“Ah, so that’s what your visiting priests are for,” I said. “Character witnesses. To refute what Cardinal Boetto will say.”
“You are a fool, Father Boyle. But not an unintelligent one.”
“Hey, if I were really smart, I’d know why you and Brackett were arguing about boats. Or was it rudders?” I watched for a reaction, and wondered if I’d given too much away.
“Perhaps you are right,” Zlatko said, giving away nothing at all. “You are not smart at all.”
With that, he was on his way. I still had questions about where he’d been before he’d headed to the radio tower, but they seemed less important now, given his total lack of reaction to my hints about the rochet, and how he threw the rudder mention right back at me. I thought about following him into the basilica and taking in a Mass, but the notion of him at the altar gave me the shivers. I decided on some larceny instead.
Half an hour later, with Abe in tow, we walked down the corridor in the Medieval Palace where earlier Kaz and I had searched Corrigan’s room. Checking the nameplates, we stopped at Bruzzone’s door and I turned to keep watch as Abe and his picks made short work of the lock. Before I could look both ways up and down the hallway, I heard a click and the door was open. I followed Abe in.
“Piece of cake,” Abe said. “You coulda done it, kid. Don’t Boston coppers know nothin’?”
“I like to rely on a professional, Abe.” The best lock picker we had on the force was Moose Meehan, and he mainly used his right foot. With legs the size of tree trunks, he didn’t need picks. Of course, we wore the bluecoats, and it was our turf. This operation required finesse, something the Boston PD at times lacked.
“What’re we lookin’ for?” Abe asked, looking pleased at the compliment and spiffy in his new brown suit.
“I have no idea,” I said. “Sometimes it’s better to do something than nothing, so here we are.” Bruzzone’s rooms were larger than Corrigan’s or O’Flaherty’s. Seniority, maybe. He had a small bedroom and a large sitting room, with a pair of chairs by a window gracing a view of courtyards below.
“He skip town?” Abe asked.
“He didn’t show up for breakfast with Monsignor O’Flaherty this morning,” I said. I checked the bedroom. His bed was made, and an armoire held several pairs of black trousers, a cassock, and shirts. One surplice, no rochet. A hairbrush sat on a washstand, set below a small mirror. A book lay on his nightstand. Next to it was a bottle of pills.
“Abe, you know what sonniferi means?”
“No, but I think sonno means sleep. Maybe he needed some help with his shut-eye.”
“Not the kind of thing to leave behind if you’re going on a trip, is it?” I shook the bottle. It sounded half full.
“What are you doing?” a loud voice from the other room demanded. It was Bruzzone, looking none too pleased to find us in his bedroom. He looked scruffy, too. Unshaven, wrinkled clothes, his hair in need of that brush. “How dare you enter my apartment!”
“I’m sorry, Monsignor,” I said, placing the bottle of pills back on the nightstand. “It appeared you had gone missing, and we were concerned.”
“Who gave you a key?” Bruzzone asked, studying Abe for a second. “And who is this person?”
“He’s a locksmith in civilian life,” I said. “He’s the key.”
“You broke in?” Bruzzone looked rattled, as if he couldn’t absorb what we were telling him.
“Let’s sit down, Monsignor.” I led him to the chairs in the study and we sat down. Abe edged toward the door, trying to look invisible, ready to bolt. “We were just looking for some clue as to where you had gone, or been taken. After the killing last night, we were worried.”
“Thank you for your concern,” Bruzzone said. “It was simply a shock to find anyone in my room. I assure you, I am fine.” He brushed grime from his pants and pushed back his hair, pulling himself together.
“Where were you, Monsignor?”
“In Rome. It is not a crime, is it?”
“Not at all,” I said, playing the helpful but confused pal. “Monsignor O’Flaherty was worried when you didn’t show up this morning. He was expecting you for breakfast.”
“I completely forgot. I will apologize to Hugh. And I must apologize to you as well, for being so rude. I thank you for your concern, but I simply could not sleep and went out. I often wake before dawn.” He sighed and slapped his hands on his thighs. All done, time to move on, or so he hoped.
“It must have been something quite important,” I said, “to cause you to leave the Holy See. I’m told you haven’t crossed the border into Rome in quite some time.”
“That is true, not since my last trip to Genoa, working with Cardinal Boetto. We had some close calls, and I thought the Gestapo was following me. I felt it prudent to not take any chances here. What is the American expression? To lie low?”
“Yes,” I said. “What was so important that you left after the murder of Soletto?”
“Why do you say that?” Bruzzone asked. I wasn’t entirely sure, except that he had the look of a guy who’d slept in his clothes, if he’d slept at all.
“Because you look like you’ve had a rough time of it. My guess would be that you were out after curfew and had to hide out somewhere.”
“That would have been difficult. The Germans enforce a curfew, and are guarding the perimeter. They would have picked up anyone crossing over.”
“But you got in okay?” I asked.
“Certainly. As a citizen of the Vatican State, I have no problem during the day.”
“So where were you? Whenever it was you were there?”
“I am sorry, Father Boyle. That must remain confidential. Even you are not privy to everything here. Or in Rome.”
He sounded remarkably like Brackett had, when I’d hinted to him about Rudder. Or Zlatko, for that matter. There was a certainty in his voice, as if he were backed up by some higher power. Not that higher power, but one backed up with hardware.
“Abe, wait outside for me, okay?” I wanted to try something, and it would be better if Abe didn’t hear. He didn’t need coaxing to leave the scene of a crime, and I heard the door shut behind him. I let the silence settle around us, and watched Bruzzone’s eyes. He was nervous. But anyone would be, lying to a cop as he was.
“What is it now? I have matters to attend to,” he said, shifting in his seat. He couldn’t wait to get rid of me.
“Tell me this, Monsignor. Are you Rudder?” He stopped fidgeting. His eyes widened for a split second, showing a flash of white that faded as he sat back, sighing as if I’d knocked the air out of him.
“We all have our burdens in this war, my son. That is the last thing I will say about it.”
It was all I needed to hear. I collected Abe and we headed back to the German College.
“You need to break in anywhere else?” Abe asked as we walked behind Saint Peter’s. “I hear they got a ton of jewels and stuff stored over there in the Sacristy. That church they got hangin’ off the basilica.”
“Yeah, you and me could clean up, Abe.” I knew Abe wasn’t serious, at least not too serious. But it was his line of work, and I understood that he couldn’t help but case out the joint, even if the joint was the Vatican. “But how would we ever get it out of here?”
“Cut in a Kraut or two, and we’re all set. Gotta be a coupla those bastards who’d take a bribe, know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I do,” I said. Abe had triggered something buried deep within my mind, but not so deep that it didn’t wake up to the notion of a German as a way out of here. I was already busy juggling what I knew about Brackett, Corrigan, Zlatko, and Bruzzone, so I hadn’t had time to think it through, but it had taken root anyway.
“Abe, we all set for the morning?” I asked as we entered the German College.
“Yeah. I get you at O’Flaherty’s room at 0830. If you ain’t there, I go with Rino the barber. We meet at the safe house in Trastevere.”
I told him to get some chow and a good night’s sleep. There weren’t a lot of alternatives, but for a guy who had a way with locks and a new civilian suit, there might be temptations.