‘Boston, but that’s about to change.’
‘Oh? Have you decided to quit your job and leave me in charge? That is awfully sweet of — ’
‘Boyd,’ he interrupted. ‘Dr Charles Boyd. What can you tell me about him?’
‘He is a very popular man right now. All of Europe is looking for him. Why do you ask?’
‘I have a feeling he might be connected to my case. What can you send me?’
‘Whatever you want… But I’m confused. How can he — ’
‘Just playing out a hunch. Can you send me that info ASAP? I need it before my flight.’
‘A flight? But you aren’t done in Boston. I got the info that you wanted on the fax.’
Shit, Dial thought. He had forgotten about the fax. The person who sent it to Interpol knew about Orlando Pope’s death before it even happened. If Dial found him in Boston, he might blow the case wide open. ‘OK, give it to me, quick. I still want to catch my plane.’
‘But Nick, don’t you think — ’
‘Come on, Henri! Can’t you hear the sound of my voice? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit, not today. Just send me what I need. Not later, not after your next cigarette break, but now! Do you got me? Right fuckin’ now!’
Toulon grinned. He loved pissing off his boss, especially since Dial had been promoted ahead of him for the job. ‘Nick, relax! Check your in-box. The info should be waiting for you.’
*
Nick Dial knew the warning fax was important. He knew if he tracked down the sender that he’d be able to establish a direct link to the crime, possibly identifying the killer or one of his associates. Yet in this case he decided he had more important things to worry about, so he called Chang at the local NCB office and told him to look into it.
‘Don’t screw this up,’ Dial said as he hustled through Logan Airport. ‘And once you get the information, I want you to sit tight. Don’t pursue any other leads. Don’t tell anyone else. Just hold onto it. You got me? I’ll give you a call in a few hours from the plane.’
‘Not a problem. I’ll go home and wait for your call… Anything else, sir?’
‘Yeah. Find out as much about Beijing as possible. I’ll want an update when we talk.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Dial glanced at one of the departure monitors, trying to figure out where his gate was. ‘You ever been to China?’
‘No, sir.’
‘What about your parents? Where are they from?’
‘Noank.’
He grimaced. ‘Noank? Never heard of it. Is that close to Beijing?’
‘Not really, sir. It’s in Connecticut.’
Dial felt like an idiot, so he did his best to change the topic. ‘Get me that info, Chang. I’ll give you a call before I hit the ground.’
‘Sir? Out of curiosity, how long’s your flight to China?’
‘China? I’m not going to China. I’m going to Italy.’
‘Wait,’ Chang said, confused. ‘I thought you were investigating today’s murder?’
‘Not at all. I’m flying to Italy to stop the next one.’
Dante Pelati walked into his father’s office and saw him sitting behind his desk, cradling a family picture. His father was a private man, someone who preferred to keep most people at a distance. The biggest exception had been Dante’s older brother. Roberto was Benito’s firstborn son, which made him the crown prince in Benito’s world. The two of them shared a bond that Dante never could. At least not while Roberto was alive.
‘You got my message?’ Benito asked. His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks were stained with tears, a scene that Dante had never seen before. It was a sight he actually enjoyed.
‘I came at once,’ he whispered. ‘What can I do for you?’
Benito placed the picture on his desk and faced Dante. He realized he was the key to everything now, everything that the Pelati family had been hiding for centuries. And that forced Benito to do something that made him uncomfortable. He was about to have a personal conversation with his second son. ‘I know I haven’t always been there for you… like a father should have been… I realize that now, and… it is one of the biggest regrets of my life.’
Dante was stunned. He had waited a lifetime to hear those words, always wondering what would have to happen to hear those sentiments from his father’s lips. Now he knew.
‘I could sit here and make excuses… but that would be wrong… You deserve better than that… You deserve the truth.’
Benito sank into his chair, struggling to breathe. He had given this talk once before, a long time ago when Roberto had reached the right age. But this conversation would be different. No longer would Benito be talking about secrets hidden in Orvieto and what he hoped to do with them. Instead, he’d be outlining a plot that was already in motion. One that was near completion.
‘Father,’ Dante asked, ‘the truth about what?’
‘The truth about our family.’
65
A stack of newspapers wrapped in a bright yellow cord sat near the circulation desk. It had been a few days since Payne saw the news, and he wanted to read the latest on Orvieto. He flipped through the stack until he found one written in English. He took it upstairs and found a quiet spot where he could look out for guards and read about the most dangerous man in Europe.
Every story painted Dr Charles Boyd as a coldblooded killer, a man who’d do anything to get what he wanted, although the paper didn’t have any theories on what that might be. In their view he was a dangerous fugitive on the run, leaving a trail of blood and bodies wherever he went. No word about the Catacombs or the helicopter that apparently tried to kill him. Nothing about his thirty years of teaching or all the awards that he won at Dover. Why? Because that kind of stuff would cloud the picture and make him seem human. And as everybody knows, human doesn’t sell. Violence sells. That’s what people want to read. That was the thing that sold papers.
Proving Payne’s point was the article that ran next to Boyd’s. The headline blared ‘Crucifix Killer,’ right above a close-up of someone who had been murdered in Denmark. Normally Payne would’ve ignored the story, just to make a point. Just because the photo and the headline were so sensationalized it drew attention from all the other articles in the paper that were more important than the death of one man, no matter how brutal and violent his death was. Still, there was something about the word crucifix that grabbed Payne’s attention. He quickly skimmed the story, which explained everything that happened in Helsingør and all the events in Libya, too. The piece concluded with an editor’s note that referenced breaking news in the sports section, simply saying: ‘Pope is Third Victim.’
‘Holy shit,’ he muttered, knowing who had died before he even turned the page.
Orlando Pope was one of the most recognizable names in sports, right up there with Tiger Woods and Shaquille O’Neal. If he was dead, his story was going to dwarf every other headline in the world, making Dr Boyd a sudden afterthought. Payne flipped to the sports section but found nothing more than a brief paragraph stating that Pope had been found crucified at Fenway Park and nothing else could be confirmed because of the late hour. No pictures, quotes, or reaction from the team. The biggest sports story of the decade, and he knew nothing about it.
Frustrated, Payne grabbed the newspaper and went to tell Jones the news. Before he could, though, Jones and Maria started talking to Boyd, who had been skimming through a modern text that detailed the history of the Hofburg and the royalty who shaped it. Boyd hoped to learn which ruler built the portion of the building where the laughing man resided.