by James Green
‘Wait a minute.’
‘Yes, Mr Costello?’
‘It was a small affair?’
‘Almost non-existent. Immediate family from Macau and two officials from Beijing.’
‘From Beijing?’
‘Yes Inspector, two officials from Beijing.’
‘And it took place where?’
‘Not in his cathedral. It took place in a small parish church belonging to the Official Catholic Church. One priest from the Official Church presided then the archbishop’s body was taken to his cathedral where he was quietly buried. No one, not even family, were present at the interment.’
If she was taking them somewhere, why pussyfoot around, why not just say what she wanted them to know?
‘Make your point, Professor. I’ve told you, I don’t want to be pissed about any more.’
If the words and the way they were said bothered her she didn’t show it.
‘He came to Rome as a recognised figure in the Chinese media, a glowing symbol of their new openness and tolerance. He was buried in a silence that was almost deafening. There was no media coverage of any sort, not a word about his death, other than that he had died.’
‘So what does that mean?’
‘Ah, now that question I cannot answer.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Can’t, and before you speak again, Mr Costello, I assure you that I am not in any way “pissing you about”. I cannot tell you why Archbishop Cheng’s funeral was such a low-key affair,’ she made the point by pausing, ‘but was nonetheless attended by two senior officials from Beijing.’
Whatever she was pointing at, it was passing Jimmy by. But Ricci picked it up.
‘So he was more than an archbishop when he was buried. He was someone Beijing were prepared to recognise as a senior Vatican official.’ He turned to Jimmy, ‘He was a cardinal. He had to be.’
‘I never said he had been made a cardinal, Inspector. That is your assumption.’
Jimmy looked at Ricci. A cardinal. Did it matter? And why was Ricci so sure?
‘What makes you think so?’
‘Because the Professor just said Beijing sent two officials, senior officials. Why two, why any at all if it was such a hole-and-corner affair, the funeral of someone the state wanted buried and forgotten?’
‘OK, why?’
‘It was a message to the Vatican, “we acknowledge his rank even though we cannot give him a public burial”.’ He turned to McBride. ‘For Beijing that would be some concession, yes?’
‘If you are correct, yes it would be a very significant concession.’
‘Then he was a cardinal?’
‘I cannot tell you what I do not know, Mr Costello, and I do not know if Archbishop Cheng had been given the red hat. I could speculate as Inspector Ricci has done but I am not a detective. I deal in facts and leave speculation to others.’
‘Fine. If you can’t be sure then find us someone who can.’
She thought about it for a moment.
‘Would you both step outside for a moment while I make a phone call?’
They left the office and stood outside the door in the corridor.
‘Well?’
Ricci pretended not to know what Jimmy meant.
‘Well what?’
‘You know what.’
Ricci knew.
‘Listen, you were a bent copper, you were a dangerous man, now it’s caught up with you and it’s being used. I don’t care what sort of copper you were and I already guessed you could be a dangerous man so nothing’s changed. I just hope you were as good a detective as she thinks you were.’
‘So you’ll get your brownie points if we get a result?’
‘Yes. She’s right, I want to go all the way and if this helps, fine. I’ll follow your lead so long as your lead takes us where I want to go.’
‘And then, if she says so, you’ll drop me in it?’
‘With the greatest of pleasure, Jimmy. It’s where you deserve to be after all, not swanning about playing at becoming a priest or doing the Vatican’s detective work.’
‘Ah, the moral high ground. I bet you spend a fortnight there each year just to remind yourself how nice the neighbours will be when you get to live there permanently.’
‘Fuck you.’
Jimmy didn’t care about Ricci. But that was the point, he should care. Any normal person would care. If he wanted to be a normal person he had to try and care.
‘Look, we have to work together, we don’t have to like each other but we have to get on with each other. So what say we just do this like it’s a roster thing? The list’s gone up and we’ve been put on a case together. Let’s just do it.’
Ricci thought about it. It was the only sensible way, they were a team, that’s all. They’d been put together to do a job and it was in his best interests to see it well done. He’d worked perfectly well often enough with men he hadn’t liked. He’d even worked well with a few men he reckoned were crooked enough to hide behind a spiral staircase.
‘OK, what’s done is history. We just get on with the job in hand.’
‘That was good, by the way, about him being a cardinal because of the boys from Beijing. I should have seen it.’
‘Not really, you’d already guessed it, remember? You were past it and looking for something else.’
He’s right, thought Jimmy, I’d half guessed it. But did his being a cardinal make him worth killing, and if it did, why did he have to die in Rome?
TWENTY
The office door opened.
‘Come in, please.’
They all went back in and sat down. When she spoke it was very deliberately.
‘I have asked your question and I have been given a response. The Vatican can neither confirm nor deny that the late Archbishop Cheng had been given a red hat by his Holiness.’
Jimmy felt his anger rising.
‘Neither confirm nor deny. What sort of answer is that?’
Ricci, however, seemed satisfied.
‘I see.’
Jimmy didn’t.
‘Well I bloody don’t. I thought we were going to get answers, straight answers.’
McBride repeated it for him.
‘I have been told to say that the Vatican can neither confirm nor deny that the late Archbishop Cheng had been given the red hat by his Holiness.’
‘I heard you the first time and it still doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Leave it, Jimmy.’
There was a command in Ricci’s voice, so Jimmy left it. He didn’t like it but he left it.
Ricci got up.
‘Is there anything else about Archbishop Cheng you can tell us?’
She turned the question over in her mind. The truth was always tricky. Anything else about Archbishop Cheng or the case? Hmm.
‘Nothing that I can think of.’
‘In that case we’ll be going. Goodbye, Professor, and thank you.’
Jimmy got up. He didn’t know what was going on but obviously Ricci did.
‘Goodbye, Inspector, goodbye, Mr Costello. Just tell the minister’s aide to let me know if you need my help again.’
Professor McBride didn’t get up, she just watched them go to the door. Ricci went out but Jimmy paused.
‘You’ll sort out leave of absence for me?’
‘It’s already done, Mr Costello.’ Jimmy nodded, of course it was. ‘But we should discuss the arrangements. They are reasonably straightforward but you should be fully aware of what they involve. Could you come to my office tomorrow at ten?’
‘Sure.’
He left and closed the door. When he caught Ricci up in the corridor he asked his question.
‘What did it mean, the “neither confirm nor deny” stuff? How does that help?’
‘Because it means he was a cardinal. It’s Vaticanese. It’s their way of saying yes when they can’t say yes.’
‘I see, so all we’ve got that’s new is his being a cardinal?’
They took the lift down, handed back their passes, and went back to the car where the guards checked them out. Soon they were back in the Roman traffic where Ricci picked it up again.
‘So now we know he was a cardinal. I don’t see how that gets us anywhere.’
Jimmy was looking out of the window watching Roman drivers trying to kill each other. He turned and answered absently.
‘If it was murder it tells us it wasn’t the Chinese. Why give him such a big build him up then kill him and why kill him in Rome and if it was them why the senior officials at the funeral? It’s all too elaborate, too much trouble, and it makes no sense.’
Jimmy turned back to watching the traffic and thought about it. Cheng as a cardinal was the only new thing they had, but he didn’t like it. Murder for him had always been simple, either an act of impulse or follow the trail until you found out who benefited most, which usually meant follow the money. But if this was murder it wasn’t an impulse killing, it was a planned, and it probably wasn’t going to be about money. He tried to see some way in which the cardinal thing could get them started and go somewhere.
Ricci did some horn pumping as a white van cut him up then got back to the subject in hand.
‘It’s all we’ve got so let’s fill in what we can and see if anything comes out of it.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well he must have got his red hat here in Rome before he died. That means only Cheng and the pope knew he was a cardinal. No one else, except maybe just a few top bods in the Vatican.’
‘And?’
‘And if no one knew about it how can it be part of the reason he died, unless you’re prepared to put the pope in the frame? Unless …’ Ricci left it hanging. But Jimmy wanted it. Anything was better than nothing.
‘Unless what?’
‘No, it’s nothing, it can’t be.’
‘Try me, we’re not exactly dripping with places to go on this.’
‘Well, you figured it out first, Jimmy.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, remember, you said first a secret bishop, then a secret archbishop, so what else might have happened that nobody knew about? Well, now we know. He was a secret cardinal.’
‘But if no one knew.’
‘You guessed. Why shouldn’t somebody else guess? Why couldn’t someone else work out it would happen.’
‘What? They killed him because he might be a cardinal?’
Said out loud like that Ricci remembered why he hadn’t wanted to say it. He now wished he hadn’t.
‘I told you it was nothing. It can’t be.’
They drove on.
Jimmy looked out of the window. This was all new waters for him, a million miles away from anything he’d ever done before, but he’d still have to use the old methods since they were the only ones he had. So he began. Use your experience, Jimmy. Do the same things, follow the same routines, ask the same questions. Forget it’s the Vatican, forget it’s Rome, forget it’s political. Just ask the same questions. Was this an isolated killing, was it just Cheng? It’s not a normal killing, so is it related to anything? Have there been others like it?
‘How many others?’
‘How many other what?’
‘Cardinals who’ve died suddenly. How many other unexpected deaths in, say, the last two years?’
Ricci gave a low whistle and braked slightly as a Fiat sports car cut in, apparently intent on cadging a lift on his front bumper. Jimmy’s question made him forget to pump the horn.
‘It’s a bit rich, isn’t it, murdering cardinals?’
‘Well, if we’re right, one’s been done, so why not ask if there’re any more?’
‘All right, if you think it’s a question worth asking. You lead in this, remember.’
‘I’m seeing McBride tomorrow to sort out my leave of absence. I’ll ask her who I need to see to get the information.’
‘What do you think she’ll do for you, arrange something terminal like they did for me?’
Jimmy gave a small laugh.
‘The way things are going I think I may already have something terminal.’
The car came to Jimmy’s district of quiet, tree-lined streets, pulled into his street, and stopped outside the Café Mozart. He got out of the car. He was tired again. No, not tired, weary.
‘I’ll let you know how I get on.’
Ricci nodded and the car pulled away. Jimmy went into the apartment block and went to the stairs where he had so recently been deposited like a piece of broken rubbish.
‘Do it right next time, you bastards. Do it right and finish the fucking job.’
TWENTY-ONE
The small room on the top floor was as depressing as ever.
‘Sit down, Mr Costello.’ Jimmy sat down. ‘I’m afraid I have been guilty of a little subterfuge.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I didn’t ask you here to talk about your leave of absence.’ The room was stuffy. It was high up in the building and there was no air-conditioning so any warm air rose and, as the window didn’t open, stuck, stale and oppressive. Jimmy began to feel not just crumpled but tainted somehow. McBride obviously wasn’t affected by the room. She was wearing a smart dark blue jacket and skirt and a plain white blouse with an open collar. She was all neatly pressed and just back from the laundry. ‘I asked you here to tell you something. Something about yourself.’
‘I know all I want to know about myself, Professor. There’s nothing I want to hear from you.’
‘That’s true. It is not something that you’ll want to hear, but I think you do need to hear it.’
‘If you say so.’
He didn’t care. It was going to be nasty and it was going to be true and there was nothing he could do about it. Saying it out loud wouldn’t change any of it.
‘Yesterday I explained why you are here in Rome. What I didn’t explain was that I had strong reservations about using you, other councils prevailed however.’ Fastidious bitch, thought Jimmy, set me up in this shit then distance yourself from the smell.
‘Not bad enough, or too bad?’
‘Not well enough, Mr Costello, not nearly well enough.’
He wasn’t ready for that. It had come at him from nowhere. ‘That my opinion was overruled in your selection is obvious from your presence here.’
He wasn’t sick, what was she on about? It was true he didn’t bother with check-ups, but that was because he didn’t care if there was something there. He had watched Bernie die from something that hadn’t shown itself until it was too late to do anything and Michael had died from something that killed as soon as it showed. You died, that was all, the way didn’t matter. What was the point in getting formally introduced to what was going to kill you? But he wasn’t sick right now. He knew that for certain because he had just come out of hospital and he had been cleared as OK to leave. If there was anything the matter with him they would have spotted it. But something about McBride made him ask.
‘What’s the matter with me?’
‘In my opinion you would do well to seek psychiatric help.’
He couldn’t fault her for being different. Given what she knew about him or had guessed, she could have accused him of being many things but he hadn’t expected it would be that he was a nutter.
‘I’m mad, is that it?’
‘Mr Costello, I have no medical training whatsoever, but I have spent most of my working life studying people who operate the levers of power. The men and women who decide the fate of others. My special field of study has become those who have great power but whose behaviour and motivation could be classed as abnormal.’
‘For instance?’
‘Dictators, those who lead totalitarian regimes, heads of terrorist organisations, all the ones you would expect, but also presidents, prime ministers, and, sadly, religious leaders of all faiths. I study people who perp
etrate injustice on a grand scale. I study people with power.’
‘And power corrupts?’
‘Absolutely. No one who has real power can ever be sure they will not succumb to the misuse of that power or that it will not influence their mental state.’
‘What’s that got to do with me? You don’t think I ever had any real power, do you?’
‘No, I don’t think that. Let me explain what I mean by using as an example Saddam Hussein in Iraq. Saddam was a dictator who, in his political life, had to be utterly ruthless and totally without pity or remorse. He had to care for no one nor trust anyone. In fact he had to be a monster. But he was a loving husband and father, kind, trusting, and caring. A father to be relied upon, that his family could turn to. In order to be able to live such conflicting lives he had to be two different people. He had to live a schizoid-inducing duality sustained in one case by an unshakable and fanatical belief in the rightness of his actions, and in the other by a profound love for and commitment to his family. Saddam the Dictator was able to believe in his love for the Iraqi people yet still do terrible things to them, to individuals, groups, and whole communities, to anyone he saw as a threat. I’m afraid it is not uncommon for those who have a fanatical love of abstract humanity to inflict great cruelty on real people.’
‘Is that what you spend your time doing, watching mad dictators trying to conquer the world? Why not just watch old Bond movies?’
‘Semyon Frank predicted the terrible cruelty of Bolshevism long before the October Revolution. George Bush’s famous, or infamous if you prefer, War on Terror could be said to be the same thing in different clothes. The justification of evil acts is often some greater good.’
‘Well I’m not Saddam and thank God I’m not George Bush and I was never fanatical about my work as a copper. Corrupt, yes, I give you that. But fanatical? No.’
‘No indeed. You were never fanatical as a policeman, just, as you say, corrupt. Your fanaticism lay in your effort to be a good Catholic, to be a good husband and father, to be a good parishioner. You had to be obsessive about that to sustain the duality you had imposed on your life. The Good Catholic in your private life, the Corrupt Policeman in your working life. To sustain those mutually incompatible personalities was only possible so long as you took the template of your police life from a small group of highly successful but deeply dishonest officers. They were corrupt and, to some extent, they were allowed to be corrupt. They were seen as a necessary evil. You chose to go the same way and, so long as an official blind eye was turned, you could believe it was an acceptable part of an imperfect system, that there was some form of greater good which justified your individual acts of violence and dishonesty.’
