Shadow of Death

His smile told Koesler that Licata was toying with him. Nevertheless, the priest persisted.

“I had no trouble believing the Rastafarian plot to kill papabili, bizarre as it was. But I began having doubts when the black fist symbol was found at each location where a Cardinal was attacked. The Rastafarians have no history or reputation of leaving a symbolic calling card.

“But we were dealing, quite obviously, with a group that must have almost worldwide capabilities of action. This was a plot, after all, that demanded the capability of striking against Princes of the Church in widely scattered areas of the world. Among those organizations that have that sort of capability is the Mafia. Wherever the Mafia is not present in force, they have sufficient contacts to issue . . . I believe it is called a contract. In addition, one of the early symbols used by the Mafia was the black hand.”

“Fascinating.” Licata’s smile had narrowed and frozen. “But very—how is it called in the courts?— circumstantial. The Mafia has no . . . uh . . . patent on any symbol. A black fist is the symbol of the Black Power movement. There is every reason to expect a group like the Rastafarians to adopt it. What are they if not believers in black power? Besides, what reason would the Mafia have to be involved in a plot against the Princes of the Church? Sicilians, after all,” he spread his arms wide, “are Catholics.”

“Precisely.” Koesler, so absorbed in his exposition that he had, in effect, self-hypnotized himself against his pain, leaned forward. “But what if, with your excellent contacts, you learned of the Rastafarian plot early on? Learned that one of their targets was a man—a Cardinal—from whose assassination you could spin off and, under the guise of an attack against him, be able to settle an old score.”

“An old score?” The smile had vanished.

“Yes, an old score. I may have had my doubts when it came to linking the clenched black hand with the Rastafarians, but I could have lived with those doubts. Then, attempts were made on Ramon and the Inspector . . . and my doubts grew. Up till then, only Cardinals had been attacked. Now a deacon? And a police officer? The only explanation was that they had been attacked because they were protecting the established target, Cardinal Boyle. Still, I thought it a pretty thin explanation.

“But once I was attacked, that explanation evaporated, I didn’t fit into this picture—unless the scenario was divided differently. What if I were to group Cardinals Claret, Gattari, and Boyle together as targets of the Rastafarians? Targets in whose attacks you participated by placing the symbolic black fist at the scene of the crime, so the police would think all the attacks were linked.

“But, suppose I group Toussaint, Koznicki, and myself in a separate bracket. What is it that could possibly link the three of us, I asked myself. Only the incident several years ago, when some of Detroit’s crime figures were murdered and their heads found on statues in Catholic churches. The first and most notorious of those victims was Rudy Ruggiero, the reputed Detroit Mafia leader.

“And, among those suspected of involvement in those killings was one Ramon Toussaint—although he was never charged with the crimes. Responsible for the homicide investigation, which concluded with the matter being placed in the unsolved cases file, was Walter Koznicki. Also involved—and perhaps the closest confidante of Toussaint—was myself.

“I put all this together and arrived at the successor of Mr. Ruggiero: the reputed present head of Detroit’s Mafia family, Don Louis Licata.

“Also, in the assaults against Toussaint and Koznicki, the calling card changed ever so slightly. From a black fist to an open black hand, the celebrated symbol of the Mafia. The Mafia had made its statement. As the Rastafarians attempted to carry out their clumsy plans, the Mafia, with characteristic cleverness, was there even in advance of the Rastas. And the Mafia, with characteristic bravado, supplied a calling card that could easily be associated with the Rastas and the Black Power movement. The Rastas would not even tumble to what was going on.

“Then, with the Rastas discouraged and ready to abandon their grand scheme, the Mafia proceeded on its original plan to settle that old score. And, along the line, the calling card is changed ever so subtly into the notorious black hand.”

Koesler looked at Licata expectantly. “Have I left anything out?”

“Nothing of any consequence.” The smile reappeared. “You have only one problem—but it is a big one: You have no proof. There are no witnesses except those who will protect me with the ornerta, their silence. Nothing you have said would stand up in court. That is your problem—and it is a formidable one.”

“That may be my problem, but it is not my question. My question is why? There was no trial. No one was even arrested in the death of Mr. Ruggiero. Why would you take it upon yourself to attempt to kill three people, none of whom was charged with any crime . . . all of whom must be presumed to be innocent of any crime.

“Why, Mr. Licata . . . why? I just don’t understand.”

Licata spread his hands flat on the desk top. “You do not understand because you do not understand us.

“We Sicilians are most concerned about reputation, about saving face. An insult or a killing must be avenged. We cannot live with it; it must be avenged. We have an expression: Li?arisi na petra di la scarpa . . to take a stone out of one’s shoe.

“With some who are united in ‘our cause,’ this revenge must be taken by ourselves. We care nothing for the authorities. The authorities care nothing for us. We are our police. We are our banks. We dispense justice. We have to—because nobody else ever gave a fig for us, nobody else cared about us, nobody else helped us or defended us —or even knew we were alive, except to look down on us.

“Now, especially when outsiders dare to strike at us, they must know that we will not be satisfied even if they are punished by the authorities with merely a few years in prison. No; they must—and they will—receive our justice . . . and our cause is avenged.

“You three, Toussaint, Koznicki, and yourself, you were tried in our court, a court where I am judge and jury. I have no need of your ‘due process.’ I have no need of your meticulous evidence. I have need only of vengeance. I hold the three of you responsible for the death of Don Ruggiero. One of you has paid his debt in full. The others will pay. I have so judged. It is inevitable.”

“But it’s been so long! So many years!”

Licata shook his head. “We are always willing to postpone revenge if necessary. We will wait until the proper time and the proper place. This insane plot to kill Cardinals became the proper time, and England and Ireland became the proper place.

“You would have no way of knowing this if I did not tell you. Since Don Ruggiero had been badly frightened, perhaps even frightened to death before he was decapitated, we arranged a special surprise for your friend Toussaint before his beating. With the aid of some papier-mache and a clever artist, we set up a special Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussaud’s just for him.

“You look surprised. You shouldn’t be. After all, if we could discover the Rastafarians’ assassination schedule, it was nothing for us to obtain your group’s tour bus schedule.

“I promise you, he was frightened—just as Don Ruggiero was—before your friend became unconscious for the rest of his life. We deliberately left his cranium untouched to assure he would remain conscious long enough to experience the maximum of pain and fear.

“And you would have been able to see his fear, if you had accompanied him as you had planned.”

“And if I had been there?”

Licata spread his hands wide. “What can I say? You would not now be here.”

“But, at most,” Koesler said, “Toussaint was considered merely a suspect in those killings—and that by a very few people. And on those grounds, you would have killed him . . . and Koznicki . . . and myself?”

“I told you, we dispense our own justice. The Jews have a saying, ‘If I am not for myself, who will be for me?’ No one of us is attacked without our vengeance. All must know there is no escape from our vengeance. And now your Reverend Toussaint is enjoying a living death. Don’t you think that a most fitting revenge?

“But enough. Now that I have told you all this, I will tell you something else: You were very foolish. Padre, to come to me. You should have known that if your theory is correct, you—and Inspector Koznicki—represent unfinished business for us. We will bide our time, but eventually, we will take care of the Inspector.

“But for now, our business will be finished as far as you are concerned . . . once and for all.”

He pressed a button on his intercom.