“Shut your eyes,” she called to him before flicking on the light. He groaned and rolled over, away from the table, but not before catching a glimpse of Natalie in her tank top and a pair of bright green boy shorts.
It was a good look.
She took a few notes, repeated: ‘six o’clock’ several times and then hung up. The light stayed on, much to his dismay, and she returned to the bed, this time sitting on it and facing him.
“All right, big boy, wakey wakeys. We’ve got a date with destiny to get into the catacombs at six. That means if we hurry, we have enough time to get something to eat and make it to our rendezvous,” she said.
He peered at her, sitting cross-legged, reading her notes on the slip of paper.
“That was quick. Where are we supposed to meet him?” Steven asked.
“Another catacomb, somewhere near here. San Calisto. Apparently, it’s a popular destination. Big tourist stop.”
He nodded. “It’s the largest catacomb in Rome. Famous, partially because of the Crypt of the Popes, where quite a few of the early popes were buried.”
Natalie studied his face. “How do you know so much about it?”
“I did a three-day tour of Rome’s sights and sounds five years ago, and that was one of the stops. On the Appian Way, not far from this hotel. I remember it because of the gift shop. At the time, I remembered thinking that it was hokey. For some reason that stuck with me.”
“We have to get going. Don’t want to miss our meet,” Natalie said.
He closed his eyes. “You do this one without me. I’m going to sleep some more.”
She swatted him with her pillow. “Come on. We’re leaving in five minutes. I’ll buy the late lunch. You’re welcome.”
Steven opened his eyes to the vision of Natalie walking over to where her jeans lay. An elaborate tattoo of a highly-stylized parrot adorned her right shoulder, which Steven found made her even more alluring as she paraded around wearing little more than a smile.
“You use the bathroom first. I’ll only take a second,” he said, not wanting to get out of bed with evidence of his interest prominent. She glanced at him, her eyes seeming to flit across the blanket, then wordlessly collected her jeans and wig and moved to the bathroom.
They had their late lunch in the hotel restaurant, which did nothing to improve the reputation of hotel food, and then waited patiently for a cab. When it screeched to the curb in front of the hotel, Steven shook his head. Even after over half a decade in Italy, he still hadn’t gotten used to the driving ethos, which treated every moment behind the wheel as a competitive race.
The trip to the San Calisto catacombs took ten minutes, and soon they were standing near the dreaded gift shop, among swarms of tourists from all over the world. The crowds were thinning as the day drew to a close, but it was still unpleasant to be in the milling concentration. After a few minutes of anxious waiting, Danny materialized from the road and honked, waving from his window. They opened the rear door and climbed in.
There was no preamble. Danny eased the car onto the Appian Way and spoke to them over his shoulder.
“I got a telephone call from the police today. Someone at the church talked and, without admitting anything, pointed the finger at me. Your prints were on the car at the murder scene, and they now record them in immigration whenever you enter the country, so they have your names. They naturally were wondering what I knew about you. I told them you contacted me on a routine surveillance job and requested help with after-hour access to the basilica. Beyond that, I knew nothing about you, or why you wanted to get in. Maybe it was a kinky fetish thing. They seemed satisfied for now, but I think it would be wise if you left Rome as soon as possible.”
“I’m sorry, Danny. I didn’t mean to cause you any problems. We had no way of knowing that we were tailed or that murder was a possibility,” Natalie soothed.
“Be that as it may, I’d make myself scarce. They asked for a description and I gave them as generic a rendition as possible. The truth is, I don’t know anything about you. When they asked how you found me, I said through the phone book. I have an ad.”
“But why are they spending so much time on us? Surely they don’t think we killed Frederick?” Natalie asked.
“They said you were ‘persons of interest’. My guess is that they’ve got nothing else, so they’re focusing on the details they do have. If you’d taken the car instead of leaving it there, they’d have had zero. It’s the prints that connected you. Otherwise you’d have just been a mystery couple I helped with a problem, who I know nothing about.”
“All right. How much scrutiny can we expect?”
“I talked to a contact in the department and, right now, they’ve only circulated your names to the force, which will trigger a cursory hotel check for your names. If you don’t turn up in a day or so, you can expect things to escalate, especially if they don’t find any leads on the killer. They may be slow, but they aren’t completely inept.”
“Then for now, we’re okay. But your advice to get out of Rome isn’t bad,” Natalie acknowledged.
They passed through fields surrounding small residential developments until they arrived at the gates of a vineyard surrounded by a seven-foot high brick wall, with an ancient, crumbling building at the far end of the property. A man in overalls waited for them at the gate and, seeing Danny, opened it a few feet. Danny parked in the driveway and turned to face Natalie and Steven.
“That’s Umberto. He’ll take you to the catacomb entrance. You’ll have an hour to view it. Here’s a flashlight…” He opened the glove compartment and checked it before handing it to Natalie. “He told me there are a few lights strung down there, but they haven’t been used in nobody knows how long. They were installed as a temporary measure decades ago. Remember, it’s a historical site, so no vandalism, right?”
“Fine. But how will we know the crypt we’re looking for?” Steven asked.
Danny shrugged. “Beats me. Ask Umberto. He knows the layout as well as anyone. They’re on his family’s property. If he doesn’t, you may find that this was all for nothing. There are a lot of passageways down there, from what I hear. Some of the catacombs go for many miles. Hopefully, you’ll find your way in and out with no problem. It would be a shame to lose you…” Danny smiled. “Don’t worry. Umberto says he hasn’t locked anyone down there yet.”
They got out of the car and shook hands with Umberto, a wiry man in his sixties with deeply tanned skin and dirty, graying hair. Steven and he exchanged greetings as they walked down the drive. Fortunately, Umberto knew the crypt they were interested in. He described the rough location and told them to look for the elaborate frescoes of birds and grapevines.
They approached the old building, in modest disrepair as so much of Rome was, and he led them through a brick corridor to an old iron door. He flourished a key ring and made a big display of unlocking the rusty deadbolt. The lights were already illuminated. He gestured to them to descend the rough stone stairs into the murky chambers below. Umberto reminded Steven that they had one hour, holding up a single finger for emphasis. Steven nodded, then led the way, Natalie following close behind.
The air had a leaden feel to it, smelled of dank earth. The corpses had long since been removed to cemeteries, and yet there was a lingering taint of death. Centuries of housing the bodies of the dead had left their indelible mark on the catacombs, and this one was no different.
They made their way carefully down the passageway that Umberto had directed them to, which was hewn from limestone and fortified in sections with ancient brickwork. Natalie edged closer to Steven as they moved past chamber after chamber, through a never-ending hall punctuated by tomb cavities with long forgotten inscriptions. Eventually, the art on the walls changed, as Umberto had told them it would. At the junction of the main passage, they came to a large crypt — if Umberto was right, that of Januarius. Most areas were elaborately painted with third-century scenes of vineyards and birds. Steven and Natalie had the same impression as they studied the art: where did they even start?