William Kienzle - Shadow of Death

“So you see, Inspector, that is my common denominator. The favorite to be the next Pope and the next favorite in line, both murdered. Both murdered by men in dreadlocks. It is not an indisputable hypothesis, but it is worth consideration, I think.

“And there is one more very peculiar similarity in the killings of the two Cardinals. When I attended Cardinal Claret’s funeral, I was puzzled to see a black fist painted on the historical marker outside the cathedral. That same black fist was imposed on all the programs for the funeral rite.

“This morning, after the body was removed and things had quieted down, I went back to where Cardinal Gattari had fallen. The blood had been cleaned away. But there, where the body had lain, was the small image of a black fist.”

“A black fist! I must admit that is a most peculiar coincidence!”

They strolled on in silence.

“I would be glad to advance your hypothesis to the proper authorities for their consideration, Father. But what does it all have to do with us?”

“Just this: Not very far down that list of papal possibles is our own Cardinal Boyle.”

This observation literally stopped Koznicki in his tracks. He stood stock still. After a few moments, he moved a few steps to the low railing at the edge of the sidewalk. Koesler joined him. Silently they gazed at the ruins of the Forum.

“Each time I see the Forum, I am astonished again to think of the ideas that were born here,” mused Koznicki.

Koesler was surprised at this turn in their conversation. Seemingly, Koznicki wished to put this possible threat to Cardinal Boyle’s life on a mental back burner.

“Five hundred years before Christ,” Koznicki continued, “Rome became a republic with a system of rights for its citizens. Much of our concept of justice, our legal system, was formed here in the Forum.” He turned to Koesler. “Is it not impressive, Father?”

“Oh, yes, indeed.” He would not press the point; he would go along with his friend’s digression. “Rome is the fountainhead of our Western civilization. Even today, they still use that ancient inscription, SPQR— Senatus Populusque Romanus— The Senate and People of Rome. You look at these ruins of the Forum and the Colosseum across the street and you are impressed with how ancient traces of the twenty-seven-centuries-long history of Rome can be found all over the city. I can’t think of any other place where the past and present seem to coexist more completely and comfortably than Rome.”

There was another long silence. Koesler felt the verbal ball was definitely in Koznicki’s court,

“So, Father,” the Inspector still gazed at the Forum, “you believe there is a threat against the life of Cardinal Boyle because he is a recognized candidate for the Papacy.”

“Yes, but I don’t know why.” Of course Koznicki was concerned. Perhaps he had temporarily changed the subject in order to clear his mind—as a gourmet savors a sorbet between courses to clear his palate. He should have had more faith in the Inspector’s professionalism. “I mean, I don’t know what the motive might be. I may be wrong, but I think both Cardinals Claret and Gattari were killed because they were top contenders for the Papacy. But I don’t know who . . . or why anybody would do it.”

“How many other Cardinals, would you say, fit into the category of papal candidates?”

Koesler thought briefly. “I would guess not more than eight or nine serious candidates who would be pretty well universally acknowledged by students of this sort of thing.”

“And the names of those Cardinals would also be generally acknowledged? I, for instance, am not specifically aware of them. And I consider myself to be well read.”

“You are well read, Inspector. Your problem is that until now you were not specifically interested. For those who are interested, it is easy to work up a list. Why, a few years ago, a small publishing house in the midwest, Sheed Andrews and McMeel, published a book by Gary MacEoin on this very subject. If memory serves, it was titled, The Inner Elite.”

“I see. I would assume then, that uncompromising security for these men is called for. I shall be instrumental in informing the appropriate authorities.”

“I think you’ve hit on it, Inspector. And I think a lot of added security is vital for many of the Cardinals in question. But I believe we’ve got a major problem when we get to the man we would most like to protect, Cardinal Boyle.”

“Oh . . . and why is that?”

“Most of the Cardinals on the papal list are bureaucrats far removed from free association with common everyday people. It should not be terribly difficult to protect them. This is definitely not true of Cardinal Boyle. He leads a large and busy archdiocese. You know as well as I that he is no hothouse flower. He presides over confirmation ceremonies in parishes all over the six-county Archdiocese. Most of those parishes would present security problems. He attends open meetings. He frequently answers his own door.

“And to cap it all, most days you can find him walking down Washington Boulevard between his office and the Gabriel Richard Building, or to his automobile.

“And you know from past experience that he will not permit any major alteration in that open lifestyle. Both of us know Cardinal Boyle would never countenance walking about surrounded by a bunch of Swiss Guards.”

Koznicki was silent for a few moments. “In which case, Father, Cardinal Boyle had better pray that he is not elected Pope . . . or he’s going to be surrounded by Swiss Guards on top of Swiss Guards.

“Nonetheless, I think, Father, there are at least two ways to approach this problem: defensively or offensively. And, to use the familiar football metaphor, the best defense is a good offense.”

Koesler felt great relief that his friend finally seemed to be committing himself to an active role in the matter. “Then you agree there may be something to my hypothesis?”

“Father, in all the years I have been on the police force, especially those I have spent in the Homicide Division, I have learned one predominant lesson, and that is to keep an open mind on all possibilities.

“I could not tell you the number of times in an investigation that the least likely possible solution turned out to be the correct one. And I do not mean to denigrate your hypothesis. I only mean that to dismiss a tenable theory merely because it is not probable is to act the fool. My rule of thumb has become that memorable tune from HMS Pinafore:

Things are seldom what they seem.

Skim milk masquerades as cream;

High-laws pass as patent leathers;

Jackdaws strut in peacock’s feathers.”

“‘Very true,’” Koesler responded in kind, “‘So they do.’” He smiled. “I would have thought your theme might have been ‘A Policeman’s Lot Is Not a Happy One.’”

Koznicki smiled back. “No; in point of fact, I have found this policeman’s lot to be distinctly happy.” He paused. “Well, Father, you are quite obviously somewhat in advance of me in thinking through all these possibilities. Before you draw me out any further, do you have anything else in mind?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I have. I had thought of presenting this to you in the guise of a defense against the threat to Cardinal Boyle. But now that you have mentioned the possibility of going on the offense, I will suggest this man as our offensive weapon.” An uncertain pause. “Ramon Toussaint.”

Koznicki stiffened. Perceptibly.

“Ramon Toussaint? Yes, I would agree that could be a decidedly offensive weapon.” He looked at Koesler fixedly. “I have by no means forgotten Ramon Toussaint, Father. The name conjures up a one-man vigilante force and a series of grotesque human heads found mounted on statues in Detroit churches. One head found stuffed inside the late Cardinal Mooney’s ceremonial red hat in the cathedral, save the mark.