‘Then ignore the crucifixion and focus on the murder. Besides the location, can you think of any connections to Hamlet?’
‘The thing that grabs my attention is the sign above the cross. Whoever painted that was brilliant. Is “FATHER” referring to God, a character in Shakespeare’s play, or the killer’s actual father? At first glance, I’d assume it’s referring to Hamlet. The plot follows Prince Hamlet as he avenges the death of the king — a son getting revenge for his father. Sounds perfect to me. Until you examine the method of execution. In my mind, crucifixion screams of Christ, not Shakespeare. If the killer cared about Hamlet, he would have chosen the sword.’
‘So this is about religion?’
‘Not necessarily. It could be about the killer’s father or the victim’s father. But that’s why the sign is so brilliant. You’ll have to track down all these possibilities, whether you like it or not. For all we know, the killer is simply messing with you.’
‘Maybe. Or it could be about something else, something you missed.’
‘Such as?’
Dial smiled, glad that Toulon didn’t know everything. ‘The victim was a priest. For all we know the sign could be about him. Father Erik Jansen.’
‘Which only adds to the brilliance of the sign. It’s memorable yet ambiguous. The perfect way to attract attention without giving anything away.’
‘That’s why I decided to call you. I figured I’d fight brilliance with brilliance.’
Toulon grinned. ‘I’ll tell you what, give me a day or two, and I’ll see what I can find. Who knows? Maybe I missed something else.’
‘Thanks, Henri, I’d appreciate that. Before you go, though, I have one more question, this one about religion. Do you have any idea what Jesus’s cross looked like?’
Toulon took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his gray hair, which was pulled back in his trademark ponytail. He desperately wanted a cigarette but wasn’t allowed to smoke inside Interpol, even though sometimes he did just because he was French and fuck them if they didn’t like it. ‘You’ll be happy to know you’re not alone. Most people are confused about his cross. Tell me, what kind of cross did they use in Denmark?’
‘Wooden, made out of some kind of oak.’
‘That’s not what I meant. Was it Latin? Tau? Greek? Russian?’
‘Honestly, I have no idea. They’re all Greek to me.’
Toulon rolled his eyes. Why did Americans have to make a joke out of everything? ‘A Greek cross is easy to spot. It looks like a plus sign. All four of its arms are the exact same length.’
‘Not Jansen’s. His looked like a capital T. The horizontal beam was way at the top.’
Toulon whistled softly. ‘Then they got it right.’
‘They got it right? What do you mean by that?’
‘Most people think that Jesus was crucified on a Latin cross — one where the crossarm sits a third of the way down the vertical beam — but that’s wrong. The Romans used tau crosses for crucifixions, not Latin ones.’
‘Really? Then why do churches use the Latin cross?’
‘Because Christian leaders adopted it as their symbol during the ninth century, a decision that sparked controversy, since it was originally a pagan emblem representing the four winds: north, south, east, and west. Yet Christians preferred that to the history of the tau cross, a symbol that meant death by execution to the ancient world. The death of criminals.’
Dial stroked his massive chin, wondering if Erik Jansen was a criminal. Or had dealt with one in the confessional. ‘Speaking of crosses, what can you tell me about the crucifixion? I mean, I’m familiar with the biblical version, but do we know what really happened?’
‘I guess that depends on your perspective. If you’re Christian, the biblical version is the way it really happened, right down to the last detail. I mean, the Bible is the word of God.’
‘And if you’re not a Christian?’
Toulon realized the subject was a powder keg. Groaning, he put an unlit cigarette in his mouth, just so he had something to suck on. ‘The truth is we don’t know what happened. Christian historians say one thing while Roman historians say another. Then there are the Jews and the Buddhists and the atheists. Everyone has a different opinion on what happened, and no one knows for sure because it happened two thousand years ago. We can’t check the videotape and come up with something definitive. All we can do is sort through the evidence, read what our ancestors wrote, and try to reach our own conclusions, which are invariably tainted by our upbringing.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Simply put, if your parents taught you to believe in Christ, you’re probably going to keep believing in Christ. I mean, that’s what faith is all about, isn’t it?’
‘And if you’re a nonbeliever?’
‘Well, I guess that depends on the person. Some people keep their doubts to themselves in order to fit into this Christian world of ours. Others join the local synagogue or temple or shrine and start practicing non-Christian faiths. Then, of course, you have the third group. The wild cards. They’re the ones who don’t care what society thinks about them, the type of people who enjoy rocking the boat. And if I were a betting man, guess which category I’d put the killer in?’
Dial smiled, wishing that all of his questions were that easy. ‘Thanks, Henri, I appreciate your candor. Let me know if you come up with anything else.’
‘You got it, Nick.’
Dial hung up his cell phone and turned his attention to Agent Nielson, who was standing off to the side, smiling. ‘You look happy,’ he said. ‘Good news?’
‘I just got off the phone with Rome. Father Jansen had a small apartment near the Vatican. When he didn’t show up for a meeting at nine p.m., they tried to call him but couldn’t get through. In their mind it wasn’t a big deal until he failed to show up for work this morning. That’s when they decided to call the police.’
‘And what about the Vatican? Do we know what Jansen did for them?’
‘I’m still working on that. I’m expecting a call from his supervisor any minute. Hopefully, he can shed some light on it.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it. I’ve dealt with the Vatican before, and they tend to be very tight-lipped about their business. Of course, who could blame them? I’d be secretive, too, if I had a billion-dollar art collection locked in my basement… What are the locals doing in Rome?’
‘A forensics team is searching his apartment. They said they’ll give me a call if they find anything of value. Otherwise, we’ll get their report tomorrow.’
‘Nice work, Annette. I’m impressed. Do me a favor, though, and stay on top of the Vatican. Just because they promised you a report doesn’t mean you’ll get one.’
In fact, Dial laughed to himself, it would probably take a miracle.
10
Maria strolled around the chamber, carefully filming the dozens of stone chests that filled the room. The gray containers, sitting in a series of straight rows, varied in size and shape — some had the dimensions of a VCR while others approached the mass of a coffin — but each of them had one thing in common: artistic brilliance.
Pictures of colossal battle scenes, marking the significant Roman victories of the early Empire, had been chiseled into the hard rock of several chests. Proud generals, standing in their horse-drawn chariots as legionnaires fought valiantly in the distant battlefield. Weary warriors, their faces streaked with blood from their fallen victims, continued to march forward, extending the boundaries of their homeland while bludgeoning anything that got in their way. And Roman heroes, their profiles etched into stone with such precision that -