Relics Page 4

  Content that he had remembered everything, he pulled the Citroen’s keys from his back pocket and was making his way back towards the front door when an unsettlingly deep voice boomed out.

  ‘Going somewhere, Mr Malpuso?’

  Vito stiffened instinctively and slowly turned around. Standing calmly in the doorway stood the most gigantic man he had ever seen, with the piercing eyes of a predator and a deeply malevolent smile. Towering almost seven feet tall, the giant was dressed in a grey boiler suit with both sleeves rolled up to reveal bulging forearms.

  Vito froze on the spot, his hands now shaking uncontrollably.

  ‘I thought I would miss you,’ said the hulking colossus, his deep monotone voice sending a cold chill through the other man’s body. ‘Lucky me.’

  The lumbering giant then covered the three-metre gap between them in two strides and grasped Vito by the throat, his oversized fingers squeezing tighter and tighter.

  ‘Where is it?’ The brute’s accent sounded Eastern European, overlaid with the huskiness of a sixty-a-day smoker. ‘It’s simple. You tell me, and I let you go.’

  Vito clawed at the man’s fingers as they fondled with his windpipe, the pressure causing his eyes to fill with tears. ‘I … I … don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  The leviathan suddenly released his grip, sending him sprawling on to the hard terracotta floor with a thud. ‘Do you know who I am, Vito?’

  The small Italian coughed up spittle as he struggled to recover his breath. ‘I know what you are.’ He spluttered again as a wave of new-found confidence gushed through him. ‘But that matters not, because I don’t know what you want, and neither would I tell you anything even if I did.’

  The huge man shook his head in disappointment. ‘Well, my name is Drazia Heldon, and I’m positive that I can change your mind.’ The giant noticed the Italian, eyeing the plastic coverings on his shoes, and he smiled with a shrug. ‘That’s so I don’t get any blood on them. Now, let’s begin, shall we?’

  Chapter 6

  The late Rev Archibald Dwyer was one of those people Harker had counted as an old friend but not a close friend. Both of them born in Belfast, Northern Ireland, the two boys had grown up in the same suburb and attended the same Catholic school.

  The death of his father when the boy was only eight had, of course, changed the whole family dynamic. Liam Harker had been caught in a bomb blast whilst making his way home after a long day at the Bird’s Eye chicken factory where he worked as a quality-testing manager. At the age of forty-five, and after twenty years watching chickens being slaughtered, he had decided to turn vegetarian, although his family were less than enthusiastic. That fateful evening, he had popped into the Celery Stick for a vegetarian takeaway and had just made it outside when a car bomb exploded. In fact, it turned out that the IRA had been targeting the busy pub next door.

  At the age of eighteen, Harker had been accepted into a Catholic priest’s internship at the Vatican. Within three months, he was almost fluent in Italian, and, by the end of the first year, his ability to pick up new languages and texts had not gone unnoticed by his supervisors. For a period of two years, his time was spent under the guidance of Cardinal Priest Salvatore Vincenzo, head of the Vatican’s Pontifical Commission for sacred archaeology. The department dealt mainly with the preservation of ancient Christian cemeteries and mementos, but Vincenzo was also a keen linguist, and the young Harker had enthusiastically spent time assimilating as many new languages as he could. His mentor had secured him access to the textual division of the Vatican and the young priest had set about familiarising himself with the great number of texts that had passed into the Church’s hands over the last couple of millennia. By the end of his time at the Vatican, he was permitted to browse through the famous and heavily guarded main library, where the most important treasures were to be found, and Harker had been stunned at the sheer volume of works still needing to be properly catalogued. Many of them had apparently sat, locked away in storerooms for hundreds of years without being inspected. Even then it had seemed almost criminal to him that so many texts written throughout history were left unread and unstudied when they could surely offer new insights into the very religious figures the Church now revered. Applauding his application to the cause, the library’s curator, Cardinal Entonian, had two words for it: due diligence.

  That evidence of institutional lethargy had caused Harker’s first pang of concern about his chosen way of life as a priest within the Catholic Church. Nevertheless, he had persevered, and, by the end of his three-year training, Harker had been assigned to the parish of East Harling in the country suburbs of Norwich. Archie Dwyer, on the other hand, had been given a parish in Belfast, where sectarian violence had intensified, and the community needed spiritual guidance more than ever.

  The two friends had kept in regular touch since their induction into the priesthood, but that had all stopped when Harker hung up his collar. The fact was that he’d barely spoken a word to Archie Dwyer since quitting the priesthood. Archie had never forgiven him for what he saw as abandonment of his faith, and he deeply resented Harker’s lack of clarity over the reasons for leaving. Harker consequently suspected Archie had seen his resignation as a personal failure, as if Dwyer’s own faith and commitment to the Church hadn’t been strong enough to save his closest friend. Harker’s explanation that he felt that he could serve Christianity better if he was outside the priesthood had not gone down well in their last face-to-face conversation, and Archie had completely failed to see the logic in his argument. Deep down, Harker had always hoped that the two of them would make up again at some point, but that wasn’t to be. Certainly not now.

  Such were the thoughts that occupied him during the flight to Da Vinci airport and the subsequent taxi drive to the church of San Lorenzo Fuorile Murahis in the centre of Rome, where Archie’s funeral was taking place. After his mysterious meeting with Sebastian Brulet, he had gone home, packed an overnight bag, and, after a few hours, wrapping up some urgent business, he had headed straight to Heathrow. The two-and-a-half-hour flight had been bearable, and even having two screaming children sitting nearby hadn’t been too much bother, but to find, on arrival at Da Vinci, that his bag had taken an alternative flight to Belgrade … well, that had been the final straw. By the time he had established its whereabouts, Harker was really running late, and although relieved to climb into a taxi, the drive had proved a further nightmare. For getting out of the airport later than he’d expected had meant getting caught up in Rome’s rush-hour traffic. By this time, he was an hour and forty-five minutes behind schedule, not to mention sweaty as hell, when they finally arrived. The vehicle’s air-conditioner was not working, and he was just tucking another serviette, provided by the driver, under his armpit as they arrived.

  ‘This is it, signor. The church of San Lorenzo is just over there.’

  Harker gazed through the window at a plain-looking edifice across the way. Its façade was lined with six free-standing, medium-sized iconic pillars with ornate metal bars in between them and a grand doorway in the middle. Harker got out of the taxi and stretched, his sweat-soaked shirt feeling suddenly chilly as a gentle breeze blew over him. What a ride!

  ‘That will be eighty euros,’ the driver demanded impatiently, wanting to get back onto the main road before he was collared by a passing traffic warden.

  Harker pulled out a wad of notes and began counting them off.

  ‘And ten for the serviettes,’ added the grinning driver. Annoyed at the con he had fallen for, Harker shook his head and added the extra before passing it over.

  ‘Maybe next time you’ll get your a/c working,’ he grumbled.

  The man rolled up the notes and shoved them into a small wooden change box resting on the passenger seat. ‘If I did that, my friend, I’d make nothing on the serviettes.’ He laughed sarcastically and drove off into the crowded street.

  Harker shrugged off his annoyance and made his way through the gates into the nave
of the church. At least, he had made it here in one piece.

  The inside was truly magnificent with a white marble floor under six grey pillars rising to a coffered golden ceiling. The huge altar sat in front of a twelve-foot oil painting of Christ suffering on the cross, behind which a spectrum of colours shone through beautifully crafted, stained-glass windows. Four smaller chapels led off the main axis, each with exquisite busts of angels and saints, some of which Harker recognised as being carved by the master sculptor Bernini himself. On either side of the nave, a row of wooden pews ran towards the altar, and a tiny congregation sat listening patiently to the priest deliver his blessings from the pulpit, in front of which was a light pinewood coffin supported on two metal trestles.

  Being over an hour late, Harker had hoped to slip into the crowd unnoticed, but as there were only four mourners, and the priest conducting the service, the subtle option seemed impossible. He walked as casually as possible down the aisle and took a seat. Three of the others present were dressed in full Catholic clerical dress, and two of them gave him an unemotional nod. He didn’t recognise either of them, but a fourth person was smiling at him curiously.

  Claire Dwyer looked as good as ever, dressed in a respectfully low-cut black dress and a trim black hat that was tipped slightly on to one side. She gave Harker a small wave before turning her attention back to the priest.

  ‘In the name of the Holy Father, we commend his spirit to heaven. May he find the peace in death that eluded him in life, amen.’ The priest gestured the sign of the cross, and the congregation all bowed their heads one last time. Then the other men stood up and began offering Claire their condolences. Harker waited for the priest to finish his bit before himself heading over to her.

  ‘Alex, it’s so good to see you. Thanks for coming.’ Claire threw her arms around him, as fresh tears began to well. ‘I didn’t think you were going to make it.’

  Despite his relationship with Archie being on the rocks, Claire had never held that against Harker, as sisters sometimes do. The two of them had been close during their earlier years but had hardly spoken over the past five. She pulled back from their embrace, and, despite her running mascara and puffy eyes, Harker felt a surge of attraction. She had definitely improved with age, shedding the puppy fat that had clung to her throughout her twenties, and the long red hair was no longer greasy with split ends. All in all, she looked pretty good.

  ‘Sorry, I’m late, but taxi ride here was a nightmare.’

  She stopped him with a vigorous shake of her head. ‘You’re here, and that’s good enough.’

  The two smiled at each other fondly as old friends do.

  ‘I should have contacted you as soon as I found out. It’s not an excuse, but things have been a bit crazy for me lately,’ Harker offered, feeling a little embarrassed.

  ‘Don’t worry, Alex, I understand – scrolls and everything. We’re all very proud of you.’ She glanced towards the pine coffin. ‘So was Archie, although he never would have told you himself.’

  That thought comforted Harker. Even before their bust-up, Archie had never been one for compliments. Whether it was odd or an apt characteristic for a Catholic priest, it was difficult to say.

  ‘Still I should have phoned. I apologise.’

  Claire smiled. ‘Apology accepted.’

  Thankfully, the awkward silence that ensued was interrupted by one of the other attendees.

  ‘Miss Dwyer, please accept my deepest condolences for your brother. He was a good man, who will be missed.’

  The man’s voice was unusually high pitched, and his accent sounded German, although Harker couldn’t place the region, but his clerical garments signified he was a cardinal.

  ‘Cardinal Rocca, thank you for coming. Your presence would have meant a lot to Archie.’

  ‘It was the least I could do, and I only wish more people could have turned up. But considering the circumstances of his death, I hope others may find room in their hearts for forgiveness.’

  The last comment made Claire wobble slightly, and Harker quickly steadied her with a supportive hand. Seeing she was about to well up again, he stepped forward.

  ‘Cardinal Rocca, I’m Alex Harker, an old friend of Archie.’

  The cardinal shook his hand limply. ‘Yes, Professor Harker, I know who you are, as I’ve seen your face on the news many times. It’s a pleasure, and thank you for coming.’ He turned his attention back to Claire. ‘Miss Dwyer, I am at your service, so please do not hesitate to call me if the need arises.’

  With a gentle nod, the cardinal headed back into the church, followed by the other priests, leaving the pair of them alone.

  Claire had always been bit of a tomboy – a toughie by nature – but Harker could see all that strength had now deserted her and understandably so. She looked so fragile and delicate, and it took all his self-control not to throw his arms around her and start getting wet-eyed himself. But that would have really set her off, so he resisted.

  ‘So what now?’

  Claire gazed up at him and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Now I need a drink.’

  Chapter 7

  ‘I thought more people would have shown up. He always seemed popular within the church.’

  Harker settled back into the tanned, wicker chair and took a sip of his frothy cappuccino. The Portofino cafe was just around the corner from the basilica of San Lorenzo so had only taken a few minutes to reach. Situated on the bank of the River Tiber, the cafe’s terrace overlooked the cramped expanse of Rome’s old quarter. Harker had been a regular customer of this little coffee shop during his time studying to become a priest, and he was surprised to find it still in operation.

  Opposite him, Claire Dwyer was polishing off her second Stella Artois and already loosening up. ‘It’s because he committed suicide, isn’t it? Still considered a cardinal sin in the eyes of the church.’

  Harker shrugged sadly, struggling to put a positive spin on his answer. ‘It’s still a crappy reason for his friends not to come and show their last respects. It surprises me, Claire, it really does.’

  She stared at him thoughtfully and picked at the label on her beer bottle. ‘He wasn’t the same man you remember, Alex. He’d changed so much that even I found it difficult to talk to him, and you know how close we once were.’ She gazed out across the piazza towards a group of teenagers who were jostling for a seat on one of the stone benches that surrounded the square. ‘Of course, everything changes. It always does.’

  Tears once again appeared in the corner of her eyes, and Harker reached over and placed his hand on hers.

  ‘You want to talk about it?’

  She pulled away coldly. ‘I don’t think it would make any difference. Not now, anyway.’

  For the second time that morning, Harker felt a surge of guilt. He had always felt a certain kinship with Claire and now hated playing with her emotions to obtain answers. Should he tell her his true reason for being here in Rome, he couldn’t be sure of her reaction. He was tempted all the same, but why deliver more pain over Archie when it could all be a wild-goose chase?

  He inhaled a deep breath and gave himself time to ponder the thought before deciding, for the moment, to keep it to himself. ‘It would make a difference to me.’

  The comment stirred Claire from her thoughts, and she turned to him, smiling. ‘He was his old cheery self, an eternal optimist, up until about six months ago.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then he just changed. He became withdrawn … depressed. It wasn’t long before he stopped returning my calls, and, when I did get to speak with him, he would ask me the oddest things like “You think I’m a good man, don’t you, Claire?” and “I’ve always tried to do the right thing, haven’t I?” He was suddenly looking for constant reassurance.’

  The idea of his old friend seeking guidance perked Harker’s interest because anyone who had known Archie also knew that it was he who offered reassurance, not the other way around. It had been that way
since Harker could remember, and it was an incredibly superior, if not downright annoying, characteristic.

  Claire sighed and gazed up at the hot midday sun, enjoying the warmth on her face before turning back to him. ‘I keep thinking that if only I’d flown out earlier and cornered him, you know, throttled some sense into him, he’d still be with us.’

  Harker sat back in his seat, unwilling to let Claire reprimand herself. ‘There’s no way you could have known, so don’t do that to yourself.’

  She sagged back into her chair with a groan. ‘Maybe, maybe not, but what you don’t know is that I spoke to him just a few days before he died. He was mostly babbling something about a meeting and about putting things right. I don’t know about what, though. Truth is, I wasn’t really paying much attention because, the way he was acting, I thought he was just going off on one, you know how he could be … God, was I wrong.’

  At that moment, the waiter appeared to remove her empty beer bottle, and they waited silently for the young man to wander off to the next table before continuing.

  ‘Do you know who he was meeting?’ Harker enquired.

  ‘Some man … I can’t remember his name. It was something like Medic or Maddy.’

  It sounded similar to Maddocks, the name in Archie’s note, but Harker didn’t want to mention that now, not yet. ‘Doesn’t sound familiar. Have you told anyone else?’

  Claire looked up at the sun again and laughed. ‘God, Alex, you know both our parents aren’t here any more. I’m the last in our family now. Who would I tell, and why? It was suicide; case closed.’ She took a swig from her bottle. ‘I just wish I knew why.’

  Brulet’s warning echoed through his mind, Do not trust anyone, Mr Harker. Anyone. The words were lost on him as he watched his old friend begin to crumble under the weight of it all. She was just as confused as he was about this whole damn affair.

  ‘Claire, there’s something you need to know.’ His firm tone made her lean towards him, her face alight with curiosity. ‘I was approached by someone who seems to think Archie may have been in some trouble before he died. So I offered to look into it.’ He even considered telling her about the huge cheque that had sealed the deal but wasn’t sure how she would take that. ‘The thing is, together we may be able to find an answer.’