterlife, trying to warn off unwelcome intruders.

  ‘Over here!’ he cried out and knelt down on the ground. ‘Come, give me a hand.’ The soldiers following behind formed a semicircle and held up their torches. As they came closer, spreading the light, Navarro pointed to the golden face. ‘This is a ceremonial mask of the Sun god Inti,’ he whispered, as a chill of fear raced down his spine, triggered by distant memories of his Inca ancestry. ‘We are entering a different world here. We must be careful.’

  Ignoring the warning, Morales cleared away a pile of small rocks in front of the mask. An opening appeared. Morales bent forward and looked inside.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ asked Navarro.

  ‘Yes, wonderful things!’ replied Morales, his voice hoarse.

  What he was looking at was the lost treasure of a defeated civilisation that had desperately tried to save its king, and failed.

  Jack slipped the pieces of paper back into Landru’s journal and closed his eyes. What an extraordinary story, he thought, and let his mind drift back to Morales and the treasure cave. I wonder what happened to all the gold? Feeling relaxed and sleepy, Jack began to doze off, but just before he fell asleep, the loudspeakers crackled into life and a cheerful voice announced the train’s imminent arrival in Florence.