by Lee Lamond
Madeline took the book over to the two women and asked if they knew anything about the building and where it might be found. Both women looked at the drawing, neither one had any knowledge of the building. Austin paid for the book, and he and Madeline left the office and went out into the town square and the late-afternoon sunshine.
“Someone in this town must know about the monastery,” said Austin. “Let’s get a table and some coffee. We are getting so close, I can taste it.”
Seated at a table in a restaurant overlooking the town square, Austin and Madeline looked over the book they had just purchased. The picture and the text around it did not provide any clues. The waiter came to take their order. When the waiter returned, Madeline asked if he had any knowledge of the monastery. His admitted that he was not from the area and couldn’t help. At the table to their right sat an elderly couple that overheard Madeline’s request.
“Excuse me,” said the small, white-haired gentlemen in heavily accented but understandable English. “There are several monasteries in the area. Which one were you interested in? Some have been turned into hotels, if that is what you need.”
Madeline took the book and placed it on the gentleman’s table. “We are looking for the monastery of Saint Sebastian. Do you know where it might be located?”
It was clear that the elderly gentleman was a little surprised at the request. “Do you have a reservation?” he said with a smile.
“Oh, no, I am on a camera assignment, and I was asked if I could take some photos of the monastery.”
“Well, it should be an interesting assignment. Are you familiar with the monastery at all?” said the little man.
“No, it was a request of my boss, who knew I was in the area.”
“Let me introduce myself, I am Antonio Masella, a professor—or, I should say, retired professor, and history is my specialty. I am amazed at your interest, because there is little left of the monastery of Saint Sebastian. Today it is nothing more than ruins that are difficult to find because the trees have grown up to reclaim the ground.”
Austin still had not heard the most important information. “Professor, can you tell us where the ruins are located?”
“Well, you will have to go tomorrow, because it will be dark soon, and you will never find it in the dark, and you want to take pictures anyway. You will have to go south on S591, about ten kilometers. You will come to a small crossroads, and then you go on for perhaps another kilometer and you will see some trees on a hilltop, and it will be up in those trees. I never thought that the ruins would make for good pictures, but in the right light, it might be very interesting. Only a few walls and a few arches that formed the sanctuary still exist. Do you know anything about the history of the monastery?”
There was that question about history again.
“No, sir,” said Austin.
It was clear that the professor was becoming animated. The professor’s wife smiled, seeing her husband’s enthusiasm. Masella said, “The Brothers of Saint Sebastian were connected to the same order started by St. Francis at Assisi. The monastery was first built around 1422 with money provided by local wealthy patrons. There was a theory at the time that you could buy your way into heaven by making large contributions to things such as a monastery or a church. The good brothers were only too happy to let people with money believe what they wanted, and it was with this money that the monastery was built. I am getting too old to remember all of the facts, but when the plague arrived, many of the brothers in the monastery died, and the buildings fell into disrepair. And then another wealthy individual came and offered more money if he and his family could be buried near the monastery. So the monastery added a few hectares of land as the last resting place for those with money, and again it was in business. I do not remember the dates exactly, but it was partly destroyed in 1509 when this area was consumed by something called the Italian Wars. It burned to the ground sometime around 1700, and then it was partly rebuilt, and then it was destroyed again in the summer of 1796, during the Napoleonic Wars. The Nazis retreated through this area as the Allies pushed forward, and American planes were in the air over Northern Italy, and they may have added to the destruction. God and the earth itself have slowly reclaimed what was left of the monastery, which is now a partial shell. I have taken some of my classes up to the monastery, but I am afraid that today it has become a place for young people to go and drink and to do what young people do.”
“Professor, I am very happy we got to meet you. You have been great, and I admire your knowledge,” said Austin. Austin reached over and picked up the professor’s dinner check.
“In my old age,” said the professor, “I am finding that my knowledge is beginning to escape me, but I hope I have been of some help. I must say that your timing is very good. The land was recently sold to a Japanese company that will be building a European headquarters at that location. In a few months I am not sure that anything will be left that will make for a good picture.”
Austin paid the checks, and he and Madeline headed back to the car. They still had not found a hotel for the night, and the professor was right: it was getting too dark to search ruins. On the corner by the car was a small hotel that was sure to make Madeline crazy, but it appeared to be clean and well run. Madeline protested, hoping that something better could be found.
“Austin, I have such a headache that I have to get some aspirin. I am going over to that pharmacy. Do not do anything until I get back.”
Austin waited on the corner while Madeline was getting her medication.
Perhaps Madeline was right, he thought to himself. Why not find a better hotel?
Madeline returned with fear on her face.
“What’s wrong?” said Austin, concerned.
“Austin, I am very sure I just saw that Simon guy we met in Nice.”
“Where?”
Madeline turned around and pointed toward the pharmacy, and they saw the man rounding the corner. Austin took Madeline by the hand, and the two ran across the town square, not toward the corner, but to a street one block to the north.
“Austin, what are we doing?” asked Madeline as she tried to keep up with Austin.
“Here’s the deal. I want to keep you with me. I am assuming that Mr. Simon is working alone. Did you see those other two stooges we had dinner with in Nice?”
“No, he was alone.”
“We are going to go around the block and see if we cannot find the little son of a bitch and have a discussion with him.”
Madeline looked into Austin’s eyes, hoping that it was not Simon and disbelieving that Austin was going to confront him. Within a minute, Austin and Madeline had traveled around two sides of the block, and they carefully peered around the corner. At the far end of the block was a small figure looking toward the square, with his back towards them. Austin looked around and saw a small store a few doors down. Austin took Madeline into the store and told her to wait there. With Madeline carefully deposited, Austin carefully walked the length of the block and approached the figure from behind. He had to be careful. Perhaps it wasn’t Simon.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Austin.
The figure turned, and instantly Austin knew. It was Simon, complete with the scar on his face and his crumpled ear. Austin pushed Simon up against the building, causing Simon’s head to bounce against the stone wall. The surprised little thug staggered for a second, and Austin pushed him again.
“Why are you following us, Mr. Simon, or whatever your fuckin’ name is?”
“Monsieur Austin, I just wanted to be available in the event that you perhaps needed some help finding the gold.”
“I told you that there is no gold, and if there were, I would not be needing your assistance, asshole. Now, let me make this very clear. If I ever see you again, I will personally beat the shit out of you. I do not know what you find so attractive about following us, but you are wasting your time.”
“What brings you to Italy, Monsieur Clay?”
&n
bsp; Austin grabbed him by the neck and shoved him up against the wall again. “We’re here for the spaghetti and to take some pictures. Now, I hope you heard me. I am not going to repeat what I said.”
“Did you have a nice day in Agnadello yesterday, Monsieur Clay? According to Dr. Feret, that was the topic of the painting you found.”
Austin had a real problem with Simon’s mouth, and his temper was beginning to skyrocket.
“Let’s be honest, Monsieur Austin Clay. Hunting for gold is big job, especially if no one is to know. Why don’t you just take my offer of a generous commission, and let me and some of my friends handle the details? I am afraid that it might be too much for you and your little gold-digging girlfriend.
Austin’s temper meter instantly went into the red, and his right fist lifted Simon off the ground. As Simon lay on the ground, bleeding from his mouth and from a head wound caused by his head hitting the wall again, Austin lifted Simon’s wallet and checked for car keys and weapons. In one pocket was his key for a rented van, and in another pocket was a large folding knife with a brass and wood handle.
Austin left Simon lying against the wall. He wasn’t sure that he had not made things worse. He’d always tried to be an easygoing guy, but he had his limits, and his physical size sometimes allowed him to be more physical than mental. Still going through Simon’s wallet, he made his way back to the store where he’d left Madeline. He pulled out about five hundred euros and a driver’s license and then threw the wallet and keys into a storm sewer and put the knife into his pocket.
“So what happened?” asked Madeline.
“It wasn’t him,” said Austin.
“I was sure that it was him.”
“No, I talked to the guy. If you saw him in good light now, you would agree that he does not look like the Simon you remember.”
Madeline looked confused but accepted Austin’s comments.
* * *
The morning came slowly for Austin, who had been awake most of the night with thoughts spinning in his head. There was no question that the man that he’d confronted was Simon, and Austin feared he had kicked the hornet’s nest. The question now was who he was really up against. Was it the mob, or was it just Simon? If it was a mob play, Bertrand and Badeau would not be players; at best they were fodder. The more he thought about it, the more it looked like Simon was on his own, but Austin could not be sure. The knife was another story. It was the same kind of knife that Austin had seen sticking out of the top of Feret’s head. Simon had killed Feret, and he might be in the mood to kill Austin and Madeline.
Another question haunted Austin. It was a simple question and perhaps the scariest: how had Simon Basset, as identified by his drivers license, found them? Did he follow them from France and all through Northern Italy, or was there another way? Simon appeared to be someone who was educated in the streets, but perhaps Austin was underestimating him. Was he smart enough to use a tracking device? If he did, when and where did he put the tracking device on their car?
Suddenly a beam of sunlight came through the window, confirming that it was a new day. Austin rolled over and put his arm around Madeline, who was very much asleep. He kissed her on the neck, but there was no response. They had become lovers, but more importantly they were partners and real friends. The emotions and pace of the last few days had taken their toll on Madeline, but Austin wanted to get to work. After all, there was gold to find.
Chapter 9
Northern Italy
“Good morning, Madeline,” he whispered into her ear. “It is time to get up.”
“I know, but I cannot move. I am too comfortable, and I don’t want to move.”
“Okay, now, here is the deal,” replied Austin. “I will give you another five minutes, and then I will personally pull you out of bed. You can sleep tomorrow. Now let’s go. It is going on for six, and our gold is waiting.”
Madeline peered over the top of the blanket and said, “Austin, you are an evil man. As much as I would like to stay in bed, I know you will hound me until I get up, so it’s hopeless. Austin, let me warn you, this better be worth getting up so early. If you don’t find your gold, I am going to be very mad.”
“Well, be mad tomorrow, but for now, please get up.”
“I’ll have to wash my hair, so it is going to take a little while longer. Oh, congratulations, this is one of the nicest hotels we have stayed in. I hate to leave it. It is much better than the one you wanted to put me in. I am so glad that I took over the hotel selection process.”
“I am going downstairs to get some coffee, and I will take my bag down to the car,” said Austin. “I will meet you downstairs.”
Austin sat downstairs in the breakfast area and sipped his coffee as he looked out onto one of the main streets of Bergamo. The town was coming awake, and even at that early hour, traffic was starting to build. Austin suddenly realized that there was a white van parked across the street. There was no driver in the van, but from his vantage point, he would see the driver if he showed up. With Simon’s keys in the city sewer, Simon would have a problem, but if he was half the crook Austin thought he was, he would have figured out how to hot-wire the van.
After twenty minutes there was still no driver. What would he do if he saw Simon again? He knew he’d hurt the little creep the night before, and perhaps it would have to happen again. As the thought left his mind, a driver showed up and drove the van away. It appeared to be a young man, perhaps in his twenties. What the driver was doing was a mystery, but it was not Simon.
Suddenly Austin’s cell phone rang. Austin looked at the number and did not recognize it.
“Hello.”
“Monsieur Clay, this is Detective Blanc. I am sorry to call you so early, but I wanted to catch you before you got busy. I trust that is okay.”
“It’s fine. I have had my coffee, and I am fully awake.”
“Good, I have a few questions.”
“Go.”
“You mentioned when we met that you had had a meeting with Monsieur Feret several days before his death. What was the topic of the meeting?”
Austin did a quick audit of his thoughts. He needed to provide a benign answer. “Detective Blanc, I was introduced to Feret in a brief hallway meeting that turned into an expanded meeting covering both my project plans and a little of art history. I gave Professor Feret my card, and he offered to help it he could.”
“We found your card in his files. Did Feret say anything that might be of help in this investigation? I mean, did he mention any associates or any plans that he might have had?” asked the detective.
“He did not mention anything about his personal life. The man was very impressive, I mean, he really knew a lot about art history. I respected him very much. The only name he mentioned was Sir Reginald Phillips, but I think I already mentioned that to you.”
“You might be interested to know, Monsieur Clay, that Sir Reginald is currently somewhere in Europe, hiding. He is not hiding because he is guilty of any crime, but rather because he is worried that whoever killed Feret may want to kill him. He was quite worried that you might be Feret’s killer, but I assured him that so far you are not a suspect. Getting back to Feret, did he say anything about owning things of value?”
“Value?” Austin was now on guard.
“By value I mean old books, or art treasures, or gold.”
“He did not say anything to me that I remember.” It was a safe answer, but Austin remained on guard. “Madeline knew he had some old books, but we never went inside. I don’t know if they were there or not, and I don’t know what they even looked like.”
“What about treasure or gold?”
“Feret told me about a myth of a lost treasure and some artist that died five hundred years ago, but he told me that he had given up looking years ago. I do not think he had any gold or treasure. He appeared to live like a hermit on his professor’s income.”
Austin prayed that this would be the end of the questions regarding gold. W
hat he’d said was the truth, but if he were as honest as he should have been, he could have said more.
“Monsieur Clay … we have carefully gone through the contents of Monsieur Feret’s apartment. We have found limited evidence at this time, but we have noted that there were several empty file folders that had the name Maetan on them. Did you and Monsieur Feret talk specifically about a Maetan?”
Austin knew that it was common knowledge that he and Feret had discussed the artist. “Yes, sir, we did. The Louvre recently acquired a painting by Maetan, and it was through Feret that I learned of the artist’s history.”
“Monsieur Clay, I have taken a special interest in this case because of the method used in the murder. We have bits of data that may lead to an arrest, but I am trying to establish a motive. I am sure you remember the knife that was plunged into the professor’s head.”
