Carbon-14: The Shroud of Turin (An Amari Johnston Novel)

by Williams, R. A.

  “You like this Kevin guy, don’t you?” Pete asked.

  “Sure, he’s very nice.”

  “You’re different around him, you know. You may not notice, but I do. And I haven’t seen you wear that much makeup since the divorce. Honestly, you look better without it. That gunk just covers your pretty skin.”

  “It’s Jenny’s fault. She’s trying to make me more fashion conscious.”

  “She needs the makeup. You don’t.”

  “How am I different around him?”

  “I don’t know. You seem, softer. More feminine. Not so bossy. You actually let him finish a sentence without butting in. You have feelings for him, don’t you?”

  She started to deny it, but it would be a lie. And she hated lies. “Maybe a little. I’m trying not to, but I just like being around him. He makes me laugh. And he is kind of cute.”

  “Amari, I’m not trying to intrude in your personal life, but something about that guy bothers me. Call it a hunch, but he’s hiding something. I don’t think he’s been completely honest with you.”

  “You don’t think he has something to do with the guy in the library do you?”

  “No, nothing like that. Like you said, he seems harmless enough, but there’s something hidden behind his expression. I can’t put my finger on it. He just seems to be too eager to throw his colleagues under the bus. Most people would be reluctant to answer my questions. But he just threw it all out there. Why would someone in Kevin’s position bite the hand that feeds him?”

  “You think he’s trying to throw you off the scent?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, it’s . . . I don’t know. It seems strange to me, that’s all. Just proceed cautiously, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Dad, I promise, he’s harmless. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “You’re a smart girl. I trust you. Just something to consider.” He leaned in to give her a hug. “Love you, baby.”

  “Love you too, Dad.”

  “And don’t walk alone at night.”

  “Okay, Dad. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Whoever that guy was won’t feel like taking me on anytime soon. Did you check all the hospitals?”

  “We did. No concussions from a guy matching your description. But the local ERs are going to keep an eye out. And you tell me if you see anything suspicious.”

  “I will. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  Chapter 26

  Ernesto stood under the shade of his estate’s veranda, watching the children play kickball on the lawn. The bouncy red ball ricocheted off the marble support pillar and hit a chair next to him.

  “Foul ball,” Ernesto shouted and kicked the ball back onto the playing field.

  One of the servants hurried onto the veranda holding a cordless phone. She extended the silver antenna and handed it to him. “It’s Bonelli,” she said. “He says it’s urgent.”

  Ernesto took the phone and paced down the veranda, farther away from the laughing children so he could hear better. “Bonelli, what’s going on? Miranda said it’s urgent.”

  “It’s about the student in Tucson,” Bonelli said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Her name is Amari Johnston. She claims she has evidence to prove the carbon date on the Shroud was done on a patch.”

  “A patch?”

  “She thinks the section they used for the carbon date was repaired. Newer cloth was woven into older cloth and that’s why the Shroud appears much younger than it truly is.”

  “Fascinating. I wonder if she’s right.”

  “I think somebody’s afraid she is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was attacked. She’s okay, but somebody attacked her in the stairwell of the university library. I have a feeling somebody was trying to shut her up.”

  “That’s not good. What do the police say?”

  “They haven’t made any announcements. But I did find this out. She’s the daughter of a high-ranking detective for the Tucson Police department.”

  “Good, then she will have better protection.”

  “I’d say you’re right. There’s a police cruiser in front of her house at night.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “So what should we do? Are you ready for us to come back to Fresno?”

  Ernesto pondered his decision as he walked back into the parlor of his estate. What if she was right about the patch? That would change everything. Perhaps he could use his influence with the Vatican. Maybe they would hear her out and agree to a retest on a different portion of the Shroud. He would make some calls and pull some strings, but navigating the complex Vatican bureaucracy was difficult and time-consuming. In the meantime, he had to keep that girl safe. “I tell you what, why don’t you and Parker hang around for a few days. Don’t get involved. I just want you to watch her back from a distance. Besides, if there is somebody trying to kill her and they know you’re protecting her, they could try to remove you first. It’s better to stay in the shadows.”

  “And keep the element of surprise.”

  “Exactly. By all means, intervene if she’s in danger, but stay in the shadows until she does need you. Between you and the police, she should be in good hands until her attacker is caught.”

  “We’ll do what we can.”

  “And keep me posted.”

  ****

  The sweet smell of fresh donuts filled Pete’s nostrils as he sorted the pages. If he was going to interrogate Dr. Rahal, he had to have some evidence to go on. So he had Judge Hader issue a warrant requiring the bank to release statements for one Musa Rahal. Pete sat on a stool at the counter of Don’s Donuts reading these statements as George dipped his donut into coffee.

  Amari’s attacker in the library seemed like an amateur, and the way he went about his attack made little sense. If he wanted her dead, why not shoot her in the back on the way out of the library? Why not follow her to her car? There were security guards on staff at that library. It was a reckless act and it was a stroke of sheer luck he didn’t get caught. No, this guy was no pro, but he could have been desperate for cash. And the only person angry enough to put him on their payroll was Dr. Rahal.

  “Find anything good?” George asked and brought the coffee cup to his lips.

  “I Gotcha!” Pete blurted.

  George flinched and spilled coffee onto his shirt and tie. “Dang, Pete, you want to warn me when you do that? Got coffee all over my clothes. I just bought this tie.”

  Pete handed him a napkin but never pulled his eyes from the bank statement. “Gotcha again, you miserable scumbag.”

  George dabbed coffee from his tie, careful not to rub it in. “What’d you find?”

  “Big cash withdrawals. Two of them. Twenty-five hundred each time. And some other good sized checks.”

  “So let’s go get him. Have someone pick him up and take him to the station. We’ll sweat it out of him.”

  “I got a better idea. Let’s go visit him at work. Maybe we’ll spot something fishy while we’re there.”

  George took his coffee and donut to go and they headed to the WMS laboratory.

  When Pete stopped for a red light at East 6th Street and North Park, George wadded his donut bag and tossed it over his head into the back seat. “What did Interpol say?”

  “That I was wasting their time,” Pete said. He watched for the light to change through dark green, tinted aviator sunglasses. “Nine in the morning in Italy is one in the morning here. I spent most of the night trying to get someone to understand me. Mostly I sat on hold. I talked to the Director General of Public Security. He’s sort of their Chief of Police. I talked to the ministry of interior himself. The guy spoke pretty good English, but he told me the same thing everyone else did. He’s got a back log of cases that involved real crimes.” The light turned green and Pete followed a line of cars left onto North Park. “He said if I wanted to chase after conspiracy theories, I needed to hire a private investigator or come over there and do it m
yself.”

  “He’s got a point, Pete. We got nothing but the word of that geek your daughter’s friends with. It’s not real evidence. You need something concrete before they’ll listen.”

  “You’re right. I’m just grasping at straws. And speaking of that geek, I’m not so sure about Dr. Brenner either. You know he’s got a record?”

  “You’re kidding? Hey, turn right on 4th Street.”

  Pete turned onto 4th and kept talking. “It’s juvenile, so I can’t touch it. Out in Knoxville, Tennessee, back in ’79. He was sixteen at the time. I tried to get details, but they wouldn’t budge.”

  “He probably egged somebody’s house for all you know.”

  “Maybe, but still I’d like to know. I tell you, he’s hiding something.”

  “Maybe something Rahal says will give you some clues. It’s right here,” George said as he pointed to the long, red brick building. “Take that spot.”

  Pete pulled into a parking meter slot next to the lab. “Hey, remember what I told you. You do the introductions. Don’t tell him my last name. I don’t want him making any connections that I might be Amari’s father.”

  “Got it. I’ll do all the talking.”

  “Not all the talking, just the intro. I’ll do the rest.”

  “Right, you’re the boss. Like usual, only I get to say a few words this time.”

  They dropped a quarter in the meter and went through the front door. An elderly lady with horn-tipped reading glasses sat at a reception desk with her nose in a book. Pete coughed for her attention.

  “May I help you gentlemen?” she asked.

  George pulled his sport coat back and flashed the gold badge clipped to his belt. “I’m detective George Sanchez. This here’s my partner. We need to speak to a Dr. Musa Rahal.”

  “Is this about Amari Johnston?”

  “Maybe,” George said. “You heard of her?”

  “Heard of her? Who hasn’t? That’s a feisty young broad if ever I’ve seen one.”

  Pete fought to suppress the smile tugging at his lips.

  The receptionist picked up the phone. “Dr. Rahal, you have a visitor. No, it’s not that girl again. It’s the police.” There was a long pause and then barely audible words. “Yes, I’ll tell them.”

  “He said he would be right out. I think he’s been expecting you. You know, I warned him about smoking all that hashish in his office. That’s middle eastern marijuana in case you don’t know.”

  Pete and George shot each other an incredulous glance.

  “Yes, I’m just kidding,” she said and pointed down the hall. “There he comes now.”

  Dr. Rahal strode toward them. He was a short, Arab-looking man with gray streaked, televangelist shaped black hair. His eyes pointed in different directions so Pete couldn’t tell who he was looking at.

  “May I help you, gentlemen?” Dr. Rahal asked.

  “I was hoping so,” George said. “I’m detective George Sanchez from the Tucson Police Department.” He showed his badge and Pete did the same. “This is my partner, Pete. We’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Rahal said cordially. “Would you like to speak in my office?”

  “That would be great,” Pete said. They followed him down the hall, cut right, and stopped at the first door on the left.

  “Come in, have a seat,” Dr. Rahal said and pulled a second chair from the corner to join the one already in front of his desk.

  Pete and George sat, and Dr. Rahal went behind his desk. Pete looked around his office. There were pictures of family, trinkets, lots of books and manuals, but nothing unusual.

  “Do you know why we’re here?” Pete asked.

  “I suspect you’re here about the attack on Amari Johnston. Our disagreement is well known. However,” he quickly added and held up his index finger, “I assure you, I had nothing to do with that. In fact, I was concerned. I’m glad she was not harmed.”

  “So why were you so against her looking at the Shroud sample then?” Pete asked. “If you didn’t have anything to hide, that is?”

  “I had nothing to hide. I was simply following security protocols. That section of the Shroud comes from a priceless relic. We can’t have people come in off the street and demand to see it, can we?”

  “I see your point,” Pete said. The question he was about to ask may seem out of line, but he never beat around the bush. Sometimes the reaction to an inappropriate question said volumes about what’s on a man’s mind, no matter what came from his lips. “And I also see you’re not from around here. I understand you’re a Muslim. Your reluctance isn’t because of your beliefs, is it? After all, if the Shroud of Turin is for real, then that sort of discredits your own religion, don’t it?”

  Dr. Rahal seemed a little offended, but not like Pete had hoped. He just leaned back in his chair with the slightest of a smirk on his face.

  “First of all, detective, I am from here,” Dr. Rahal said. “My parents immigrated to this country before I was born. I’m from Phoenix. Second of all, I am not a practicing Muslim. I’m an atheist. Any religious tradition in my family will have to be passed on by my son,” he said and pointed at a picture frame on his desk. His son wore a white tunic and smiled for the camera behind a thick, neatly groomed black beard. “He is a devout Muslim. It’s not the way I raised him, but unfortunately, he fell into the wrong crowd in college. I do not share his faith, so certainly that is not the reason for my opposition.”

  Pete absorbed his statement, wondering if he should believe him. Dr. Rahal was dressed like anybody else and his office was completely secular, not one religious trinket to suggest he was a man of faith.

  “Listen,” Dr. Rahal said. “I know I was a bit hostile toward that girl, but you must understand that I’ve been going through a very nasty divorce. I’ve been in a foul mood lately. Ask anyone who works for me.”

  “I can understand that,” Pete said. “Been there, done that.”

  “Then you can understand my irritation when a young lady—who bears a remarkable resemblance to a young version of my own wife—comes in here and starts issuing commands like my wife did in divorce court.”

  “Okay, so you’ve been irritable lately,” Pete said. “But your spending habits say you’ve been having a good time. We checked your bank accounts and saw some pretty steep withdrawals. Now, we have a hunch this guy in the library was a paid hit man—and not a very good one. Maybe you paid him to rough her up so she’d know her place.”

  Astonishment flashed on Dr. Rahal’s face. “Gentlemen, I assure you, I did no such thing.”

  “So explain the large checks?”

  “Attorney fees.”

  “All right, I’ll buy that. But most attorneys I know don’t get paid in cash. Care to explain the two $2500 cash withdrawals?”

  “My wife got the house. I was forced to buy a fixer-upper. The contractor preferred cash. I can give you his number. He can verify this if you like.” Rahal opened his desk drawer and pulled out a business card and handed it to Pete. “This is his number. Call him. He will verify what I’m saying.”

  Pete took the card. “I’ll do that.” Then he looked at George and George returned the knowing look. Dr. Rahal’s story seemed solid. No holes whatsoever.

  A thought occurred to him. It was a long shot, but it was worth seeing Dr. Rahal’s reaction. “You’re kind of a short fella. How tall are you?”

  “I am five foot five. What does my stature have to do with this young lady?”

  “It’s another case. You don’t happen to ride a motorcycle, do you?”

  Rahal pointed his index and middle fingers at his own face. “With these eyes? Would you risk your life on a motorcycle if you had my vision? No, like the religion, I leave the motorcycle riding to my son.”

  “Your son rides?”

  “He does. He’s a student here at the university. He has no need for a car. He can borrow mine if he needs one.”

  “Interesting.
You say he’s a pretty devout Muslim?”

  “Unfortunately. I try not to interfere. He gets extremely defensive.”

  “He does, does he?”

  “What does my son have to do with any of this? You’re investigating the attack of that young lady at the library. According to what I hear, he was a large man. My son is my size.”

  “Your son may have a buddy. Someone that shares his convictions.”

  “I assure you, gentlemen, my son was not involved in this.”

  “You’re probably right, but I’d still like to question him. Maybe he knows somebody who was involved.”

  “Gentlemen, this girl was on the national news. Did you know that?”

  “I heard.”

  “The entire country knows what she’s up to. Everybody knows what she looks like and everybody knows she goes to college here. She brought this on herself. It could be anybody. But I promise you, it was not my son. Please, leave him out of this.”

  “If he’s got nothing to hide, then he’s got nothing to worry about. Now what’s his name and where can I find him?”

  Chapter 27

  Amari walked out of Pizza Hut at a quarter past ten. She stopped and scanned the dark parking lot for anything suspicious. Satisfied, she headed for her car. Her dad had told her not to stay out late, but she had to work if she wanted to eat. Besides, whoever it was that had attacked her at the library had surely learned his lesson—or else he was lying in a coma. If he really wanted her dead, he would have used a gun or at least a knife. And then again, he could have just been a rapist looking for opportunity, having nothing whatsoever to do with her butting heads with Rahal. She was tired of worrying about this guy, tired of losing sleep. She’d relived those moments on the stairway enough. She’d prayed for protection. Now she tried to put her faith in God and just move on, but it wasn’t easy.

  She reached her car and put the key in the door when something caught her eye. A black car sat all by itself in the middle of the strip mall next door. The car was facing her. Two figures sat in the front seat, watching her.