The Angel of Milan (9 page)

             
This time, I had puzzlement on my face. Why was I told that Savica was covering up for Crochi?

             
“Please indulge me another moment, Monsignor. Please close the door, have a seat. I need to consider this. I was told a very different version by someone else, and it doesn’t make sense.”

             
“Father Adama, whoever told you such things has done the bishop a severe injustice. Bishop Savica can be very protective of his authority here, and has certainly been known to put people off from time to time, but he is an honorable man.”

             
“Yes, Monsignor, I am seeing that now.”

             
Giovanni had told me of a cover-up knowing I would immediately dislike the bishop, distrusting his motives and behavior. It almost worked. I had not even wished to see him personally before leaving. There was more to pursue now, not the least of which was a “Come to Jesus Meeting” with Giovanni the next time I saw him.

             
“Monsignor, what of the phone records. Can I have access to them? I would like to know if there were any repetitive numbers Crochi called.”

             
“I can provide them to you, however, the bishop and I have already reviewed them in detail and have found nothing. Crochi was clearly careful not to leave a trail of his doings.” 

             
             
I felt the ill breeze of the trail getting cold again. There was one more possibility. 

             
“What about incoming phone calls?”

             
“No, I’m afraid there is nothing of substance in those records either. They only show a number of calls from ‘Number Unknown.’ We haven’t been able to establish anything of value in our investigation. Wait…” He hesitated for a moment. “No, I doubt it will be of any worth…”

             
“What is of no worth? Say it.”

             
“There was one incoming call, and the only reason I remember it is because I was standing right there when the house keeper took a message while Crochi was out. It was the night just before he was murdered. She had written the message, and hung up just as Crochi entered the front door. Her name is Maria, and she sometimes has a habit of singing the messages while she hands them to the intended receiver as they come through the door.”

             
“Okay, she’s a little nuts, but what did she sing to him?”

     Embarrassed, the Monsignor repeated the singing message: “Father-Crochi-eeee-please-call-Giovanni-eeeee.”

             
I just stared at him. What in the world was going on here? Giovanni was in this up to his ears somehow, and I was going to rip those ears off to find out just what he was standing in.
Burtuchi did not see this coming
, I thought with some amusement.

             
“Did that message mean something to you, Father?”

             
“Yes, more than you can imagine. Thank you, Monsignor.”

             
Now I regreted having displayed my arrogance where Bishop Savica was concerned. I wanted to rectify the situation if I could.

             
“I fear I have been grossly unfair to the bishop. In fact, I would like to see him before I leave here today to apologize. Monsignor Belgerio, I know the bishop said he had more important things to attend to, but do you think you can find him, and ask that he interrupt his schedule for a moment to see me?”

             
Belgerio began to laugh under his breath. I couldn’t imagine what had caused such a reaction from him.

             
“Is there anything wrong, Monsignor?”

             
“No, no, Father Adama,” he said, laughing a little louder, and waving his hand at me. “I assure you that the bishop can interrupt his schedule. You see, the phrase ‘I have more important things to attend to’ is a little code he and I use. When he says that, it means that he is going to his private patio to sleep in his hammock.”

     I began to laugh myself. I guess that in his position of responsibility, it wouldn’t do to announce you were going to take a nap.

             
“Then I really shouldn’t disturb him. I can come back another time.”

             
“That will not be necessary, Father. Under the circumstances, he would be pleased to be interrupted. Please wait here and I will ask him to see you.”

             
In a few minutes, the monsignor returned with the bishop. Belgerio closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with Savica.

             
“Father Adama, Monsignor Belgerio has informed me of your conversation with him while we walked back here. Given what you were told, I understand your previous attitude.”

             
“Thank you, Bishop. I didn’t want to leave here without expressing my regret at the arrogant treatment you received from me. Sometimes I allow my personal feelings to display themselves on the end of my tongue. That aside, I want to thank you personally for the courtesy and assistance you and Monsignor Belgerio have provided. You have been most helpful.”

             
“You are welcome, Adama, I am glad we could be of assistance. However, maybe there is more I can tell you that may or may not be of help,” he continued.

             
“As you already know, Father Crochi was literally torn apart by his killer. However, there was something more, something not mentioned in the police or the coroner’s report. He had a carving on his buttocks—a symbol.”

             
“What was the symbol, Bishop?”

             
“It was the sign of a pedophile—two triangles, one inside the other.”      

             
I was familiar with such a symbol; there are several different symbols used by these animals to recognize each other. There was more to Crochi’s murder than just stealing the Atonement Lot. Someone was sending a message.

             
“The police decided to suppress the marking on the body. To their credit, they did not wish to  embarrass the Church any more than it already has been in these matters. More importantly, from their perspective, they did not want to insight any additional vigilante activities, which is what they assumed the murder was. If this were publicized, they feared others would copycat this action on other suspected pedophiles.”  

             
The actions of the police made sense, particularly because they knew of no other motive in Crochi’s death. It was also now obvious that whoever stole the Atonement Lot also knew that Crochi was a pedophile, and was killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.

             
“There is something else, Father. Carving is probably the wrong word for what was done to him.”

             
“What do you mean by that?”

             
“The symbol was cut into him, but I would not say it was done with a knife or something like that. It was ripped into him, like a claw might do.”

             
“That sounds a little bit sensational, Bishop. Would such a carving be possible with, say, one’s car keys?”

             
“Yes, I see what you mean. I suppose it could be.”

             
The bishop had provided another piece of the puzzle. It was now clear that whoever killed Crochi and taken the Lot had somehow known of his transgression and disapproved most egregiously. 

             
I immediately thought of Giovanni, but that seemed very unlikely. He didn’t seem the type to bear very high moral standards. Nonetheless, I was now sure that he was somehow involved with Crochi.  

             
“Bishop, you have been of great help. Please thank the monsignor again for me. Maybe I will see him again before I leave Milan.
I must be going now. Thank you, your Excellency.”

             
I was out the door headed down the stairs on a mission of vengeance. Forget the “Come to Jesus Meeting,” I was going to pluck that peacock’s feathers one by one until he told me everything I wanted to know. 

             
I crossed the piazza, dodging between tourists and pigeons, being careful not to spook the birds. When they are startled, they fly off all together, crapping in their fright on everything beneath them. Having experienced it once in my black suit, I assure you, I never wanted it to happen again. Pigeons aside, I was angry at being made a fool of. I was sure that once I caught up with Giovanni, I would be very close to recovering the Atonement Lot. I knew where he worked, and was sure I would have no trouble finding him.

             
I cut down a narrow ally off Via Falcone that was partially blocked with delivery trucks, and weaved from side to side, stepping around boxes and carts. I was moving quickly, but sensed that something was keeping pace with me. I looked over my shoulder and saw two men struggling to keep up. I knew in an instant that they were the same two I had seen earlier, who were almost hit by the car crossing the concourse. They were certainly following me, but you don’t send people out in pairs just to see where someone is going. These two looked like a pair of bull moose. They were looking for an opportunity to do more than follow, and far be it from me not to provide them with that very opportunity.

             
Just ahead, there was a large truck parked with no one standing by. I slipped around it and leaned with my back to the front grill, and slouched below the height of the grill to conceal myself. Within seconds, my two companions hurried past me as I stood to greet them.

             
“Ciao,” I said loudly, but pleasantly.

             
They turned in their tracks, surprised to see me waiting for them. They approached with broad smiles, having no idea that they were walking into a meat grinder. It has always been my experience that when strangers approach with a Cheshire Cat smile, they are up to no good.

             
Without hesitation, I stepped forward to punch the nearest one dead in the face, and his nose spread across his features like an overripe tomato hit with a bat. He fell back on the concrete, making a loud conking noise with the back of his hard head. The smile quickly peeled off the face of the second one as he threw a punch at my head. I easily side-stepped it, grabbed the back of his head, and smashed his face into the truck grill. His arm went limp for a second, giving me the opportunity to stretch it out and slam my forearm into the back of his elbow, breaking the joint. He let out an excruciating scream that I quickly silenced by smashing his face into the grill a second time.

             
“Who sent you? I’ll ask only once more before I break your other arm. Who sent you?”

             
No answer. I was about to cause him more damage when I realized he was unconscious from the second time he kissed the grill. I didn’t want to be seen, a priest beating the crap out of these two gorillas, so I thought it best to just walk away. I didn’t really expect to get any truth out of them anyway. There wasn’t enough time to impress upon them my commitment to the endeavor.