A Rose From The Executioner

by Edward Izzi

  “I’ve heard of that fraternal organization before. They were called the ‘Societa’ Crocifisso Della Rosa’, and my Nonno was one of them back in our town of Barga. They were originally referred to as the ‘Assassins of the Pope’ or the ‘Assassini per Il Papa’, and they were a covert organization created by the Vatican some five hundred years ago. They had played a big part in the anti-fascist, anti-Mussolini movement in Italy during World War Two.”

  “When I asked my Nonno about where the ring was from, he explained that the ring was part of a fraternal order of the Vatican and that he was an honorary knight. He explained that he was part of a holy, privileged secret society that was created by the Pope, to ‘take out’ anyone who had ‘broken the holy orders of the Catholic Church’. He actually considered himself a ‘Holy Soldier of Christ.’”

  “During World War II, “ he continued, “Pope Pius XII and the Vatican were considered neutral during that terrible war, but it was in the Vatican’s best interests to covertly, eliminate as many of the influential Fascists in Italy as possible, and especially, Mussolini. His fraternal organization was one of the underground groups that helped capture and assassinate him and his girlfriend when they were trying to escape from Italy over into Switzerland,” he explained.

  “And your grandfather was part of this order?”

  “Yes. It’s a very clandestine group that’s been around Italy since the fifteenth century. They were created in Florence by Pope Clement VII, from what I remember being told. They have always been a very secretive group of hired assassins who directly have worked for the Vatican for centuries to destroy any and all of the Pope’s enemies.”

  “Really?” as I was becoming so intrigued with his explanation, I was almost starting to lose my appetite.

  “They’re a very secretive organization. So secretive, they don’t even know each other’s real identities or membership. They all wear red hoods to cover their faces at meetings and use ancient, biblical names to refer to each other. And they are very skilled, highly trained killers,” Arezzo explained.

  “How do you know all of this?” I asked him.

  “My Nonno explained all of this to me the last summer that I was with him, as he was practically on his deathbed. It was as though he was making his confession to me before he died,” as Arezzo poured himself another glass of wine.

  “The ‘SRC’ is a very secretive group, but I always thought they only existed in Italy. It seems that they’ve spread across Europe and now, North America over the last fifty years or so. From what I was told, they have always received their orders from the Pope,” he explained. Michael then looked at me intently, as if he wished to get confrontational.

  “So, tell me Phillip, where did you get that ring?” Michael asked me for the third time.

  “I ‘borrowed’ it from the precinct evidence room. It belonged to a suspect who took a poison pill and committed suicide in our district. We were questioning him regarding a ‘rental car’ that may have been used in the stabbing murder of that ex-priest at Rush Hospital the other day. I only took it because I had seen this ring somewhere before and had a feeling it had something to do with these homicides.”

  “But I heard on the news that an arrest was made on those murders,” he replied.

  “Well, there has been. But there are still too many loose ends, and I’m not sure that we’ve arrested the right guy,” I explained to Michael, after he assured me that we could speak confidentially.

  “What else do you know?”

  “I don’t know anything about them here in the United States. But the ‘Society of the Rose Crucifix’, according to my grandfather, targeted homosexuals, gays, pedophiles, and even abortionists, those doctors who routinely performed illegal abortions in Italy. There were several pedophile priests who were mysteriously murdered back in the 50’s and ‘60’s, according to my grandfather. They targeted anyone who went against the Vatican and the doctrines of the Catholic Church.”

  We started to make a dent on our lunch entrees’, as my linguini with stuffed mussels was starting to get cold. I was trying to devour all this new information, wondering where and how I was going to verify all of this.

  “Have you noticed that all of these “Pedophile Priest Murders” were all brutal stabbings?” Michael asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s because, according to what I was told, the serrated knife was the only suitable instrument used to cleanse the souls of these demons, according to the Catholic Church. Its’ victims are all possessed by the devil, and the knife is the only way to release the evil from their souls so that they can properly die and enter the afterlife,” he explained, taking another bite of his now cold gnocchi.

  “They are all well trained butchers, who definitely know how to wield a knife.”

  I was speechless, as I was only able to say the word “Wow,” under my breath.

  “It’s no wonder we originally thought these were Mafia hits,” I replied.

  Michael started laughing. “The Mafia?” as he took another sip of his wine.

  “These psychos make the Mafia look like a little league soccer team. These guys are all shrewd, intelligent, religious zealots who carefully plan and butcher their victims, all in the name of God.”

  “And this has all been going on in Italy?”

  “Yes, for the last five hundred years. But I had never heard of them being here in the United States, let alone in Chicago until I started inquiring about that ring several years ago,” Michael was talking with his mouth full.

  When I asked him who the person was who was looking to duplicate the ring recently, Michael explained, “I was the one inquiring about trying to duplicate that ring here in the city. I couldn’t find one in Florence or anywhere else when I was in Italy. That’s when I found out you had to be a part of a ‘fraternal organization’ to get one. When I finally realized who they were, I put two and two together and dropped it. According to my Grandfather, these psycho-bastards are dangerous.”

  “Holy Shit!” I said out loud, as I was using my bread to clean off my plate.

  “So, I take it you never got your Grandfather’s ring?” I tried to joke.

  “No. According to his will, he requested that the ring be buried with him back in Barga.”

  “What do you know about the long-stemmed red rose that the killers leave at the crime scene?” Arezzo thought about it for a minute.

  “From what I remember, roses are the most consecrated and the most holy flower of the Catholic Church, and has always been used to venerate Mary, the Virgin Mother of Jesus,” he explained.

  “The red rose is not just a token of love but symbolizes courage and the power to uphold the Lord’s most holy commandments. My parents and my grandparents venerated the Virgin Mother and had a holy statute of her in our living room. There was always a lighted candle and freshly cut red roses beneath the statute. Whenever my mother went to church, she always had fresh red roses with her and placed them at the foot of the holy Virgin Mary.”

  “But why a red rose? I thought a white rose is the symbol of innocence and purity,” I asked.

  “A white rose does symbolize innocence and purity. But for those who have greatly sinned and broken the Lord’s Holy Commandments, the red rose symbolizes hope for all those sinners to return to Jesus and the Virgin Mother Mary, and to be accepted again into the Kingdom of Heaven.”

  “How do you know all of this,” I suspiciously asked.

  “I stayed awake in religion class,” he joked as he was referring to our classes at Holy Cross High School. He was smiling and seemed to be in a lighter mood as he was finishing his gnocchi.

  We finished our lunch and I let Arezzo pick up the tab. We left Dei Edoardo’s Italian Restaurant, and I dropped Michael off back at his jewelry store. But a very sick feeling started to overwhelm me. What if Feinstein is more connected to this organization then he claimed to be, and he put the word out that the Chicago P.D. has one of these rare, ‘SRC’ rings? What if
this ‘Society of the Rose Cross’ is looking to get their ring back, seeing that I have it in my possession and Feinstein informed them of that? Would my life be in danger? I needed to run back to my office and try to do some heavy research. I had a sick feeling these religious psychos might be looking for that ring. But I also realized something that afternoon that scared the living shit out of me:

  There’s a religious cult of serial killers, right here in Chicago.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Another Date

  I pulled into the parking lot of the Sixteenth District in a daze that afternoon, as though my Crown Victoria squad car had driven itself. I sat in the parking lot for several long minutes, fumbling with the ‘SRC’ ring that I had carefully wrapped in a plastic sandwich bag. The inside of my squad car seemed to be the only form of peace and solace that I could find during that time, as I put both of my hands on the steering wheel and said a quick prayer to myself. I was praying that my biggest fears and recent revelations regarding a ‘secret society of killers’ and these ‘Pedophile Priest Murders’ were completely wrong.

  I walked into my police district and back to my office. I wasn’t at my desk more than five minutes when my desk phone rang.

  “Phil? It’s Tommy.”

  “What’s the word, Tommy?”

  “Kilbane bonded out this morning.”

  “What?”

  I was so involved in researching that ‘SRC’ ring over the last few days and thinking about who the real murderers could be, that I had not given much thought about Kilbane ‘rotting’ in his jail cell.

  “How did that happen, Tommy?”

  “Apparently, when that suspect committed suicide at your district, his attorney convinced the judge that there was a possibility that the suspect on those hospital videos may not have been Kilbane. David Herzog had the judge review the tapes with him and played up the ‘stolen license plate’ theory. We also got the DNA evidence back from the crime lab. The DNA didn’t match up with Kilbane’s. He was also able to convince the judge that Kilbane wasn’t a flight threat,” Detective Morton explained. I was speechless as I thought about the situation for several long seconds.

  “Did anyone bring up the possibility that Kilbane might be safer in jail than free on bail?”

  “I guess not. He posted a one-million-dollar bail bond,” Morton replied.

  I thought to myself for a moment, that maybe the Archdiocese was already spending their life insurance proceeds before the claims were even approved. I knew that with Kilbane free on bond, and with the seed of doubt planted into the head of a judge and a potential jury, that the pressure to catch the real killer, or ‘killers’ was right back on our shoulders again.

  I was truly concerned for Kilbane’s safety. If my theory of the Monsignor soliciting a hit man for the murder of these pedophile priests was correct, I figured Little Tony might have something to say about it. We had a squad car watching and following DiMatteo around for several days now, and they were routinely reporting back to us. Except for Little Tony ‘going to confession’ that morning at Holy Name Cathedral, there was no unusual activity going on with DiMatteo’s undertakings. But with our department putting the heat on both Kilbane and Little Tony, I had a funny feeling in my gut that ‘something was going to crack’.

  If you put a pot of water on a stove and turn the gas on high, the water is eventually going to boil. We were turning up the heat on Kilbane and DiMatteo, and I knew something was about to happen. I figured by now that Kilbane had nothing to do with any of these ‘Pedophile Priest Murders’. But I knew he was guilty of soliciting a homicide. I wanted either him or Little Tony to ‘fess up’ and possibly rat each other out and admit to the Archdiocese’s evil intentions.

  That’s a long shot…good luck with that one, I thought to myself. The ‘Bridgeport Fraternity’ didn’t work that way, and I didn’t expect either the Monsignor or ‘the Capo’ to be making any police confessions anytime soon. Which now supported my assumption that perhaps, Kilbane was far safer in a Chicago jail cell than at the Cardinal’s mansion. If Little Tony was even a little suspicious or worried about the Monsignor ‘singing to the coppers’, he may want to do something about that. Something very radical and drastic.

  It was almost five o’clock that afternoon when there was a knock on my office door. As I looked up from my computer screen, I could immediately see who it was, and my heart rate started beating out of my chest. Even my hands were beginning to perspire.

  “You like surprising me, don’t you?” I exclaimed as I excitedly stood up from my desk and opened the door for her. She smiled as I gave her a quick peck on the cheek as she looked and smelled incredible.

  Olivia was wearing a tight pair of blue jeans and a white blouse, with a stylish blue windbreaker that gave me the impression that she was ready to go to a ball game or do some hard drinking at a local watering hole. We exchanged pleasantries and she quickly sat down in front of my desk. I noticed that she didn’t bring her usual briefcase along, and I got the immediate impression that this casual meeting was more for play than for business.

  “You don’t return my calls, Detective. You must very busy catching your man…” she said in a sultry tone of voice. Her expression sounded more like a rehearsed Greta Garbo line from an old ‘Mata Hari’ movie.

  “I’ve been pretty busy, Olivia. It’s such a nice surprise to see you here. What brings you to Chicago?” I asked, wondering if her casual appearance meant that she was interested in more play and less work. For some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off her, as she probably knew I was a sucker for a hot, beautiful brunette in a tight pair of blue jeans.

  “I haven’t heard from you or gotten an update on these ‘Pedophile Murders’, and I’m getting some pressure to close out these insurance claims one way or the other. So, my office sent me down here to see if I could be of any help in this investigation.”

  “Any help?” I innocently asked.

  “Well, yeah…you know…some help,” she repeated as she gave me a wink. “Would you rather have me helping you on the case? Or some old, fat, stuffy private investigator that was hired by the Great Lakes Insurance Company?”

  “Well…if you put it that way…” I was still in shock, seeing Olivia in my office again.

  “Great. So what time are you off, Detective?”

  “Well, I have a few things here to wrap up and…”

  “What is this rumor I hear about Chicago Style Pizza? Do you people actually think that your pizza is much better than ours?”

  “Well…to tell you the truth, I haven’t had Detroit pizza, so I really don’t have anything to compare it to,” I joked. “Now mind you, I’ve never met a pizza that I didn’t like, so I would be a very biased judge. But having New York pizza, I can definitely say that Chicago pizza is better…”

  “New York? Are you kidding? Blaaaaah. Total kaka!” she exclaimed as she sat herself on the chair in front of my desk and made her pizza and food critique. She was crossing those gorgeous legs, all wrapped up in those very sexy blue jeans and a black pair of Zanotti shoes, bouncing her right leg on her left knee while making her statement.

  “Hmmm….sounds like somebody wants some pizza.” I observed.

  “Take your best shot, Detective. Where can a hungry girl get a great pizza in this town?”

  I thought about it for several moments and a small, quaint pizzeria on the north side came immediately into my mind. I threw a few papers into my small brief case and packed up for the evening. Seems that I have a ‘business’ pizza date with a beautiful, insurance executive.

  We pulled up on Wrightwood Avenue to a small, quaint pizzeria which was well known in Ravenswood. Spacca Roma was a popular pizzeria with a wood burning oven and hand tossed, Roman style pizza with a discrete dough recipe direct from Italy. It was usually crowded almost every night there, as it was almost five-thirty when we were seated. We had a lively conversation on the way over, as she is talking about her job, her friends and her hea
lthy lifestyle.

  “You do realize, Phil. I will need an extra hour at the gym for this pizza tomorrow.”

  “It will be well worth it. The pizza coming out of this wood burning oven is to die for. I promise you, the dough will melt in your mouth,” I assured her.

  We ordered a couple of Peroni Italian beers, and the waitress brought over some freshly baked bread and some baked garlic, chopped into a small dish of virgin olive oil mixed with some parmesan cheese.

  “So, Phil…what’s new with this investigation?” she began to inquire. I started to give her a progress report on all three of the ‘Pedophile Priest Murders’, along with the suspect’s sudden suicide at our district. I also told her about some of the evidence that we encountered pointing to Kilbane as the murder suspect during our Rush Hospital investigation. It had probably taken almost thirty minutes to brief her on all the current and discovered facts in these homicide cases.

  The waitress brought over another cold Italian beer along with our pizzas, which were individually baked with green peppers, olives, onions and pepperoni. They looked and smelled heavenly. As we were both devouring our first slices, I continued to tell her about the evidence that I had ‘borrowed’ from the evidence room the other day. I reached into my suitcoat pocket and pulled out the plastic sandwich bag with its contents.

  The expression on Olivia’s face totally changed. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed in a loud decibel, as I took the ring out of the plastic bag and passed it across the table.

  “I’ve seen this ring before,” she said. “I had a visit from an attorney from Chicago yesterday, who was representing the Marquardt family, looking for information on the life insurance claim that was filed by the Chicago Archdiocese,” Olivia explained. “He was inquiring about the claim status, as his client’s family estate had intentions of filing a wrongful death lawsuit against the Archdiocese. I noticed that he was wearing a ring exactly like this one.”