by Alex Thomas
The anointed took a piece of bread, dipped it in the wine and passed it to Judas as an agreed signal.
"Do what you must – and do it quickly."
Judas took a bite of the wine-drenched bread, got up and left the room without looking back.
The anointed immediately began the Last Supper. But Catherine knew, because Judas was in truth not a traitor, the anointed had ensured that he too had drunk the blood of the New Covenant…
She felt someone shaking her gently. "Sister? Can you hear me?"
She blinked, opening her eyes to the outside world. She noticed with alarm that she was lying on the ground. Cardinal Ciban knelt before her and carefully helped her sit up. She blinked again, pulling herself together.
"I…I don’t remember falling down."
"Thank God you didn’t hurt yourself." The prefect helped her into a chair. The laptop was still sitting where she had left it, untouched. "It seems to me that your dreams are becoming more and more unpredictable."
Catherine noticed that he was still holding her hand. She pulled it away, perhaps a tad too hastily. She glanced at his strong, slender hands. In that moment, she realised that Ciban didn’t just sit at his desk all day.
"Thank you. I’m alright. I…everything’s under control. I’m afraid my imagination has gotten the best of me lately."
The prefect shook his head. "The situation is getting more and more dangerous. Not just for His Holiness, but also for you."
"I’ll get through it," she said with determination. "I ask of you just one thing: Don’t watch my every move."
Ciban hesitated for a moment before saying: "Will you do me a favour, Sister?"
It was Catherine’s turn to hesitate. "That depends, Eminence."
The cardinal’s lips curled into a brief smile of resignation as if he were thinking she is not just a nun, but also a pugnacious rebel. Catherine once again felt a strange, fluttering sensation in her stomach.
"Get some rest. It might be best to take a few days off. Listen to your inner voice. Take good care of yourself and His Holiness."
Catherine nodded. "I will." She gave herself a mental jolt. "Do you already know who the latest victim is?"
Ciban took a deep breath – and nodded. "Monsignor Hawlett is already in Calcutta to investigate the case."
"Who is it?"
The prefect bent down and whispered in her ear.
"My God…" Catherine said quietly.
48
Calcutta, Church in Motijheel
Sister Bernadette rang the bell at the church’s back entrance. A sign hung on the door that claimed the church was closed due to renovations. The noise of the market behind Ben raged on, making him wonder if Father Raj could even hear the doorbell. Then he heard several bolts being slid back and the door opened.
Father Raj was a small, haggard man even in Indian terms. He was about fifty, had grey hair and pitch black eyes. Sister Bernadette introduced the two men. The priest gave a friendly nod and asked them inside. The church’s interior was rather dim and pleasantly cool.
"I presume you wish to examine the altar area where I found Sister Silvia," said Father Raj with a wavering voice filled with grief and sorrow. Like Sister Bernadette he spoke English very well. He went ahead of them and brought them to the vestry.
"That is correct," confirmed Ben. "But I think we have another problem entirely."
The priest pricked his ears.
"Sister Silvia’s body has disappeared from the morgue in Shanti Nagar. No one can tell us where it is. You haven’t heard anything about its removal, have you?"
The priest shook his head with concern. "Perhaps His Eminence gave a specific order? You must know that Sister Silvia was treated like a saint here. She is Mother Teresa’s unofficial successor."
"The body’s disappearance is as much a mystery to His Eminence as it is to Mother Superior."
Priest Raj looked with dismay from Ben to Sister Bernadette back to Ben. "Does that mean the corpse was – stolen?"
"We don’t know that yet. At the moment no one is able to tell us where it is right now."
"We live in crazy times," said Father Raj with a sigh, "in which one of our most loyal missionaries is murdered and then her body disappears into thin air."
"I am certain we’ll get to the bottom of it soon, Father," Ben ensured him without believing it himself. "Should you hear anything at all, please let Mother Superior know right away."
"Most certainly."
"Where did you find the body, Father?"
Father Raj took a deep breath. "Come with me. Over here."
They walked further through the vestry, entering the back area of the altar and went toward the scene of the crime. It was dark. Just a few candles illuminated the interior room. "Could you turn on the light?" asked Ben.
The priest shrugged his shoulders. "I beg your pardon, but we are having a power outage. I will light a few more candles for you. I can’t do much more than that." He disappeared briefly, returning with a few candles he then lit from the already burning ones and placed them amongst the others.
Ben reached into his suit jacket and retrieved a few photos. "As I understand it, you took these picture, Father?"
"Yes. I…" Father Raj stopped suddenly, his body wracked with the memory of it. "You see I don’t much trust the local police and you can believe me when I say I have my reasons. Besides, for the authorities the case is already closed shut. His Eminence made sure of it."
Ben compared the photographs with the cleared out altar area. "She lay here then?" He pointed to a place at the end of a flat step to the altar.
"Yes, exactly here." The priest pointed to the place where the murdered woman’s head and feet had been found. "The entire area was filled with candles. I’ve never seen anything like it. I first had to clear a pathway to get to Sister Silvia."
Ben exchanged a glance between the photos and the crime scene. The blood analysis had shown Sister Silvia had been anaesthetised with chloroform first, then most likely strangled. The candle arrangement, however, made this crime scene stand out completely from the others. Ben tried to find a sign in the way the candles had been arranged. Father Raj had sent Ciban an email with a sketch of the original arrangement. The rows of candles had effectively given the deceased a massive halo. Or an oversized aura.
"Did you notice anything suspicious?"
"No. Not that I know of at least. Sister Silvia and I had spoken briefly that evening, right here…" He pointed to the first row pew to the left of the altar. "We talked about a German charity organisation that wanted to support Shanti Nagar, providing us with new medications. When I left, Sister Silvia knelt back down to pray."
"And you didn’t see anyone?" asked Ben further.
"Other than two women who left the church after their prayers, no one else was here that evening."
"After you and the two women had left, the murderer walked through the front entrance, drugged Sister Silvia and took his time killing her then?"
Father Raj gave him a horrified look. Even though it wasn’t his fault about the nun’s death, he was wracked with guilt. "I’m not sure, but I’m afraid it might have happened just as you said. I left the church once more to go shopping, you know."
Ben nodded, gave it some thought and then looked down the middle aisle. "Is there another entrance to the church?"
"No. Just the main and back entrances through which we just entered."
Ben took a few loud, echoing steps down the aisle, then returned to the missionary and the priest. "Are you certain?"
"Yes."
Sister Bernadette thought out loud: "What about the old storage cellar? The underground entrance that runs beneath the market?"
Father Raj shook his head. "Impossible. One of the holy water basins stands over it. The entrance hasn’t been used in years…"
"Show me the entrance please," interrupted Ben.
Raj nodded and hurried ahead of them. They walked toward the entrance, then turned
right where the holy water basin stood. The priest pointed to the floor – and faltered. The basin wasn’t standing in the right place. Someone had moved it along with its base half a metre to the right. They could now clearly see the seams of a stone tile with an embedded handle. The entrance must have been used very recently.
Ben quickly exchanged glances with Sister Bernadette, then gave the handle a strong tug. It took him a second try before being able to move the tile off to the side.
The Monsignor, Sister Bernadette and Father Raj looked in surprise at a wide stone stairway leading into the dark depths below.
"Do you want to go down there now?" asked the priest uneasily.
"Why not? You don’t happen to have a flashlight, do you?"
"No. But I can get you one of the candles."
"Get two," said Sister Bernadette. She turned to Ben: "I will go down there with you while Father Raj holds watch. Four eyes are better than two."
49
For the rest of the afternoon Catherine stayed in her room, attempting to remain level headed and concentrate as much as possible on her book. Unfortunately, her encounter with Cardinal Ciban on the rooftop terrace kept her preoccupied. Despite her best efforts, she was unable to distance herself from the memory, not to mention completely forget about the entire matter. When he held her hand…well, she had never felt anything like it in her entire life!
She was in the process of telling herself to pull herself together because she was, after all, no longer a teenager, when another visionary daydream crept up on her.
She suddenly found herself at the foot of the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem in the Garden of Gethsemane in a circle of mostly sleeping male and female apostles while the anointed prayed alone under the olive trees. Several of the female apostles held watch near a fire.
After a while toward the middle of the night a troupe of soldiers armed with swords and clubs that the leading priests and the elders had sent arrived. Catherine recognised the head of the troupe: Judas Iscariot. Awoken by the troupe’s loud arrival, the male apostles jumped to their feet. Peter courageously opposed the man. He took away one of the younger soldier’s swords and wanted to start in on the other fighters when he heard the anointed’s voice that reminded him of each person’s fate and oath. He put down the sword.
The anointed turned to the soldiers and to Judas. "It is time. The darkness no longer holds power, although it is a dark hour now. We have drunk from the cup of the New Covenant and must now do what we must do. There is the man who will betray me."
Catherine suddenly had the feeling that her body, even the entire region surrounding Gethsemane, was pulsating as if something deeper, something more timeless pervaded the place. It was an invisible force that somehow refrained from using its power. She could feel this power touching her consciousness. It was one of those moments in which one believes one is registering the order of things, the paper on which the entire history of the world is recorded.
The anointed walked calmly toward the troupe of soldiers, then remained standing in front of the captain and Judas Iscariot. Judas stepped forward and gave the anointed a brotherly kiss. Catherine could see how Judas and Jesus exchanged glances, along with the suffering in Judas’ eyes. The words the anointed had just spoken weren’t able to heal the traitor’s pain.
"Are you Jesus of Nazareth?" asked the captain finally.
"Yes, I am," replied the anointed with conviction.
50
Ben and Sister Bernadette descended the steps carefully. A cold, moist burst of wind slapped against them and it smelled like a tomb. At the foot of the stairs they reached a surprisingly large room with a vaulted ceiling. A corridor ran behind it. Old crates and pitchers stood along the walls and lay all around the dusty floor. Judging by their inherent patina, one could say they had been down here for a very long time and had survived many a monsoon. At some point, the objects were completely forgotten.
Ben carefully swung the candle around, looking at the ground. On the right side of the room he discovered multiple footprints in front of some boxes and four tiny round prints for which he didn’t have an explanation quite yet. Upon examining their size, Ben thought the traces were most likely not from an Indian. Had Darius’ murderer hung out down here?
"Look at this, Father," said Sister Bernadette from the other side of the room. She held up an old, chair that had toppled over and had spilt its back near the boxes.
Ben slowly drew closer in order to take a better look in the poor light. The surface of the grubby chair had been wiped clean. Even the armrests and legs had been roughly wiped over. The chair appeared to have been in use rather recently.
"May I?" He grabbed the chair, returned to the footprints on the other side of the room and placed the legs directly on the place where the prints were. They fit perfectly. Next to the prints he noticed a second set of smaller footprints. He could feel his stomach hurl. It appeared that the murderer had anaesthetised Sister Silvia and dragged her down here. But why hadn’t he simply cleared his tracks down here? Was he so certain that no one would remember the secret trap door? Or had he simply left the church after the act through the front entrance?
"I see candle remains on the floor here," said the missionary. "I wonder where the perpetrator got all these candles."
Ben nodded to her. Sister Bernadette had hit the nail on the head. They looked around, went to the boxes in the dim candlelight, but at first glance none appeared to be open. He approached one of the boxes lying on the ground and lifted the half-rotten wooden lid. He had barely touched the lid when the wood broke in two, allowing dozens of candles to roll out onto the floor.
"Well, that answers one question," said Sister Bernadette, lighting several of them to provide more light.
They searched the room some more. After finding nothing, they walked along the back corridor.
"No footprints," said Ben quietly as he led the way. A somewhat fresh, warm breeze blew passed them both. With every metre the air seemed less stuffy. The path was on a slight incline. Ben had to make sure the breeze didn’t blow out his candles. Shortly thereafter, they reached a tall, heavy, locked wooden door that wasn’t quite sealed.
"I can’t be certain," explained Sister Bernadette, "but my guess is we are on the other side of the marketplace in one of the rear courtyards. There is an old floor plan of the church. The corridor is most likely shown on it. Father Raj will certainly let us take a look at it."
"Thank you, Sister. But it appears that the murderer didn’t come through here. Do you see the cobwebs? This door hasn’t been opened in years."
They returned to the cellar vault and blew out the candles they had left there. Ben wanted to turn on his heel and go up the steps in disappointment when something caught his eye on the floor between two boxes. "I think I’ve found something, Sister."
The missionary leaned forward with her candle, followed his vision and raised an eyebrow. "A cigarette butt…"
Ben nodded. "It doesn’t look like the butt has been down here long." He pushed one of the smaller boxes to the side, reached into the interior of his jacket, pulled out a plastic bag, knelt down and manoeuvred his findings into it without touching the butt itself.
Sister Bernadette gasped. "Do you think Sister Silvia’s murderer had taken a cigarette break?"
"I hope so. Because if he did, we would have both his cigarette brand and most likely his DNA too."
They ascended the stone steps and returned to the church’s entrance area. It looked as though Father Raj hadn’t budged the entire time they were gone.
"Well?" asked the priest.
Ben showed him the plastic bag. "Someone has been down there very recently. Besides there are a few boxes lying around whose contents you may wish to check out."
Father Raj nodded. "I will ask one of my helpers to do so. I don’t like tiny dark spaces very much."
"I see. Sister Bernadette said there might be a floor plan of the church’s underground?"
"From
the secret trap door?"
"Yes."
Father Raj seemed slightly ashamed because he hadn’t thought of it himself already. "We did indeed have one. I’ll see if I can go find it. If not…the archdioceses should have a copy of the floor plan. I’ll let you know."
"Very well, Father. We’ll return to Shanti Nagar now. Perhaps there is news as to the corpse’s whereabouts. Would you please call us a taxi?"
The cleric shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "We still have a power outage, I’m afraid. But I will send one of my helpers to fetch one for you." He disappeared in the direction of the vestry.
Sister Bernadette sighed, saying to Ben: "Do you know what I just can’t understand, Monsignor?"
He wasn’t certain so he shook his head silently.
"The murderer’s motive. Sister Silvia has never had a single enemy. The murderer must be insane."
51
Catherine peered through her reddened eyes at the imposing marble-covered interior room of St. Peter’s Basilica. She was looking for a distraction and a respite from the increasingly intense dreams that overcame her more and more. She had followed a winding path from the Apostolic Palace that led directly to the church. Cleaners were in the process of sweeping the Basilica after the daily throng of tourists. Catherine enjoyed the workers’ activity in concert with the immense room’s peacefulness.
She walked the Basilica’s entire circuit. She paused beneath Michelangelo’s weighty dome and read the two metre high letters from St. Matthew’s Gospel: "Tu es Petrus et super hanc petram aedificabo ecclesiam meam et tibi dabo claves regni caelorum – You are Peter and on this rock I will build my church, and I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven." Through her visions the true meaning of these words along with the anointed’s crucifixion seemed to become clearer.
The crucifixion…just the thought of it filled her with outrage. She had once read during her studies that the nail through the wrist hit the Nervus medianus, the largest nerve that runs through the hand, thereby destroying it. The pain must have been indescribable. The Romans had even created a new word for it: excruciare, which literally meant "from the cross".
