The Voynich Cypher

CHAPTER 23

Blue flashing lights flickered along the basilica’s side street, where three police cars, a detective’s sedan, and the coroner’s wagon blocked the broad drive. A handful of officers stood at the edge of the yellow police tape that sealed off the crime scene. Bright spotlights were mounted on stands along the perimeter, bathing the bodies in a cold, white glow. The forensics team was processing the area, and as the dawn’s uneasy light pervaded the Roman sky, the cleanup crew was anxious to get the corpses moved — before the city came to life and they had a crowd-control situation on their hands.

Rome was as dangerous as most large cities, but even so, it was unusual to have a stabbing victim as well as a gunshot fatality on church property. The two detectives chartered with investigating the mess were not optimistic about their chances. A late-night passer-by had phoned in the report, but nobody had called about any gunfire, which was strange, following a densely-populated area shooting. Either everyone in the nearby apartments was deaf, or a silenced weapon had been involved.

The two homicide detectives watched impassively as the crime scene personnel methodically pored over the vicinity of the assault. Both detectives had been working the Rome beat for decades and so had seen everything. The older, taller of the two, Emilio Carruzo, leaned in to his partner. Neither man had shaved for three days.

“What do you think? This wasn’t a robber — both victims were packing guns. Maybe a Mafia hit?” he asked his companion.

The smaller, olive-skinned man, Detective Guillermo Farrallio, spat into the gutter then fished a packet of cigarettes from his jacket, pausing to light one with a stainless steel zippo before responding.

“Could be, but there’s too much that doesn’t make sense. Where did the stabbing victim’s gun go? He’s got a shoulder holster; he was armed. But the other stiff got close enough to stab him, what, four times?” Guillermo gestured with his head. “And the stabber also had a gun he didn’t use, preferring a knife. The way I see it, the stabbing victim gets out of the car, is waiting for something, and the stabber sneaks up on him and gets him with the knife. But why wouldn’t the victim have heard him?”

“Lots of possible explanations. There’s no point in speculating. At least we have a few good footprints — looks like a size forty-four man’s boot.”

“What about the blood further down the street?”

“I bet we’ll find it’s not from either of these guys,” Emilio said. “That means a third assailant, and also at least one more shooter. My hunch is the stabber somehow got the jump on the driver, maybe while he was distracted by a second or third guy, stabbed him to death, possibly after a struggle, and then a shooter took out the stabber. Maybe the shooter was in the car, maybe not. There’s no cordite smell, but the shooter could have exited the vehicle when the scuffle started and opened up.”

“The driver still had his wallet on him. It’s not a robbery. And there’s the question of what happened to his gun…”

“Again, numerous possibilities. Someone came along after the fact and stole it. Or he didn’t have it with him, although that’s not likely, given the holster. Or maybe the shooter took it, or the second assailant. There had to be two,” Emilio mused, running the physics of the altercation through his head.

“I agree. No other explanation for the blood over there. But it could have been the stabbing victim who shot the man down the street as he ran away or approached the car, or was stabbed while preoccupied with his quarry and, as his dying act, shot his killer, too. Then someone came along and took the gun, or maybe the quarry returned for it once the driver was down?”

“Forensics will be able to figure that out by the blood. But my gut says two hitters, the driver, and a fourth mystery shooter, who may have taken the gun with him. Could be it was used in some other killings…”

Guillermo looked glum. “We pretty much have nothing right now.” He threw a poison look at the forensics team before taking a last drag of his smoke. Glancing absently at the smoldering butt, he spat again, and then threw it into the street.

“We know from his driver’s license and passport that the stabbing victim was American,” Emilio said. “Frederick Marshall. We’ll run the ID and see what we come up with. And we’ll dust the car for prints and run those through Interpol. But right now, the best lead we have is the boot prints, which will only matter if we get a suspect…”

“We’re not even close unless someone shows up to confess. But maybe the prints will tell us something. Maybe whoever has been in the car knows something. Could be this is drug related — most of these kinds of killings are. But with no witnesses, it’s not looking like a fast-solve case. Another problem to deal with.” Guillermo sighed, the weight of the world on his shoulders as usual.

His taller partner eyed him with restrained amusement and then returned to studying the scene. It was definitely a curious one.

Danny’s phone rang at seven-thirty a.m., just as he was stepping out of the shower. He quickly wrapped a towel around his waist and trundled into the bedroom to answer it.

“Danny, it’s Natalie. Sorry to call so early.”

“Ah, yes, Natalie. How are you? I trust your adventure last night went well?”

“Not really, Danny. We have a situation.”

Natalie explained what she knew about Frederick’s death and the unknown assailant. Danny listened without comment until she finished.

“Any idea who it was, or how they found you?” he asked.

Natalie decided not to share too much. The less he knew the better. “As David told you, I have some ugly characters looking for me. It was probably them. As to how they found us, that’s a mystery…”

“Where are you?” Danny asked.

“Someplace safe. But I need your help with one more item,” Natalie said and then told him what she wanted.

Danny didn’t seem surprised by the request. “Praetextatus, eh? I’ve heard of the catacombs. Not an easy one,” he said. “It’s not open to the public.”

“So you can’t do it?” she asked.

“I didn’t say that, did I? No, anything can be done, but it will take some digging and a decent amount of money. How much I won’t know until I start checking with people. Do you have a budget for this?” Danny asked.

“Whatever’s reasonable. Can you call me whenever you have something?”

“Of course. I understand the urgency. You want access as soon as possible, preferably today. Is that correct?”

“Absolutely. Thank you, Danny.”

Steven and Natalie walked into the hotel at eight, looking as though they’d been on flights all night. The desk clerk regarded them with little interest as he processed Natalie’s reservation and took her cash. The hotel was modern, all stainless steel and angles, with a decidedly business orientation. It was large, with a hundred rooms distributed over five stories, and another tired couple arriving wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.

The bellboy escorted them to their room, and after a few minutes of perfunctory orientation, they were alone. Steven flipped the ‘do not disturb’ sign onto the doorknob, then locked and bolted it so a maid couldn’t intrude on their rest. He turned and faced Natalie, who was sitting on the king-size bed.

“We can do a Clark Gable deal and hang a blanket between us,” he suggested.

“Are you afraid you’ll be attacked? I can stay up with the gun if it’s a problem. Keep the boogeymen away…” She threw him an obviously fake smile.

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” he said, ignoring the sarcasm.

He peeled off his clothes and hosed down, mildly distracted by Natalie’s proximity, but exhausted. Steven didn’t think he’d have too much problem falling asleep, even with her next to him. It was a big bed, and they were adults. She’d correctly pointed out that it would look odd if they asked for separate beds, and he’d conceded the point. Unless she climbed on top of him, he’d be out within a few minutes, and he was willing to take the risk that his raw animal magnetism wouldn’t overpower her good sense. And if it did, he knew martial arts and could defend himself…

Steven toweled off and pulled his clothes back on, trying to remember whether he’d put a T-shirt into his duffel when he’d packed it. That seemed like a month ago.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Natalie had removed the wig and was rummaging in her bag. He noted that, even after the long night she looked great, especially without the wig. She’d pulled her shirt off and was wearing only a tank top and jeans. His impression of her physique being a toned one was validated — she looked like a gymnast, but with important curves in the right places. Steven quickly shook off that line of thinking.

“My turn,” she said, then slipped past him and shut the door.

Steven retrieved his T-shirt and hastily changed his underwear, then closed the heavy curtains and climbed into bed. The last thing he registered as he drifted off to sleep was the sound of the shower turning on. He was dead to the world almost before his head hit the pillow.