Death bbwwim-7

by James R Benn

  “Not many,” he finally said. “It should be simple to find who could have gotten in.”

  “Well, that might not amount to a hill of beans,” Abe said, strolling back to our group. I hadn’t noticed him wander off. “That door is probably as old as that pig-sticker. It’s got a warded lock, looks like original hardware.”

  “Beans? Pig-sticker?” Cipriano asked. Kaz gave him the basics in Italian, and then nodded for Abe to continue.

  “You got a primitive lock there, one of the oldest. There’s things inside called wards. They get in the way unless you got a key with notches that match. One of them old-style keys, you know?”

  “Well, it’s an old place,” I said. “What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is the key. You see, what unlocks the wards is what ain’t there. The gaps in the key, ya know? So to make a skeleton key, or passkey, all you need to do is to file away most of the warded center. It’ll open any simple warded lock.”

  “Impossible,” huffed Cipriano. “If that were true, half the doors in Rome could be opened with such a passkey.”

  “Remember, Inspector, this door has its original hardware,” Abe said, sounding like he was correcting an overenthusiastic student. “Warded locks did get more complex, with added security. But this one ain’t never replaced. It belongs in a museum.”

  “What makes you so expert?” Cipriano asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  “I was a locksmith before the war,” Abe said. “Back in the States, you might find a lock like this on an old cabinet or the like, but not where you want to stash anything really valuable.”

  “So what are the chances someone could get his hands on a skeleton key around here?” I asked.

  “Do you have any idea of how many locked doors there are within Vatican City?” Cipriano said. “How many sets of keys for each, and where they are all stored?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Nor do I,” he said. “The only thieves we have are pickpockets. We lock our doors to protect areas from the curious and the lost. Not to protect against a murderer stealing weapons. If a resident of the Holy See has access to keys, he is trusted.”

  Inspector Cipriano shot off a series of instructions to his cops and the Swiss Guard. He handed one of the gendarmes the knife and they scurried off to do his bidding. He told us to follow him, and we did, me at the tail end, watching Abe to make sure he wasn’t tempted by any ancient locks.

  Cipriano was a cop after my own heart. His next stop was the Swiss Guard mess hall, where the cooks served up what tasted like real coffee.

  “I sent my men to look for keys at headquarters,” he said. “And told the Guard to find who keeps the keys for the barracks.”

  “You must have keys for every building,” I said.

  “Yes, duplicates of all keys are kept at headquarters. But no one checks them routinely. As I said, we have little need for them.”

  I drank my coffee, and decided to take a chance with Cipriano, who seemed like he might be a decent guy. “Inspector,” I said, “what do you know about the Regina Coeli?”

  “To stay away from it,” he said.

  “What’s the Regina Coeli?” Abe asked.

  “It means Queen of Heaven,” Kaz said, which satisfied Abe for the moment. Kaz understood where I was going with this, and wisely didn’t want to worry our light-fingered pal.

  “I mean who runs it? The Gestapo?”

  “No, although they make use of it. It is an Italian state prison, built about a half century ago. Very modern at the time. Why?”

  “Do you know anything about the prisoners there, how they’re treated?”

  “I know it is very crowded. People can be taken in for minor offenses or for treason. If treason, they do not live long. If they violate curfew or are missing identity papers, they may come out soon. The Organizzazione per la Vigilanza e la Repressione dell’Antifascismo, OVRA, runs it now. Many OVRA men went north with Mussolini, but some stayed here to work with the Nazis. So it depends on how the prisoners were picked up. If by the Germans in a roundup, there may be a chance. If by OVRA, then less.”

  “Do you know Pietro Koch?”

  “The worst creature in Italy. Do not cross paths with him unless you plan to put a bullet in his head.”

  “I’ve heard he wants all the nuns held at Regina Coeli released into his custody.”

  “Are you certain of this?”

  “I have good reason to believe the person who told me.”

  “I will look into it. If it is true, I will inform Cardinal Maglione.”

  “The secretary of state,” Kaz said. “I hope they will listen to him.”

  As we debated the usefulness of a Vatican diplomatic protest, both a Swiss Guard and a gendarme showed up and handed keys to Cipriano.

  “Look,” Cipriano said to Abe, laying them out on the table. They were all the old-fashioned style of key, some tarnished and some polished. “These are the passkeys found here in the barracks and at headquarters. Could any of them open the armory door?”

  Abe picked them up one by one. Most of the ends had been cut down to a nub. “These four,” he said. “Any of ’em would do the trick.”

  “Three of them are from the barracks office, one from Gendarmerie headquarters,” Cipriano said with a sigh.

  “I’d bet there’s others,” I said. “The porter at the Medieval Palace had a bunch of keys hanging in plain sight.”

  “Sadly, you are right, Father Boyle,” Cipriano said as Abe put the keys back in the pile. “We have a murder weapon, but are no closer to the murderer.”

  “We know he has access to a passkey and is someone who would not evoke suspicion in the barracks. We know he is smart, to use this knife and hide it in plain sight.”

  “Yes,” Kaz said. “In a peaceful place like the Vatican, it would be unusual to have a knife outside of a kitchen. This is one way to obtain a killing tool and not have to worry about hiding or disposing of it.”

  “Yes, yes,” Cipriano said. “He is a genius. Thank you, gentleman. I will let you know as soon as I hear anything, from the commission or about Koch.”

  We shook hands, and I chalked it up to the long night that Cipriano didn’t notice Abe palm one of the skeleton keys. You gotta love a thief. Especially when he’s your thief.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “No I ain’t,” was Abe’s response when I informed him he was in deep trouble. We were in our room at the German College, and I’d done my best to set up the interrogation. Kaz in a chair by the door, me in a comfortable armchair, and Abe in the corner. I’d told him to sit on the edge of the bed, thinking that would put me above him. Evidently he’d been in a few interrogation rooms himself, and responded by lying down, plumping the pillow, and crossing his clodhoppers on my clean blanket. “You got nothin’ on me. No authority, and them Holy Joes is about to hand the both of youse yer walkin’ papers. You got trouble, pal, not me.”

  “Why were you breaking into the storeroom?”

  “I didn’t break nothing. I opened the door,” Abe said.

  “With the picks you made from the metal scraps on the tool bench,” I said. “Guy like you, Abe, you could make a set of picks out of most anything. But they gave you tools, everything you needed. It was almost criminal of them, leaving all that stuff around.”

  “Don’t know what you mean. Now you tell me, who the hell are you guys? You ain’t no priests.”

  “We are Allied agents,” Kaz said, “sent here to find out who killed Monsignor Corrigan. General Eisenhower wants any illegal activity among Allied forces sheltered in the Vatican dealt with swiftly.”

  “And we’re short on suspects, Abe. Maybe it was you, skulking around at night. Did Corrigan find out you were stealing from the refugees?” We were both laying it on a bit thick, but I wanted Abe to think he was in Dutch.

  “You two? Don’t make me laugh. If you’re here investigatin’, how come you ain’t come up with anything better?”

  “We
have suspects,” Kaz said, doing a good job of not sounding defensive.

  “Yeah, well I hope that bastard Zlatko is one of them.”

  “You’ve run into him?”

  “If I had, I woulda clocked him, bishop or not. He oughta be wearing a Nazi uniform, him bein’ pals with those Croat Ustashi. Bloodthirsty don’t begin to describe them. We got briefed on the situation in Yugoslavia, on accounta we flew over the place. How to tell who was on which side, that sorta thing.”

  “Won’t argue with you about the bishop, Abe,” I said. “Tell me about Brackett.”

  “What about him?”

  “Anything unusual. He an okay guy?”

  “Yeah, sure. Hot and cold, you know? Sometimes real friendly, other times he’ll walk right by you, or light into you for nuttin’ at all. He and Zlatko didn’t get along, not that I’d expect them to be pals.” Abe stuffed his hands in his pockets as he eyed the locked door. I could tell it made him nervous, being shut in here with a cop.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He and the bishop were yellin’ at each other, coupla nights ago, in the gardens. I was on my way to see Rosana, so I was kinda hiding in the shrubbery.”

  “What were they arguing about?” I asked.

  “This sounds crazy, but I think they were goin’ on about boats. I swear Brackett said ‘rudder’ a coupla times. I dunno, bein’ cooped up here so long probably got to him.”

  “Yeah,” I said, exchanging glances with Kaz. This was top-secret stuff, and there was no reason to let Abe know it meant anything. “Now, tell me about the woman in the gardener’s cottage.”

  “Jeez,” Abe said. “You know about Rosana?”

  “That’s who you swiped the extra food for, right? Beautiful widow, why not? She must have been real glad, huh?”

  “You shut your mouth!” Abe was up in a flash and had his hand at my throat. “Shut your damn mouth before I shut it for you. It wasn’t nothin’ like that.”

  “Your reaction does you credit,” Kaz said, grabbing Abe by the arm. “But now let Billy go.” He did, then sat on the edge of the bed, glaring at me.

  “Sorry, Abe, I was trying to get a rise out of you. So what’s the story?”

  “Yeah, well, I forgot you said you’d been a cop. I shouldn’ta fallen for it. I met Rosana the first day she was here. That Irish monsignor, he was bringing her to Nini. You know she’s sweet on you, don’tcha?” He directed that last bit to Kaz.

  “How do you know? Did she say anything?” Kaz asked, dropping the hardcase Allied agent stance.

  “I got eyes. Anyway, I saw Rosana was scared, and I happened to have some extra chocolate on me. So I gave it to her for the kids. She looked at me kinda funny, then started crying. Not sad, ya know, but the kinda tears that come when you can’t believe how good you got it. Here she was, on the run from the Nazis, two kids in tow, husband dead, and all of a sudden she’s safe on neutral territory, and an American flyboy walks up and gives her chocolate. Still gets me.”

  “You started calling on her?”

  “Yeah, but I couldn’t be obvious about it. They don’t want too many people wandering around here. Some of the cardinals might get their noses bent outta shape, especially if they have to cross paths with a Jew. I ain’t complaining about the Church or nothin’, I probably owe my life to them. But it’s human nature, know what I mean? You stick with your own kind, like back home.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Now tell me, Abe. You good at what you do?”

  “Hell yeah. I’m an armorer-gunner on a B-17. It’s a big responsibility. Got two probable kills.”

  “That’s not the job I mean.”

  “Okay, okay. You caught me with the goods, so I guess I oughta spill. Like I said, I got eyes. I saw all that food going down those steps, so one day I take a look. When I saw that workbench, I knew it’d be a snap. Made a coupla picks, got in, and took a little, to take the edge off, you know?” He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, as if the theft had been nothing but a prank.

  “That’s where the chocolate came from,” I said.

  “Yeah. I wanted to see Rosana again, and I figured with a mug like mine I should come bearin’ gifts. So I got a little more, and pretty soon she thinks I’m really something. She don’t know nothin’ about it, either. You ain’t gonna get her in trouble over this, are you?”

  “No, we got no beef with her. Or with you, personally, Abe. But you’re facing serious charges.”

  “Billy,” Kaz said, with a perplexed look on his face. “Will the American Army charges be worse than the Italian charges?”

  “Well, there’s looting. The army doesn’t like it when enlisted men loot. Doesn’t leave as much for the officers. But breaking and entering in Vatican City, that’s a new one on me. Either one could mean a lot of time breaking rocks. Be a shame to damage those fingers, Abe.”

  “Are you guys gonna bust my balls all day or get to the point?” Abe said.

  “We need your special skills, Abe,” I said. “Tomorrow we’re going to go sightseeing, down to the Tiber River. We’ll find you a nice suit to wear.”

  “What you’re saying is you want me to break into some joint in Rome, which is swarming with Krauts, while wearing civilian clothes. So if they don’t shoot me once for bein’ a Jew, they can shoot me twice for bein’ a spy.”

  “We can get into the joint okay,” I said. “But we need a door unlocked inside. You do that, we stroll back here, and everything is forgiven and forgotten.”

  “Well,” Abe said, taking a minute to think it over. “I ain’t seen Rome except from thirty thousand feet. I guess I could stretch my legs. What kinda place we goin’ into?”

  “The Regina Coeli prison.”

  Abe’s eyes widened. “No thanks, I’ll take my chances busting rocks for twenty years. Are you nuts? That’s the one place everyone wants to avoid, and you’re thinkin’ of waltzing in there? How you gonna manage that?”

  “We have an in,” I said. “A guy who has the run of the prison. And a guard who’s been paid off. We walk in, all official and above board. You open one door, and then we go out with one more person than we came in with. The guard at the exit has been bribed not to notice. Then we hoof it back here in no time.”

  “You know why I went into pickin’ locks? Because I don’t have to depend on anyone else. My old man, he was muscle for Monk Eastman on the Lower East Side. The gang always had big plans, too big. Someone talked, or didn’t show up, and the whole thing went to hell. When the old man went up to Sing Sing after one of these big scores went south, I decided to go it on my own. This stinks of one of Monk’s plans. Too easy and too complicated at the same time.”

  “Abe,” Kaz said, moving over to sit beside him. “Without you, we can get within one door of a lady who needs rescuing.”

  “Spare the violins,” Abe said.

  “I am not appealing to your better nature,” Kaz said in a hard, even voice. “I am appealing to your sense of survival. Your choice is this. Come with us, and return a hero, in the eyes of the Army and Rosana. Refuse, and for your dereliction of duty, you will be expelled from Vatican City. We will have the gendarmes drag you to the white line and throw you over, into the waiting arms of the Germans.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Abe said. I wondered myself.

  “Yes, I will, and immediately,” Kaz said, rising.

  “Goddamn it, okay, okay,” Abe said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I go with you. And if we get back, you put me in for a medal and a promotion. And keep yer yaps shut about everything else.”

  “Certainly,” Kaz said.

  “And when the Army finally gets here, I want a rabbi. An army chaplain.”

  “Why?” I asked, not taking Abe for the religious type.

  “So me and Rosana can get hitched. For an investigator, Billy, you ain’t none too bright.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  All I wanted to do was sleep. We’d been up all night running in circles while the killer probably
had a nightcap, congratulated himself on another fine murder, and counted lambs getting slaughtered until he dozed off. But there was too much to do and no time for a catnap. It was likely only hours before we got the boot.

  Kaz had gone off to gather civilian clothes for Abe for our jaunt tomorrow. I’d gone to find Monsignor O’Flaherty and set things up in case we were thrown out before Rino came in the morning. If I ended up persona non grata in the Holy See, I wanted to be sure it didn’t keep me from joining Rino on his rounds at the Regina Coeli. For a minute, when I was dressing it up for Abe, I almost believed it might be that easy. But Abe had nailed it. There were half a dozen things that could go wrong and I’d be a fool to believe that at least one wouldn’t.

  It didn’t matter. I was going to get to Diana tomorrow. Even if we failed, she’d know I hadn’t abandoned her. I didn’t want to think about getting caught, since the Germans would have every right to shoot me as a spy. But being offered a blindfold and a cigarette didn’t bother me as much as the idea of leaving Diana to whatever fate the Germans had in store for renegade nuns. Crazy, I know. I did feel bad about Abe, but if he hadn’t been a crook, I wouldn’t have had anything on him, and he’d be just another downed flier biding his time. That was an excuse, I know, but it made it a little easier to live with myself.

  Rudder was a real problem. Neither Kaz nor I could figure why Brackett and Zlatko were tossing that name around. We hadn’t had much time to chew it over and I was still shaking my head over it as I knocked on the monsignor’s door.

  “Ah, Father Boyle, right on time for breakfast,” O’Flaherty said as he invited me in. “I was expecting Monsignor Bruzzone, but he must have been delayed. It sounds as if you all had a terrible shock last night at the radio tower.”

  “Word gets around pretty fast, doesn’t it?” I said as I sat at the small table. There were two places set for breakfast, but O’Flaherty had already started in on his.

  “It’s a small town, and gossip is a cottage industry,” he said as he poured me coffee. “You discovered Soletto’s body, I understand.”