Stealing God (20 page)

‘Anything local; Peroni.' The monsignor almost winced. ‘Not cold, just as it comes.'

‘All our beers are chilled, sir.'

‘OK, just as it comes.'

The waiter nodded and the two of them left.

Jimmy waited. The monsignor was praying an obvious Grace before starting his meal. When he had finished he took the bottle, poured himself a glass, put the wine back into the bucket, took a long sip, then picked up his knife and fork and began to eat. Jimmy glanced at his plate. It looked good and he felt sure it would taste nice. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

‘Over the last two years, anywhere in the world, how many cardinals have died suddenly?'

The question didn't even get a pause.

‘Do you mean died as a result of violence?'

‘No, died unexpectedly, like Archbishop Cheng a couple of years ago.'

The monsignor kept on eating and took another sip.

‘Does the age matter?'

‘Not necessarily.'

‘Then five, possibly six.'

‘Including Archbishop Cheng?'

‘No, he wasn't a cardinal.'

‘Can you name them?'

‘Cardinals Laurence Grimshaw, Felipe Obregon, Giovanni Stephano Capaldi, John Chiu Fa, Pius Mawinde, and possibly Pietro Maria Gossa.'

‘Why only possibly?'

‘Because he was ninety-one and died in his sleep here in Rome, but it was unexpected, in so far as a death at ninety-one can be unexpected.'

‘Could the others have had anything in common?'

The monsignor stopped eating.

‘Now that is an interesting question.'

He put down his knife and fork, took a sip of his wine, and then sat slightly forward with his voice lowered a fraction.

‘It is a question I have been half-asking myself off and on ever since Archbishop Cheng's death.'

‘Why half-asking?'

‘Because of the answer.'

‘A connection?'

‘Leaving out Gossa on the basis of age, three of the rest have a kind of connection. Cardinals Grimshaw, Obregon, and Mawinde.'

‘The connection?'

‘They would have been very important if a conclave were to have been convened.'

Jimmy sat back. The answer had taken his breath away coming like it did. He had come to ask the question because it was the only question he had, not because he had any faith in where it would lead. Although he would never have admitted it, he agreed with Ricci and felt the whole thing too far-fetched. The truth was, he only wanted the investigation to continue because when it finished he wasn't going anywhere, certainly not back to any priestly training. McBride had made that clear. He wanted time to adjust, to think, and this investigation, so long as it went on, however pointlessly, gave him that time. He hadn't expected to get any sort of helpful answer, certainly not such a solid one, nor to get it so quickly.

‘They'd have been important in a conclave?'

‘Oh yes.'

‘But not the other two?'

‘Cardinal Chiu Fa was under eighty and therefore would have a vote but that is all. He would not have been an influence. Cardinal Capaldi was a Liturgist, a vital element in the changes to worship the Church is currently involved in, but that was all. In a conclave, being over eighty, he would not even have had a vote.'

‘But the other three, they would have been influential?'

‘Grimshaw was American and Americans are always influential; they represent money. Obregon was Central American and a liberal. He could have organised the liberal wing, the modernisers. Cardinal Mawinde was a conservative to put it mildly. He could have been a rallying point for the traditionalists.'

‘How many cardinals would there be at a conclave?'

‘It varies but around one hundred.'

That was a lot of cardinals.

‘And Cheng? What group did he represent?'

The monsignor smiled.

‘None, Mr Costello, no group at all.'

‘So why is he connected to the other three? If he's spent most of his life in China and a good part of it in Chinese prisons how could he be …'

He didn't finish the question. It had clicked, and the bland monsignor saw that it had clicked.

‘Exactly, Mr Costello. He could easily have become pope if a conclave had been called.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘That he would have been elected?'

Jimmy nodded.

‘Absolutely not, Mr Costello. To predict the outcome of a papal conclave is impossible, it cannot be done. But if you mean, could he have been elected, was he the sort of man who might well get chosen? Then my answer would be, absolutely yes. He was very much papabile.'

‘Papabile?'

‘Suitable pope material. Archbishop Cheng was a man of great personal holiness and humility who had suffered tremendously for his faith. But he was also a gentle man, a man of prayer who had the capacity to forgive those who had treated him so cruelly. He put his Christian duty to the greater good before any personal feelings. And he was a very able administrator, during his years of freedom he proved that. I would have said he was papabile, Mr Costello, wouldn't you?'

The monsignor poured some more wine and went back to his meal. The waiter was at the table with a bottle of beer and a glass on a tray.

‘Sorry about the delay, sir.' He put the glass beside Jimmy and poured some beer, then put the bottle beside the glass. ‘I took the chill off it but I'm afraid I had to use my judgement as to how you'd like it.'

Jimmy took a taste. It was just beer.

‘Excellent, just right. Thanks.'

‘My pleasure, sir.'

The waiter left. Jimmy took the bottle and poured some more into his glass. The monsignor was eating, waiting for Jimmy to get going again.

‘Doesn't the pope have to be a cardinal?'

‘Technically, no, on election the pope becomes the bishop of Rome and so long as the candidate is in no way debarred from taking up that office anyone could be chosen. Technically you could be our next pope, Mr Costello.'

‘Me!?'

‘Yes, if you have been accepted for training to the priesthood I assume you are a baptised and practising Catholic. You are not married nor, I hope, in a state of mortal sin. You are eligible. If you were chosen you would be ordained priest, then consecrated bishop of Rome and then you would be pope. So could I, so could millions, but as you said, the pope is now always chosen from among the College of Cardinals.'

‘So Cheng would have to have been a cardinal to be pope?'

‘Realistically, yes.'

The monsignor pushed away his plate and refreshed his glass of wine.

‘He wasn't though, was he?'

‘Wasn't he, Mr Costello?'

‘He was an archbishop.'

‘If you say so. I'm sure your information is more accurate than any I might have. I am, after all, no more than a humble Vatican functionary.' You're something, thought Jimmy, but whatever it is, it isn't humble. The waiter arrived and took the monsignor's plate. He looked at Jimmy's untouched meal and hovered, uncertain what to do. The monsignor came to his assistance. ‘Are you finished, Mr Costello?'

‘No, I'll eat in a minute.'

‘But your meal will be cold, sir.'

Jimmy looked at the waiter.

‘Is it any good cold?'

‘Not really, sir.'

‘Maybe you could re-heat it?'

‘I hardly think it would be suitable re-heated, sir.'

‘Mr Costello.'

The monsignor was getting annoyed. Jimmy picked up the plate and held it out to the waiter.

‘Have a go anyway.'

‘If you say so, sir.' The waiter took the plate. ‘Will you require anything else, monsignor?'

‘No.'

The waiter left.

‘If there is nothing further I can do for you, Mr Costello?'

He was ready to leave.

‘There is.' The monsignor stiffened and then relaxed. His face registered indifference but his eyes told another story. Jimmy poured the last of his beer into his glass. He took his time about it and about taking a sip. He wondered how many would die in the blast when this guy finally exploded if he got pushed any further. ‘If, for the sake of argument, Cheng was a cardinal, there was a conclave, and he had been elected pope, what effect might that have? How would a Chinese pope go down?'

‘With whom?'

‘With anybody.'

‘The Church would welcome him as the new holy father with joy and celebration as they would any new pope.'

Getting his own back, is he, thought Jimmy. We'll see about that.

‘Don't you know or won't you say?'

It hit home. He had been sent to co-operate, not to make a new friend nor to score points off a new enemy. His whole manner changed.

‘Would you have said that John Paul II, a Polish pope, had an effect, Mr Costello?'

‘Yes.'

‘Indeed, yes. When he first became pope the Soviet Union looked as if not even a nuclear attack could destroy it. But it was utterly gone by the time he died. What he helped start in a shipyard in Gdansk couldn't be stopped and it brought down one of the world's two superpowers, a thing the other superpower had been trying to do without success for the second half of the twentieth century. And all without a shot being fired.'

‘He didn't do it on his own.'

‘You could argue that he didn't do it at all. That a desire for truth, justice, and freedom did it from within.'

‘Aided and abetted by rampant poverty and corruption, also from within.'

‘Mr Costello, I am a busy man. If you really wish to discuss the fall of the Soviet Union, could you do it some other time with some other person?

‘It would matter, you think, a Chinese pope?'

‘I think it would matter very much indeed and I think the prospect of Cardinal,' he paused, ‘of Archbishop Cheng as bishop of Rome would be something that might be opposed vigorously in certain quarters, most vigorously indeed.'

‘Stop at nothing sort of thing?'

‘Perhaps.'

Jimmy had heard all he wanted to for the moment. He needed to go and think things over.

‘OK, I'm finished, you can go. I'll hang on and see what the ­– what was it called?'

The monsignor was getting up. He was being dismissed by a crumpled, unimportant little peasant of a man. But he didn't mind, he would offer it up as a penance for the sinfulness of mankind.

‘Saltimbocca, Mr Costello. I hope you find it still edible, but I doubt it. Good day.'

He left. He forgot to say his grace after meals, thought Jimmy, as the monsignor made his way between the tables, nodding a couple of times to important-looking diners. I hope he remembers it when he next goes to Confession. The waiter was back at the table.

‘Do you want your meal now, sir?'

‘Did he pay the bill?'

The waiter looked after the monsignor who was disappearing through the doorway into the street.

‘The monsignor has an account.'

‘I see, he runs a tab.'

‘Sir?'

‘A tab, an account.'

The waiter smiled. He liked to pick up new English words.

‘A tab, yes, sir.'

‘Is it a modest tab?'

‘Sorry, sir?'

‘A modest tab. He says he likes to live modestly. He says to live modestly is to live well.'

The waiter smiled again.

‘Yes, sir, I would say the monsignor lives well.' The smile almost became a grin, but not quite. He was talking about a good customer. ‘Do you want your meal now, sir?'

‘No, it won't be any good warmed up, will it? Do you do any pasta?'

‘Of course, sir. If you want pasta we can give you whatever you wish.'

‘Spaghetti.'

‘And how would you like it, sir?'

‘Just as it comes. Ask the cook to use his judgement.'

The waiter smiled.

‘Certainly, sir.'

He left. Jimmy reached out to the ice bucket. The bottle was about a third full. What sort of priest has a tab at a place like this and when he orders a bottle of wine leaves nearly half of it? He looked at the label, it said Pecorino and gave the year but otherwise it was meaningless. How much was inexpensive, he wondered. He poured some into his unused glass. It was wine, just white wine.

He turned his mind back to what the monsignor had told him. Three cardinals dead unexpectedly, all influential if a conclave was held and a possible favourite to win dies under questionable circumstances. But if Cheng's death was part of something it meant it was two years into whatever was going on.

‘Your spaghetti, sir.'

The waiter put the plate on the table. It was just spaghetti with a simple tomato sauce.

‘Thanks.'

‘Another beer, sir? I have one ready with the chill taken off, just in case.'

‘Yes, thanks.'

Jimmy began his meal, it was good, just how he liked it. The waiter arrived with the beer.

‘You can take the wine away; it's finished with.'

‘Certainly, sir.'

‘Is it any good?'

‘All our wines are good, sir.'

‘Is it cheap?'

‘We don't stock cheap wines, sir, but if you mean is it one of our less expensive wines, then yes, it is modestly priced compared to many of our others.'

‘How much?'

It didn't sound modestly priced to Jimmy. It sounded damned expensive.

Jimmy went back to eating and thinking. One hundred cardinals locked in one place with no outside contact and no way in. If someone wanted to fix the election they had to be got at before they came to Rome or got at once they were assembled and neither way made any sense. Before they came to Rome they were scattered across the world: any attempt to nobble them would be too obvious. Once they were together no one could get at them except someone on the inside. Which only took him back to getting at them before the conclave. He paused in his eating.

It was like some bloody stupid Agatha Christie thing. The pope will be found dead in the Vatican Library with all the doors and windows locked from the inside and a knife of oriental design stuck in his back. Then all the suspects, the cardinals, will be gathered in one room while I stand in front of them, tear off my whiskers, and say, it is I, Hawkshaw, the great detective, and I now know which one of you is the murderer.