Papal decree

24

‘Cough it all up from now on,’ Gavache ordered. ‘We’ll begin with the recently converted historian. Who is Ben Isaac?’

‘He’s a legend, a myth,’ Jacopo answered, amazed.

The rain outside was falling harder. A flood that inundated the City of Lights, freeing it from evil, amen.

‘He seems alive enough,’ Gavache contradicted him. ‘I’ll have his record shortly. Continue, Mr. Jacopo.’

‘According to what is known, in very restricted circles, he was behind the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Those the Holy See declares apocryphal gospels.’

‘What are they?’

‘Non-canonical gospels, not approved as belonging to the sacred Scriptures, in other words, writings not considered inspired by God.’

‘Why? Are the others considered inspired?’

‘According to the church, yes,’ Jacopo confirmed.

‘And how do they know what was inspired or not?’ Gavache questioned. What a hell of an idea.

‘They don’t know. It was a question of politics.’

‘Absurd,’ Gunter protested. ‘Of course they knew.’

Gavache turned to Gunter menacingly. ‘Quit protecting your own interests, Mr. Priest. It doesn’t suit you well.’ He indicated for Jacopo to continue his explanation.

‘The theologians of the church had to decide what to include in the sacred book and what to leave out. There are five Bibles — the Judaic, the Hebrew, Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox. The most important are the Judaic and Catholic, the latter because it has the largest number of faithful, the former, for historical reasons. As you ought to know, the Jews and Catholics share some books of the Bible. Those they call the Old Testament, but the Jews don’t recognize them as old because they don’t accept the new, since for them Jesus is not the Messiah. Both are called religions of the Book. Muslims are, too, because they base their faith on another book, the Koran, of course.

‘The Judaic Bible is composed of twenty-four books. It was what Jesus read and quoted regularly. The Catholic Bible has seventy-three, seven of which are considered apocryphal by the Jews. Don’t forget, the New Testament is not included in the Judaic Bible, nothing of the Acts of the Apostles, the Gospels, Letters, or the Apocalypse. And, obviously, the New Testament comes long after Jesus Christ. He never read it.’

‘So you’re telling me the Holy Scriptures have very little holiness.’

‘That’s your opinion,’ Jacopo defended himself. ‘To each his own. But I agree with you. Besides, it’s said the Septuagint and, later, the Vulgate left a lot out.’

‘The Septuagint?’

‘Yes. The Bible was translated from Hebrew into Greek for the Jews living outside of Palestine who no longer spoke those languages. Greek became the second language of Palestine. Even Jesus spoke it, according to the evangelists. The Septuagint was translated by seventy erudite Jews from Alexandria, from which they call it the Bible of the Seventy, or Septuagint. It’s curious that the four evangelists of the New Testament quote biblical texts from this Greek translation rather than the original. Saint Jerome translated the Greek into Latin and called it the Vulgate. Every day in all the Catholic liturgical celebrations, one passage from the Old Testament and another from the New are read.’

Gavache listened attentively to the history lesson. Any detail might be important, but he was under no illusion that these people were here to help find the murderer, but rather to help their church, including Jacopo.

‘And what does this have to do with Ben Isaac?’

Jacopo took up the thread of the discourse again, now that he’d launched into historical considerations of the Bible. ‘Well, according to what’s said in these restricted circles, Ben Isaac discovered some important documents that relate to what’s said about the Bible.’

‘This is what we call a motive,’ Gavache declared.

‘Excuse me?’

Jacopo didn’t follow. Gunter didn’t seem to understand, either.

‘That’s a reason to kill,’ Gavache explained. ‘What did Zafer have to do with Ben Isaac? The murderer who asked about him, certainly, was aware that they knew each other.’

No one said anything for a few moments. Only the rain filled the silence with constant pings.

‘Suggestions? Speculations?’ Gavache demanded.

No one answered.

‘Mr. Jacopo. Any idea?’ Gavache insisted.

‘Maybe…’ Jacopo began timidly. ‘Maybe the Turk was one of the Five Gentlemen. Hammal, too,’ he suggested.

‘Absurd,’ Gunter interjected. ‘A historian’s fiction. This never existed.’

Gavache was interested in knowing more about these Five Gentlemen. The story was getting more complicated and more elements were appearing all the time; more questions and few answers. Was he going to have to investigate the background of Christ’s family and His disciples? He smiled at the idea.

‘The Five Gentlemen were the people who made up Ben Isaac’s team. They were sworn to silence about the discoveries, according to what’s said.’

‘According to what’s said means a lot of things…’ Gavache added. ‘More all the time.’

Gunter got up. ‘I can see this is going to be a long night. Would you like some coffee, tea, or some refreshment?’ the Jesuit father offered.

Gavache asked for coffee, Jean-Paul also. Jacopo and Rafael accepted some tea.

‘Maurice,’ Gunter called out. The acolyte who’d brought them to the nave appeared at once and took the order. ‘Take it to the sacristy. Then tell us as soon as it is ready.’

‘Certainly,’ Maurice answered subserviently, and left to prepare the hot drinks.

‘The Five Gentlemen. What do you think of this, Jean-Paul?’ Gavache asked. His expression revealed he was about to tie together everything Jacopo had said.

‘A mess, Inspector.’

‘A mess,’ his superior concurred. He looked at Gunter. ‘I see you contradicted everything the prestigious historian said, but you recognized the name Ben Isaac when I mentioned it.’ It was a statement, not a question.

Gunter swallowed dryly. Nothing escaped the inspector.

‘Who is Ben Isaac, Father Gunter?’ Gavache insisted with an unfriendly look.

Gunter adopted an arrogant attitude and got up from the chair where he was resting. ‘I’m not on French territory. I don’t have to answer your questions.’

‘Did you hear that, Jean-Paul?’

‘He’s shameless, Inspector.’

Rafael approached the German Jesuit. ‘Cooperate, Gunter. Tell him whatever you know. You can help catch the murderer.’

Gunter refused to back down. Rights had to be exercised. Gavache went up to him and stopped so close he could smell him.

‘Silence is your right, Father. It’s true we’re not on French territory.’

‘This church belongs to the Society of Jesus, to the Roman Apostolic Catholic Church, to the pope,’ Gunter argued coldly. He couldn’t tell what he knew… Never.

Gavache drew even closer, if that was possible. ‘Listen to me well, Father’ — his tone was menacing — ‘you can hide behind the Concord to keep a criminal free. Your conscience is your conscience. But eventually you’re going to have to step outside this church to go shopping, administer last rites, get into some whore’s bed… whatever it is. I guarantee you that when you do, I’m going to be waiting for you, and you won’t have the church or any saint to help you. Not even your friend Loyola.’ Gavache’s breath struck Gunter’s face with the revolting stench of cigarettes. But even more repugnant than the odor were the words. ‘But if you make trouble for me I’ll have a warrant made out for Mr. Gunter, not Father Gunter, and give you a load of shit before I ask the first question. And just so you know, sometimes I forget to ask the first question for a month or two while you wait in the slammer for my signature to be sent back to Germany because, no matter how much the little priests love you here, the French, believe me, are not going to let you return here.’ He was silent for a while to let his point sink in. He turned his back. ‘Think hard.’

Rafael tried to advise his friend. He knew the situation wasn’t easy. The secular nature of the state complicated things. No one respected the confidentiality of the church. The state superseded everything, the church, faith, and salvation. The state was the religion of the new times. So the church always had to act indirectly, not always truthfully, manipulating public and private opinion, creating diversions to distract those watching from its true interests. Rafael knew all this. He was an agent in the service of these very diversions and manipulations. He preferred to wait and conceal, reveal little, always be in control, one step ahead of the others… But this wasn’t an ordinary case.

‘Say what you can, Gunter. Who’s Ben Isaac?’ he pressured him. ‘What are the documents?’ He lowered his voice. ‘You don’t need to be specific or get into details. Speak in generalities.’

Gunter maintained a thoughtful expression, and his foolish arrogance softened the lines of his face. He’d follow the advice of his Italian friend. A soft reply placates fury, as the wise Solomon said.

‘Inspector Gavache,’ the Jesuit called.

The inspector was smoking another cigarette while looking at the Delacroix. He didn’t shift his attention, and it wasn’t clear whether or not he admired the work.

‘Have you decided to follow the path of goodness and love proclaimed by the first superior general of the Society?’ he said ironically. He wanted to show that every detail was important to him.

‘I’m going to tell you everything I know about Ben Isaac,’ Gunter declared, ignoring Gavache’s sarcasm. His initial arrogance probably deserved it.

Gavache sat down near Gunter and invited him to do the same. The German did so carelessly. He was nervous. The inspector read his reaction as that of someone about to tell something he shouldn’t.

‘Ben Isaac’s story is real…’

At first, the reason for the interruption went unnoticed. Only when Gunter got a glassy look and started drooling blood before falling heavily on the floor of the Church of Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis did those present realize that someone had shot the Jesuit. There was a bullet hole in the back of his cassock. The rest happened much faster. Jacopo, Rafael, and Gavache were still looking incredulously at Gunter when they heard Jean-Paul, gun in hand, shout, ‘Drop it, guy.’

Trembling, the acolyte Maurice tried to steady a gun with a silencer in his hand.

‘Drop the gun, kid. You’re not going to shoot anyone else,’ Jean-Paul repeated.

Gavache joined him, aiming his gun at Maurice, who was beside himself, tears running down his face, panting.

Rafael bent over Gunter, who was suffocating.

‘Gunter,’ he cried out as if it would help. ‘Call an ambulance,’ he shouted.

The Jesuit bled fast and groaned. Jean-Paul took one hand from his gun and grabbed the cell phone to make the call.

‘I… I’m… I’m sorry,’ Maurice stammered.

‘Calm down, kid,’ Gavache said while moving closer with short steps. He spoke in a whisper. ‘Everything can be resolved. Drop the gun. Let’s talk.’

Maurice looked at him with eyes filled with rage. He still pointed the gun at everyone and no one. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. Shut up. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.’ Fury mixed with disgust was upsetting the young man.

‘Calm down. You don’t want to make the situation worse.’

Jean-Paul ended the call and put the phone back in his jacket pocket. ‘The ambulance is on the way.’

Rafael stayed with Gunter, who was fading fast. ‘Rafael,’ he murmured.

‘Don’t talk, Gunter. Don’t try. The ambulance is coming.’

With a last effort Gunter raised his hand to Rafael’s head and pulled him down lower. ‘Plaza… plaza,’ he whispered.

Rafael listened to his words fading away. With each second Gun-ter’s life was draining away.

‘Saint Ignatius.’ He sighed before giving himself up to God. The pain was over. He was at peace. Rafael closed his dead friend’s eyes and blessed him. He folded his hands and prayed for God to receive his soul. ‘Peace be with you.’

Gavache continued to try to calm the acolyte, who trembled more and more. ‘Don’t do anything foolish.’

Rafael got up and fixed the acolyte with a hard stare. ‘You killed a good man.’

Those words stirred him up even more. ‘I had to. It had to be. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell.’

The siren grew louder as the ambulance got closer to the church. It would be transporting a dead man, not a wounded one.

‘Drop the gun,’ Gavache ordered. ‘I’m not going to warn you again,’ and he cocked the Glock. Jean-Paul did the same.

Maurice raised his hand to his head and shut his eyes. He made the sign of the cross and kissed the crucifix hanging on his chest.

‘Ad maiorem Dei gloriam,’ the acolyte muttered before placing the mouth of the barrel under his chin.

‘Don’t do it,’ Gavache shouted.

The bullet made more noise exiting from his head than it did from the gun. Maurice fell helplessly, without life.

For a few moments nothing but the siren was heard. Not rain, or breathing, or heartbeats. Nothing. It wasn’t the usual scene inside a church. Corpses were common, but during funeral rituals, not from some priests killing others on holy grounds.

The doors opened and the paramedics entered.

Rafael and Jacopo watched silently. Gavache came over and looked at them coldly.

‘What the hell is going on?’