While Koesler had on occasion visited almost every other department in the building at one time or another, he had never, until this morning, called on the archives. Even before the chancery opened this snowy morning, he had phoned Sister Clotilde of the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary to make certain she could and would accommodate him this morning. She could and would, but she did little to hide her surprise that he would call her. They knew each other only in passing and, to her knowledge, he had never before visited the archives. And her sharp memory covered a great number of years.
She sat him at a large table and fixed him with a quizzical smile. “Now, what can I do for you, young man?”
It was his turn to smile. He was in his late fifties, and she couldn’t have been much older. Age, he thought, like so many other things in life, was relative. “I’m interested in the mottoes of Popes.”
She inclined her head slightly to one side. “You are, are you?” There was something tantalizing about her tone. But she said nothing more that might clarify the remark and Koesler didn’t pursue it.
“I’d like to start back around the turn of this century. In which case, each Pope, before becoming Pope, had been a bishop and then a Cardinal. And as bishop, each one had a motto as part of his coat of arms. That’s what I’d like to see.”
She whistled noiselessly. “A tall order, young man. But let’s see what we can find.”
Koesler started to rise but Sister Clotilde waved him back in his chair. “You stay put,” she ordered. “I’ll bring things to you. It’s easier that way.”
The first item she brought was a mug of steaming coffee, for which he was duly grateful. Next, she brought a chronological list of Popes. “Maybe,” she said, “this will help you tell me exactly who you’re interested in.”
“Absolutely. Very good. Okay, let’s see . . .” Koesler ran his finger down the list. “Let’s try Pope Benedict XV, who was Pope from, uh . . . 1914 to 1922.”
She returned loaded down with books, several of which she pushed toward him. “You start with these and I’ll take the rest.”
There followed the quiet turning of pages, then exchanges, one book for another.
Koesler said, “I think this is it, Sister, doesn’t this look like the motto for Cardinal Giacomo della Chiesa?”
“It sure does. And he became Pope Benedict XV. Is that what you’re looking for?”
“I don’t know. Wait a minute.”
Koesler checked the motto against the drawing he’d brought with him—a reproduction of the marks left by the branding iron. “No, that’s not it. It doesn’t fit.”
“What doesn’t fit? Maybe it’d help if you told me what we’re looking for.”
“It’s just too complicated to explain just now, Sister. I do need your help though.”
Clotilde sighed. “Very well. Somebody else you want to look up?”
Koesler ran his finger down the list. “Let’s see . . . yes: Pope Pius XI—1922 to 1939.”
“I guess I should be grateful for small favors.” Sister Clotilde shuffled back into the archives, arms burdened with the books just used and being returned to their shelves. “At least you’re picking on fairly recent popes.” Though no longer in view, she could be heard talking to herself. “Dear, dear, dear; where are you, Achille Cardinal Ratti? Ah, here!”
She reentered the reading room, again laden with books. “Here we go again.” She divided the volumes between them.
After several minutes of searching, Sister Clotilde said, “Ah, here it is. This is it: the coat of arms for Cardinal Ratti, soon to become Pope Pius XI.”
Koesler almost snatched the book from her hands.
“Well, for the love of Pete,” she chided. “Take your time, Father Koesler. Moderation. In all things moderation.”
“Sorry.” He quickly but thoroughly checked the motto against the marks that had been burned into the flesh of three murder victims. It did not match. His expression told the tale.
“No go, eh?”
“Not yet.”
“There’s more?”
“One more.”
“Who?”
“Pius XII.”
“I don’t know why, but I had a feeling we were headed toward him.” She was gone for a few moments, then returned with more books. “You’re sure now . . . no more?”
“No more. This has got to be it.”
“I think I can find this one.” Clotilde selected a volume and paged through it. “Here you go: the motto on the coat of arms of Eugenio Cardinal Pacelli. Opus Justitiae Pax—‘Peace, the Fruit of Justice.’”
Koesler began to shake his head, but took the volume from her anyway. He tried to work the motto into the upper half of letters that the brand had made. It was not even close to fitting.
He sat back with wildly conflicting emotions.
He was wrong. His theory, which had seemed so promising last night, went nowhere this morning. Definitely out of character for him. He was by no stretch of the imagination a “morning person.” But, to the extent he had been so sure of himself, he now felt a rather deep depression.
On the other hand, his groundless theory was one more indication that Father Kramer was innocent. Koesler had given it his best shot. Usually when he reached a conclusion such as this, it proved to be well founded. And, as devil’s advocate, for the first time in this investigation he had thrown aside the presumption of innocence for Kramer.
Accepting Lieutenant Tully’s challenge to look at the facts with complete objectivity, Koesler had tried to tie the murders to Kramer and had failed.
Yes, definitely mixed emotions. But, if anything, the predominant feeling was one of relief that Kramer had come out of this clean. The next order of business would be to get Dick Kramer out to Guest House so he could get a handle on his alcoholism before it got completely out of control.
So deep in thought was Koesler that he had to fight his way back to reality and focus on what Sister Clotilde was saying.
“I said, there’s more to this, you know.”
“More? What do you mean?
“I mean that the mottoes don’t stand pat when a Cardinal becomes Pope.”
“What?”
“The coat of arms automatically changes when one becomes a Pope. And so, it seems, does the man’s motto.”
“What?”
“You’re repeating yourself. Here . . .” She handed him an impressive tome.
He studied the book, somewhat bewildered as to its relevance. It was Acta Apostolicae Sedis—The Acts of the Apostolic See—Volume XXXXII (1950). A slip of paper marked a specific place in the book. Koesler paged to it.
It was a document entitled Munificentissimus Deus—“The Most Gracious God.”
He could not guess why Sister Clotilde had given this to him, nor why she had marked this section. He flipped several pages and came to the end of the document. It was signed, Ego Pius, Catholicae Ecclesiae Episcopus, ita definiendo subscripsi—“I, Pius, Bishop of the Catholic Church, identify this with my signature.” Then came the seaclass="underline"
“You see,” Clotilde said, “Eugenio Pacelli took another motto once he became Pope. Veritatem Facientes in Caritate—‘Accomplishing Truth in Charity.’”
Koesler stared at the motto for several moments. Then, slowly, he began to trace the words into the brand markings. They fit. Perfectly. It was a premonition come true. He stared at them.
After several moments, Sister Clotilde spoke. “That what you were looking for?”
Koesler nodded.
“When we got down to Pius XII and were still looking for mottoes, I thought that’s what you might be looking for. Something came to mind and I thought that might be it.” She paused. “Don’t you want to know how I guessed?”