"Are you sure?"
"I'm as sure as I can be with a corpse turned to chacoal. The body had no tongue, and it wasn't the result of the fire-it was removed by surgery. Don't ask me when, because given the state of the body it's just too hard to tell."
'Anything else?"
"I'll send you the whole report. I called as soon as I finished the autopsy."
"I'll stop by and pick it up, if you don't mind."
"Come and get it. I'll be here all day."
Back at Turin's carabinieri headquarters, where the Art Crimes unit maintained a small office, Marco met with one of his senior men.
"Okay, Giuseppe, what do we have so far?"
"In the first place, nothing's missing. They didn't steal anything. Antonino and Sofia have done pretty much a whole inventory-paintings, candelabras, sculptures, everything. It's all there, although some things have varying degrees of smoke or water damage. The flames destroyed the pulpit on the right and the pews, and all that's left of the sixteenth-century statue of the Virgin is ashes. Pietro's been interviewing the guys who were working on the new wiring; the fire apparently started from a short circuit."
'Another short circuit."
"Yeah, like the one in '97. He's also talked to the company in charge of the renovation work, and he asked Minerva to get on her computer and find out everything she can about the owners of the business, and also about the workers. Some of them are immigrants, and it'll be tough to get any information on them, but she'll try."
Giuseppe paused and gazed at his boss. 'And I've asked her to find out whether there's some sect that cuts out its followers' tongues. I know it's probably a stretch-but we've gotta look everywhere, right? And Minerva's a genius with this stuff." When Marco nodded after a moment, Giuseppe went on.
"Between Pietro and me we've interviewed everybody on staff. There was nobody in the cathedral when the fire started. At three it's always closed, since that's when they all are at lunch."
"We have the body of one man. Was he working alone?"
"We aren't sure, but we don't think so. It would be tricky for someone working alone to prepare and carry out a major theft in the Turin Cathedral, unless maybe it was a job for hire, a thief somebody paid to come in and grab a specific piece of art."
"But if he wasn't alone, where are the others?"
Giuseppe didn't answer, and Marco fell silent. He had a bad feeling about this fire, and a hollow pit in his stomach to prove it. Paola had said he was obsessed with the shroud, and maybe she was right: He had always felt that there was much more to the periodic events in Turin than they had been able to uncover- something "underneath" that connected them all. The bizarre factor of the mutilated men was only the tip of it. He was sure he was missing something, that there was a thread to follow somewhere, and that if he could find it he'd find the solution. He decided to go to the Turin jail and pay a visit to the perp from the last incident. They had been unable to ferret out anything about him; they weren't even sure if the guy was Italian. Two years ago Marco had left him to the cara-binieri after weeks of futile interrogation. But the mute was the only lead they had, and like an idiot he'd dropped him.
As he lit another cigarette, he decided to get in touch with John Barry, the cultural attache to the United States embassy. John was actually CIA, like almost every cultural attache in foreign embassies around the world. Governments didn't have much imagination for working out covers for their agents. Even so, Barry was a nice guy. He wasn't a field operative; he worked for the CIA's Office of Intelligence Assessment, analyzing and interpreting the intelligence that came in from field agents before it was sent on to Washington. The two men had been friends for years- a friendship forged through work, since many of the pieces of art stolen by the art mafias wound up in the hands of wealthy Americans who-sometimes because they were in love with a particular work, other times out of vanity or to turn a quick buck-had no scruples about purchasing stolen art. It was a dark area of international commerce, where many interests often intersected.
Barry didn't fit the stereotypical image of the American or of the CIA agent. He was fifty-something, like Marco, and he had a doctorate in art history from Harvard. He loved Europe and had married an English archaeologist, Lisa, a charming and fascinating woman. Not beautiful, Marco had to say, but so full of life that she radiated enthusiasm and charisma. She'd hit it off wonderfully with Paola, so the four of them had dinner together once in a while, and they'd even spent weekends together in Capri.
Yes, he'd call John the minute he got back to Rome. But he'd also call Santiago Jimenez, the Europol representative in Italy, an efficient, very likable Spaniard with whom Marco also had an excellent working relationship. He'd buy them lunch. And maybe, he thought, they could help him in his search, even if he wasn't quite sure what he was looking for.
3
At last, Josar's eyes beheld the walls ofJerusalem. The brightness of the sun at dawn and the light's reflection off the desert sand made the stones of the wall seem to shimmer in a golden haze.
Accompanied by four men, Josar made his way on horseback toward the Damascus Gate, where at this early hour men who lived nearby were beginning to enter the city, and caravans seeking salt made their way out into the desert.
A platoon of Roman soldiers, on foot, was patrolling the perimeter of the walls.
How Josar longed to see Jesus, whose extraordinary figure radiated strength, sweetness, firmness, and deep piety.
He believed in Jesus, believed that he was the Son of God, not simply because of the wonders he had seen him work but also because, when Jesus' eyes fell on him, he could feel something more than human in them. He knew that Jesus could see within him, that not even the smallest and most hidden thought could escape him.
But Jesus did not make Josar feel ashamed of what he was, because the Nazarene's eyes were filled with understanding and with forgiveness.
Josar loved Abgar, his king, who had always treated him like a brother. He owed the king his estate and fortune. Yet Josar had decided that if Jesus did not accept Abgar's invitation to come to Edessa, he would present himself before his king and ask leave to return to Jerusalem and follow the Nazarene. He was prepared to give up his house, his fortune, his earthly comforts and well-being. He would follow Jesus and try to live according to his teachings. Yes, he had reached that decision.
Josar went to the house of Samuel, a man who for a few coins would care for the horses and allow Josar and his companions to sleep. As soon as they were set-ded there, he would go out into the streets and try to find Jesus. He would go to the house of Mark, or Luke, for they would be able to tell him where to find him. It would be difficult to convince Jesus to travel to Edessa, but Josar would argue that the journey was short and that, once his king was cured, Jesus could return, should he decide not to remain.
As he left the house of Samuel to find Mark, Josar bought two apples from a poor cripple, and he asked the man about the latest news of the city.