by D C Macey
The man stepped up with the crowbar he’d used earlier on the front doors. He worked it behind the figure and pressed, trying to lever the compartment open. Applying more and more pressure against the figure had no effect. He stopped and dipping inside his shoulder bag pulled out a chisel and short handled mason’s hammer.
Collette saw his questioning glance and nodded in response. ‘Do it quickly.’
He looked back at the sculptured figure, set his chisel against it and hammered hard. It took several blows before St Bartholomew fell with a crash to the ground. He kicked it aside and looked carefully where the beam of Collette’s torch shone on the damaged marble. The figure had sheared off and there appeared to be no opening behind.
‘Smash it. Break it up until you get through. Spare nothing,’ said Collette as she glanced round to acknowledge the arrival of the other man. He had completed his gathering. ‘Hard now, hurry,’ she urged the hammerer on.
The church filled with the sound of splintering stone as, bit by bit, the chisel dug through the marble. Then the man began beating the reredos directly with the hammer. For a little while, there seemed to be no response, then, suddenly, marble started to break up under the repeated blows. He had broken through. Putting aside the hammer, he wedged his short crowbar inside the broken front of what appeared to be a drawer compartment and started to lever against it. Slowly at first and then in a sudden rush, the drawer slid out.
Collette stepped forward and pushed the man aside. She reached in and lifted the dagger, shining the torch on it. ‘So this is what all the fuss is about. I hope you’re worth it, little knife.’ Then she signalled the team to leave. They reached the front door and were about to strip off their forensic suits when they heard a noise. The door was opening.
Lined behind the door they could not see who was opening it but could hear worried mutterings and invocations of the saints. A young, square-shouldered man appeared. Stepping cautiously out from the opened door into the church, he was followed by a much older man. She knew who they were; had seen the two priests often enough in video. The sound of feet running away up the street told of an alarm about to be raised. She pulled a knife from her jacket and silently stepped behind the old priest. Springing an arm round his neck, she brought her other arm round to press the knife against his chest.
The young priest spun round and took a half step towards them to effect a rescue. He never reached her, first hesitating when he saw the knife pressed against Xavier’s body and then confronted by Collette’s two accomplices. The first of her men went down under a furious blow, as un-Christian as you like. The second slipped in under Angelo’s guard and grappled with him. In the temporary stalemate as they wrestled for supremacy, the first man got up and swung his shoulder bag hard at Angelo’s head. The full weight of a mason’s hammer caught Angelo behind the ear and the young priest dropped instantly.
Collette shifted her focus to the old priest and leant her head in close to his. ‘Good bye old man,’ she whispered and slipped her dagger’s point beneath his ribs, pressed hard, felt the momentary resistance in his jacket, then felt it fade as the blade sliced through the cloth. It paused again, catching in the metal of the heavy chain that kept Xavier’s gold signet ring close against his skin. Surprised at the resistance, she pressed again and finally the blade slid into his flesh. She heard his gasp of distress as he dropped onto the cool marble tiles.
She could make out a distant noise building in the street outside. ‘Let’s go, quickly,’ she ordered. They stepped out and, still in their white forensic suits, hurried down to the car that was now waiting at the foot of the church steps. They were pulling safely away as she saw the first of the parishioners approaching from the square.
CHAPTER 18 - MONDAY 26th AUGUST
Sam was sitting in a Frankfurt museum workshop. Bernhard Richter had just laid a dagger on the table in front of him. ‘There it is, my friend,’ said Bernhard. His confidently sounded English words were slightly clipped though entirely clear. ‘I hope it is what you expected to see.’
Sam looked over the table to Bernhard and stretched out his hands a little. ‘May I?’ he asked.
‘Of course. You must be my guest. But here, take these.’ Bernhard handed him a pair of white gloves. ‘I brought a big sized pair for you. I’m sure they will fit.’
Sam pulled on the gloves and examined the dagger carefully. He noted the Roman numeral six. There was absolutely no doubt, it was part of the set. ‘Oh yes, this is what I was looking for. No doubt at all.’
‘That’s good, but tell me, why are you so interested?’
‘We found a similar one during a dig in Scotland earlier in the summer. I think we might have parts of a set. Can’t say much more than that I’m afraid. There are a lot of gaps in my knowledge. But tell me what you know of your dagger.’
Bernhard opened the slim folder that he had brought into the room with him. ‘Not much,’ he said while scanning the document it contained. ‘The museum received it during the war. It appears it was received from the authorities, the Nazis; sadly that was a very common thing.’ He turned over the page and continued to scan the document.
‘Any indication of where it came from or who owned it?’
‘Yes, this record is very simple and quite clear. But a little surprising, I think. It was taken from a small place near Mainz. That’s not so far from here.’ Tapping his finger on the document, Bernhard looked across at Sam.
‘The Christian church and the Nazis is a bit of a mixed bag, I think you say? Some supported Hitler at first, some stayed quiet and some preached against him and the intolerance he promoted. Quite a few of the dissenting pastors were sent away to the camps.’
‘Concentration camps?’ said Sam.
Bernhard gave a crisp little nod in assent, and then continued. ‘It seems the owner of this dagger was particularly fierce in his criticism of the Nazis. They didn’t like that sort of thing. One day the Gestapo must have decided enough was enough and just took him…’ He paused for a long moment and then read on a little further. ‘Yes, that’s right, took him and his assistant pastor too. Both were interrogated and then sent away. His possessions were examined by the state, and as was the practice then, anything of historical or artistic value was taken, some of it then distributed to designated museums. That’s how this dagger would have reached us.’ Bernhard shifted uncomfortably. ‘Of course, we don’t want to keep things taken like that. It is not ours, but then who does it belong to?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe you’ll never find out now. But who was he? What do we know?’
‘Ah yes. So, our pastor, his name was Schmidt, Andre Schmidt, a bachelor. No family noted, so it’s difficult to make links now.’
‘His church?’ said Sam, casually.
‘Hmmm, let me see…’ Bernhard referred back to the file. ‘Yes, here we have it, it was his address. The church’s name was St Boniface. Oh, this is a sad end. It seems the church was burnt down and deliberately left in ruins. It doesn’t actually say, but it seems likely that the Gestapo burnt the church too.’
Inside Sam was torn. Buried amidst all the evidence of the darkest of human deeds, they had found another dagger. They needed it, but there was nothing to celebrate here. St Boniface, another saint represented in the church window, and another linked dagger. This must absolutely confirm the assumption that the saints were the church names. ‘Tragic,’ said Sam. ‘Horrible times.’
‘Just so,’ said Bernhard.
Sam produced his camera. ‘May I photograph the blade? It would help in fixing a definite link.’
‘I’m sorry, that’s not allowed. There are very strict rules. I’m sure you will understand.’ Bernhard could see that Sam was unhappy. ‘Do not worry, I anticipated your need. It is permissible for you to have a copy of our official photographs.’ He pulled out hard copies from the file and slid them across the table. ‘I printed these for you earlier.’
Sam quickly reviewed the pictures and was delighted with
the outcome. He acknowledged it was a great help and promised to keep Bernhard in the loop. After a short chat, he thanked Bernhard and left. Keen to be alone to think over the news, keen too to catch an earlier flight back to Edinburgh, if he could.
• • •
Helen opened the door to her Causewayside flat and stood waiting while her visitor wheezed up the stairs to join her. She had allowed Francis into the stairwell in response to an incessant sounding of the buzzer. Sam was not due back from Frankfurt until later in the day; in the meantime, she had taken some time to start packing her possessions. James Curry was determined to see her out of the flat. She had no intention of begging for extra time.
Peering over the bannister, Helen saw the old priest’s head bobbing up and down in time with his paces up the steps. As he neared the top, Francis spotted her and gave a little wave of greeting - too out of breath to speak.
‘Francis, I wasn’t expecting you. Come in, you’d better have a seat before you fall over. You’ve taken those stairs far too quickly.’ She shepherded him into the lounge and pointed him towards a comfortable sofa.
Gratefully, he sat, took several deep breaths and began to compose himself.
She could see the worry in his eyes. ‘So what’s the big rush? You’re the last person I expected to see this afternoon.’
‘Your phone…’ gasped Francis, ‘… I’ve been trying to call you. You didn’t answer.’
Helen nodded. ‘Oh yes, I’ve got it charging in the bedroom. I’m sorry Francis, I didn’t hear it.’
Francis gave a little snort, acknowledging her statement and dismissing it now as inconsequential. ‘Come sit here with me,’ he said, patting the seat beside him. ‘Come quick.’
Picking up the anxiety in his voice Helen sat beside him. ‘What’s wrong, Francis? What’s up?’
Francis reached out and gripped her hand, squeezed it. ‘It’s not on the news here yet so you won’t have heard it, but I’ve just been speaking with a priest in Rome, finalising details of my visit there. You know I’ve workshops to attend there next week.’
‘Oh yes, Francis. You’ve mentioned it more than once! What’s up?’
‘It’s the story of the week in Italy, two priests attacked in their church on a Saturday night. Helen, they’ve got to Xavier and Angelo. They got them in the church.’
Helen’s heart sank. ‘What do you mean, got them?’
Francis gave a low moan. ‘In Xavier’s church, it happened while the whole congregation was attending the St Bartholomew’s Day festivities. It seems robbers had broken into the church under cover of darkness. For some reason Xavier and Angelo had returned to the church. They must have disturbed the robbers. There was a fight, Xavier was stabbed and Angelo clubbed down.’
‘Oh Lord, no! How are they? Do we know?’
‘I’m afraid my information is not up to date, but my contact said it was touch and go for Xavier; he’s in hospital in Cagliari. Angelo too, poor boy, he’s alive but hasn’t recovered consciousness. I understand it could have been worse, but not much. Apparently, Xavier’s gold chain and ring deflected the blade; otherwise, it would have reached his heart. Thankfully, a young deacon managed to raise the alarm and the robbers had to leave sharp before a lynch mob caught them. Otherwise, if it was the ones we’re facing, I suspect they would have made a point of finishing Xavier and Angelo off before leaving.’
‘If?’ said Helen. ‘There’s no if about it. You and I both know that.’ She pulled her hand out from Francis’ grip and rested it on his shoulder, squeezed gently. ‘Come on now Francis. What did your contact say? Did he give a prognosis?’
Francis shook his head. ‘No, everyone is fearing the worst though. I don’t know what we should do.’
‘I wish I could go out there,’ said Helen. ‘Perhaps I can but I am booked on a flight to Switzerland and can’t put Franz Brenner off any longer. I might be able to fly over to Sardinia in a few days. I’ll need to check and make some bookings.’
‘Yes, I know Xavier has no family, not sure about Angelo. It would be good to go.’
‘Well why don’t you? You’re not due in Rome for a while yet and your parish here is geared up for your absence already.’
‘It would be good…’ Francis sounded enthusiastic then trailed off.
Helen realised what the problem was. ‘Look, I know a parish priest doesn’t have money to spare. And from what everyone has told me, Sardinia is about as expensive as it gets. Let me pay, I’ll book flights and accommodation, a hire car.’
Francis started to object.
She raised her hand, a single finger pointing up, silencing him. ‘I’ve got the trust fund, remember. If this isn’t a good use for the money, I don’t know what is. No arguments, I’m going to book for you now. In fact, I’m going to book for you and Elaine. She will want to go. You phone her, let her know and then phone your contact in Rome, get all the details you can. You travel tomorrow.’
The worry remained on Francis’ face but she could sense the relief in the old priest’s demeanour as a plan formed. ‘I’m going online right now; you get on the phone to Elaine.’
‘What about Grace? She loves Xavier,’ said Francis. ‘I don’t think she could bear being left here alone.’
Helen thought for a moment. She knew he was right. Cost was no object and, anyway, neither Francis nor Elaine was in the best of health right now. Grace would make an excellent escort if nothing else. ‘Great idea. Let them know and I’ll book for all of you. And I’ll book your onward flight to Rome while I’m at it.’
Francis nodded appreciatively and rummaged enthusiastically in his pocket for his phone while Helen headed for the computer.
• • •
Bernhard Richter could not believe his luck. For a man like him, it was a once in a lifetime experience. Truly, he was a Good Samaritan rewarded. That evening, as he left work, he had paused in the street to save a young woman. He’d bravely chased off the attacker who had knocked her over while attempting to snatch her bag.
Once he helped her to her feet, she had been so grateful, insisted on buying him a drink. One thing had led to another and here he was in her bed. She was such fun, talkative and fascinated by his working day. Most of the women he knew weren’t interested in his work. But this one, she hung on his every word. Once he’d run out of anecdotes about his life and job, she’d even listened politely when he had told her about his visitor from Scotland. In fact, she’d wondered what the treasure he was so interested in looked like. Since she was interested, he promised to let her see a copy of the pictures when they met again the next evening.
CHAPTER 19 - TUESDAY 27th AUGUST
Grace stood motionless, leaning back against the kitchen worktop. The morning light flooded through the window behind her to fill the manse kitchen. The bright sunlight was in Helen’s eyes, preventing her from gauging Grace’s mood accurately but she guessed from her stance that there was a problem.
‘Grace, I’ll need you to look out for Francis and your mum. I know Sam will be with you for a day or so but he’s going to have to focus on the wider problem. You’re really the only fully fit one amongst the rest of you.’ Helen crossed the room to the window. ‘I want you to take this too.’ She handed Grace an envelope containing a wad of Euros. The hire car is paid for; it’s to be picked up at the airport, the accommodation is covered too. Use this for meals and as a reserve in case something goes wrong. It should ensure that anything else you all might need is covered.’
Grace took the envelope, glanced inside. ‘I don’t think we’ll need this much,’ she said.
‘Who knows what you’ll need. Better safe than sorry. And Grace, if there’s anything left when you’re finished; buy your mother something nice. She’s had a rotten time these past few months.’
‘Thanks, Helen. This means a lot to me. And mum too. Xavier has always been around; he’s part of the furniture of our lives.’ Grace reached out and hugged Helen.
‘I know. Give the old boy a
hug from me when you see him. Sam made a phone call to the hospital earlier, getting an update - thank God for multilingual boyfriends. Xavier’s in a bad way, a lot of pain, lost a lot of blood; he’s been sedated and is only half-conscious most of the time. He’ll be pleased to see you all. Remember and tell him I’ll be coming too, as soon as I can.’
‘I will, don’t worry about that. What about Angelo?’
Helen hesitated. ‘He’s still not recovered consciousness. They are more worried about him than Xavier now.’
Grace scowled. ‘How’s this all going to end? What’s next?’
‘I don’t know but do be careful, though I’m sure the attackers will have left by now. Sam spoke with the deacon who recently joined Xavier’s parish. It seems the robbers didn’t take anything obvious from the church. But the reredos had been smashed to reveal what he thinks looks like a secret compartment. It’s empty.’
Grace looked still more worried. ‘Do you think that’s where Xavier hid his dagger? Have they got away with it?’
‘At a guess, I’d say yes, wouldn’t you?’ Helen gently pulled Grace away from the window so she could finally see her face properly. ‘Sam is driving round to pick up your mum and Francis. Then he’s coming to collect us. He’ll be here in a few minutes. Now, there’s a flight to catch, what’s the big mystery that needed me to meet you here?’
Grace pointed towards the kitchen table; something was on it, covered by a tea towel. ‘Last night I decided to give that a polish before we go to Xavier’s. So I went down to the tunnel to get it. They really made a mess of John’s cross didn’t they?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. I know you treasured it for the memories you shared with him.’
‘Well yes, I did. But that’s not it. I know it’s just the smashed up base but it feels funny.’
‘Funny?’
‘Yeah, kind of squashy.’
‘That’s odd. I’ll have a look.’ As Helen started towards the table the sound of a car horn tooting in the drive reached them.
