‘Two deaths, one after the other, of two people you knew.’
‘Are you telling me I’m a suspect?’
‘Of course. We all are. Only they’ — he pointed to the photos — ‘are not suspects.’
Death frees everyone of guilt and suffering. The true salvation.
‘Do you believe in life after death?’ the Frenchman asked.
‘Excuse me?’ What kind of question was that?
‘Just curious,’ Gavache added.
Rafael was speechless. He’d have to respond carefully to avoid being misunderstood.
‘I believe there is a world after death where we’ll be in communion with God and…’
‘In heaven?’
‘Yes.’
‘Or hell?’
‘For whoever hasn’t saved his soul,’ Rafael explained. Where were these questions leading?
‘Do you think the Turk and the Englishman went to heaven or hell?’
Gavache had a gift for leaving him speechless.
‘Uh… I’d say to heaven.’ What a strange person.
‘Then you think they lived a life worthy of heaven opening its gates to them,’ Gavache insisted.
‘Without doubt.’
‘So what had they done for someone to so meticulously plan their murders? What did they do… or what did they know?’ Gavache left the question hanging in the air.
Rafael sensed where the inspector was going. He had no doubt why he held this position. He was sharp.
‘There’s something else,’ Gavache continued.
Rafael waited.
‘You told me you came for personal reasons, and not in the name of the pope, right?’
‘Correct,’ Rafael confirmed.
‘But these crimes have not yet been made public, Father. No journalists know about them. We informed the Holy See for very specific reasons, which makes your presence here very strange, don’t you agree?’ Gavache didn’t wait for a reply. He looked directly at him. ‘I understand you are a friend of one of the victims, but you have to explain to me why you took the last flight of the day to get here, for personal reasons, to assist in an investigation of a crime that no one knew had occurred. Your friend’s body wasn’t even cold yet.’ Having asked the question, he turned his back. A habit of his. ‘Take your time preparing your answer.’
What the fuck was the first thought that crossed his mind, and the second and third. The fourth was a less serious obscenity. Shit.
Jacopo came up at this moment, as if nothing was happening. ‘So? What did the guy want?’
Rafael grabbed him by the collar and lifted him in the air a few inches, lacking a wall to shove him against.
‘You bastard,’ he cursed.
Jacopo grabbed Rafael’s hands to get loose, but they were like claws holding on. ‘What did I do?’ he managed to ask.
‘Who told you about Zafer’s death?’ He still couldn’t connect the name to the group of dead men. It seemed unreal. ‘Who?’
‘The secretary of state,’ Jacopo managed to spit out.
Rafael set him down. Things hadn’t been right since the beginning. It wasn’t what was expected of him. His eyes blazed with fury. He was angry with himself.
‘You told me it was Irene.’
‘Who told me he’d taken a flight to Paris to look at a parchment. I didn’t say it was Irene who told me the news.’ Jacopo finished explaining. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, composing himself.
‘Who told you to inform me?’ Rafael turned his back to think.
‘Trevor, at the request of the secretary,’ Jacopo explained. ‘The orders were to go to Paris on the first flight. Isn’t that why you came?’
Rafael didn’t reply.
‘You’re completely crazy,’ Jacopo accused. ‘I didn’t want to come here. I came because they paid me to. I was just fine in Rome screwing my wife.’
Rafael remained silent, immobile.
‘You came for friendship, didn’t you? You thought I would give you news and Irene asked you to come to see what was going on? They hadn’t been together for years. Did you think I was here for the pleasure of your company?’
Rafael looked at the photographs of Sigfried’s body again. Gavache came up at that precise moment.
‘Have we reached a conclusion?’ he asked nasally.
‘The inspector said he informed the Vatican for very specific reasons. What are they?’
‘Welcome, Father Rafael,’ Gavache greeted him with a half smile. He opened a silver cigarette case and took another from inside. He raised it to his lips and searched for his lighter. He felt his pockets. ‘Jean-Paul,’ he shouted.
‘Here, Inspector,’ the assistant replied, stretching out his hand and lighting the cigarette.
Then Gavache handed a cell phone to Rafael.
‘For this,’ he said.
Rafael took the cell phone and looked at it, then at Gavache with a puzzled expression.
‘Your friend had great presence of mind, let us say. He was able to turn on the recorder and record a part of what happened. Maybe because the phone has a special button for that. Your friend used it from time to time to record thoughts and ideas. The part that interests us is not easy to understand, but the lab is working on the recording. Anyway, there is something explicit enough here. He took the phone from Rafael’s hand and found the recording he wanted.
The sound filled the room. What is the code [static noise] they gave you? a voice asked. I know the Vatican ordered the codes given.
HT, responded a voice Rafael recognized as his friend.
In what order?
I have no idea. Zafer seemed to be in great pain.
This is over now. You were a great help, Yaman Zafer. May the Lord have mercy on you and Ben Isaac. The pope will pray for your soul, the other voice said.
The rest were disconnected sounds that could be anything, but Rafael knew. Zafer dying. He heard the death rattle that had occurred in this very place. Finally, silence. He heard some steps and a word of farewell. Ad maiorem Dei gloriam.
Gavache turned off the phone and looked at Rafael.
‘Does this shit tell you anything?’
Rafael looked at him with icy coolness and a dead expression. The devil is in the details. ‘He’s a Jesuit.’
15
It’s said the night is always a good counselor, but under cover of night, crimes are committed, secrets told, and mysteries perpetrated.
They dined at table 205 on deck 14. Myriam wanted them to go see what was playing in the theater — a review called Broadway Hits, some of the principal scenes and music from Cats, West Side Story, and Phantom of the Opera. It wasn’t unforgettable, but pleasant, a kind of easily consumable pastiche.
They returned to their room after eleven. Myriam was happy, and that was the objective.
‘Are you okay, my love?’ she asked him. ‘You seem very distant today. Do you feel all right?’
‘I’m fine, Myr. Don’t worry.’
‘Did you talk to Ben tonight?’
