The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1) (29 page)

  
“English then. No Popes here. Those that stay go elsewhere. Not popular here.”

  
“Why?” Pohl asked.

  
“Tourists.”

  
“That’ll do it” Dee smiled.

  
The group now got back to sightseeing with Pohl adding key pieces of data, and
then it was more than time for lunch. There were even more options for food
than culture, and they navigated themselves down a backstreet and found a café
filled with locals. They weren’t happy to see these four tourists come in. Soon
they were sat with drinks waiting for food, but were under a television
speaking Italian.

  
“What do you make of the Vatican?” Pohl asked.

  
“Opulent, powerful, dripping in history,” Joe reflected.

  
“Isn’t it,” Pohl said almost squealing with delight.

  
“I so have to fuck a Swiss Guard,” Nazir explained, “come on Dee, take one for
the team and lure one into a threesome.”

  
“I’m surprised the Swiss Guard don’t have a detector for pervs” Dee replied,
but then noticed that Pohl was craning her neck to look at the television.

  
“What’s wrong?” Dee asked.

  
“This news story, very bizarre.”

  
There was a pause, so Dee reminded her “it’s in Italian.”

  
“It’s close enough to Latin for me to…oh, yes, sorry, basically, someone has
broken into a church and stolen a relic of the blood of the Pope Innocent the
thirty first.”

  
“When was he?”

  
“Slipped in shortly after World War One. Didn’t survive long.”

  
“Then why would anyone want his blood?” Joe pondered.

  
“A Pope is still a Pope, but I think you’ve hit the proverbial nail on the head
there Joe. Why would anyone want a Pope’s relic? And who might be best placed
to answer that?”

  
“You think we should go take a look?” Nazir said.

  
“Yes!” Pohl was enthused.

  
“Well, on the plus side, it’s not like a Pope’s going to lie.”

  
“Oh, Nazir, there’s really a lot about Papal history you need to learn.”

  
“Is this where you tell me half of them were like politicians, only with even
less moral hang-ups?”

  
“Basically, exactly right.”

  
Dee took up the thread. “And this has nothing to do with you wanting some
sneaky Pope chat?”

  
“Not at all. But when in Rome…”

  
Dee snorted. “How long have you wanted to say that?”

  
“I agree with Pohl,” Nazir said. “When in Rome, fuck a Roman.”

  
He looked around the room to see if there were any takers.

  
The Church of Saint Miranda was beautiful, even to the four different eyes
looking at it.

  
“Ever been here before?” Nazir asked Pohl.

  
“No, there’s something like five hundred churches in this region, I’ve barely
scratched the surface.”

  
“And we’re quite sure Nazir won’t be set on fire the moment he walks through
the door?” Dee teased.

  
“I’m a Muslim, not a vampire.”

  
“So can we just walk in?” Joe asked as they crested the hill.

  
“We should be able to,” Pohl confirmed, and then they saw the problem: a large
crowd of people had gathered, with some obviously inside but many outside, and
a few were kneeling on the ground. There were prayers, there were tears, there
was emotion.

  
“I think people have come to mourn,” Dee said, unsure of the right word.

  
“This should be interesting,” Nazir laughed.

  
“Don’t tell me you like frottage.”

  
“What’s that?” Pohl asked Dee.

  
“It’s getting the horn from rubbing yourself up against people.”

  
“Handy in rush hour,” Nazir added.

  
“Perhaps we shouldn’t all try to go in?” Joe suggested.

  
They looked at the throng, and all murmured yes. “Okay, Joe takes the machine
in, and Dee goes with him?” Pohl suggested.

  
She wasn’t sure what the pained look on Joe’s faced meant, but Dee realised
something: “it’ll have to be you Pohl, you speak the language.”

  
“But of course,” and she nodded, turned and began to walk towards the church.
Joe followed, taking the rucksack off his shoulders for easier access.

  
It took a while, but they managed to slip into the church and get into a
corner. They could see the small alcove where the relic had been kept over
people’s head, they could see the severed bars, and they figured they didn’t
have to get that close. So Joe subtly switched on, and they stood as if talking
to each other.

  
“Anyone want to talk?” Joe asked, and Pohl translated. Soon a voice came from
the device that only Pohl could understand.

  
“Hello, I’m Professor Pohl, we’re investigating the recent theft.”

  
“Thank the lord you’ve come. We’ve experienced a tragic loss.”

  
“The relic?”

  
“No, the Pope!”

  
“Yes, the Pope’s relic.”

  
“No, the pope himself was here, tied to his blood, he had gone with that trace
of himself, and he blessed us with his presence in our church.”

  
Pohl’s mouth went dry. “And he went with the blood when they stole it?”

  
“Yes, exactly.”

  
“What can you tell me to help me find these people?”

  
“They had black helmets on.”

  
“Motorcycle?”

  
“I think that’s what they’re called. Two men, from what I could tell under
their leathers.”

  
“So pretty covered up.”

  
“Indeed.”

  
“And do you have the number of the bikes?”

  
“Just a second…” and there came a background murmuring, then “yes, here they
are.”

  
Pohl scribbled them down. “Thank you very much.”

  
“You’ll find him won’t you, you’ll find him?”

  
“Yes, yes we will.”

  
Then Pohl turned to Joe and said, her eyes on fire, “We have a stolen Pope!”

  
Joe and Pohl disengaged themselves from the throng of people and finally
breathed again once they’d got up the road. They couldn’t see Nazir and Dee at
first, but then the pair emerged from around a corner each carrying two
coffees, so the group came together and drank as Pohl explained the situation.

  
“So now we’re rescuing abducted Pontiffs?” Dee laughed.

  
“This could be big, imagine what they could tell us!” Joe’s mind was racing.

  
“I doubt we’ll get into the secret library,” Dee replied thinking Joe had gone
a bit Da Vinci Code.

 
“So what do we do now?” Nazir said and then took a sip.

  
“If we find the addresses of the bikes, we have a lead.”

  
“Yes, but how do we do that in Italy?”

  
“Trust me, I can find them,” Pohl promised, “But we better not go mob handed.
Nazir, come with me, and Dee, you and Joe kill some time.”

  
“Fine with us,” Dee spoke for them both. She didn’t realise an oddly forceful
look had settled over Joe’s face.

  
“Where are we going?” Nazir asked as the pair walked down the hill and hailed a
taxi back into Rome itself.

  
“Some government offices.”

  
There was a sharp contrast between the ancient beauty of the church and the
concrete box they now entered, and the same was true of the people inside. No
one looked in a state of religious passion, they all looked bored to tears with
bureaucracy. But Pohl’s skills as a Briton soon came out as they had to settle
in a queue, and they turned and watched a television on in the corner. Soon a
news story began covering the relic theft, and Pohl paid rapt attention as only
she could understand the words. There wasn’t anything extra factually, if the
police knew who’d done this they weren’t letting on, but there was something
which caught the attention.

  
“People have raised funds for a large reward,” Pohl explained to Nazir, who was
already further developing the skill to enjoy the images while having no idea
of the speech.

  
“That sounds even better. We could do with a large reward.”

  
“Might pay off some of the holiday.”

  
“Next please,” said the man behind the counter in Italian.

  
Pohl approached the desk and began to speak, and Nazir wasn’t paying much
attention. However, he did see Pohl slide an enveloped across with a slip of
paper, on which was the bikes’ registration, and man take a crafty peek inside.
Then there was the tapping on a computer, and Pohl was writing down an address.
As both bid each other goodbye Pohl led Nazir out. He decided it was safe to
speak.

  
“Did you just bribe that man?” Although he spoke very quietly.

  
“Yes, yes I did. A necessary evil sometimes, and one which often works in this
city.”

  
“You have untold depths Professor,” although he supposed the stabbing a man
repeatedly to death was a clue to that.

  
“How do you think Dee and Joe are getting on,” she changed the subject.

  
As Pohl had gone off to bribe her way into information, ably assisted by Nazir,
it had left Joe and Dee with some free time. Dee initially suggested they pop
to the cafes around their hotel and find some sort of tasting menu, but Joe had
a better idea: he proposed a long walk, which seemed strangely athletic for
Joe, but Dee decided they’d do it.

  
Soon they were doing a large loop within Rome, watching the buildings, the
tourists, the tourists watching the buildings, sometimes people robbing the
tourists, and on one occasion a tourist robbing a building, with an enraged
shopkeeper chasing the man down the street. The city was full of life, verve,
and there was something to see everywhere. But Dee wasn’t stupid.

  
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

  
“Sorry?”

  
“This walk, it’s so we can talk. Which is fine, but let’s do it.” Please don’t
propose, she thought, please don’t propose.

  
“What do you think of Maquire?”

  
That stopped her for a second. “The detective? A man of moral ambiguity and an
open mind.”

   “That’s
not what I meant.”

  
“Well, he’s friendly.”

  
“You and he often go off for little chats.”

  
“Like this one.”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Are you asking me if I’m romantically interested in Maquire?”

  
Joe coughed nervously. “If I may.”

  
“Yes.” She hadn’t meant to say it. She thought her mouth would pronounce no and
they’d move on. But the more she thought, the more she realised she was. To
which her mind concluded ‘oh shit.’

  
“I see,” Joe said, as if being told his favourite cat had been eaten by a lawnmower.

  
Okay, time to have the chat. -The- chat.

  
“You were hoping I’d say no and be romantically interested in you.” It wasn’t a
question.

  
Joe felt he had nothing left to use. “Yes.”

  
“Then I’m sorry if I gave that impression,” she knew she hadn’t and wasn’t,
“but we’re friends Joe, good friends embarked on a massive task. We work
together, we play together, but I’m afraid we’re never going to,” sleep
together probably wasn’t the right thing, “date.”

  
“Is this being Friendzoned?”

  
“Do you even know what that means?”

  
“No.”

  
“I value you greatly as a friend, I love you in that way. But not like Maquire
and I. I don’t know what will happen there, if anything will happen. Okay?”

  
“Yes,” he said sadly.

  
Dee felt like a weight had been lifted off her, and that this could be a new
dawn. Joe felt crushed, as if the last few months of hope had been washed away
in a torrent of particularly stinky shit. They continued walking, Dee watching
the buildings and the tourists, while Joe’s mind did everything it could to
justify the creation of Paint It Black. So much for studying, learning,
devising, the entire arc of his life. He just couldn’t invent a personality
that would attract Dee, only a box that spoke to people already dead. No relationships
there.

  
That evening the foursome parked a rented car outside a block of flats, and
looked at the building disappearing upwards.

  
“Turns out flats look shit even in Italy,” Dee commented.

  
“When did you become an architecture critic?”

   Dee
smiled back at Nazir “lived in one as a child. Shithole. Lucky to still be
alive and I still have memories of stale piss.”

  
“What you did in your bed at night is your business.”