Something Dark (A Lauren Lamb FBI Thriller—Book Four), page 6
The trespasser tapped the wheel and considered. The ground was flat, but rough. The compact car would not survive a journey across the field to the house.
There was no other way. The trespasser had to risk a direct approach.
The trespasser shut the car’s engine off and waited. The exorcism would take an hour to set up, at least. Possibly longer if the priest and the mother enjoyed a meal beforehand, not an uncommon practice since exorcisms could sometimes last for many hours, and the priest would need to keep up his strength.
The trespasser waited and hoped that the victim wouldn’t come to harm before the trespasser could arrive and put an end to this.
And how would that happen? The mother was there, as well as the driver. How would the trespasser gain a chance to kill the priest without being discovered?
The trespasser realized that the plan hadn’t been entirely thought through. No, that wasn’t true. It was thought through well, but it depended on the exorcism taking place in the apartment building, not a secluded house in the middle of nowhere where the trespasser couldn’t get lost in a crowd.
This was not good.
The trespasser hated to admit it, but this cause might be lost. The trespasser may have to wait for another chance with another victim.
But the trespasser couldn’t do that. Images of past victims flooded the trespasser’s mind. Screaming, flailing victims crying out in agony as charlatans and hacks spouted gibberish and flung water at them. People who need help made victim to the superstitions of the feeble minded.
The trespasser had once been one of the feeble-minded but was no longer. The trespasser had once been lied to and taken advantage of by charlatans and now rescued others from that fate.
A young girl needed help now, and the trespasser would not abandon her. The trespasser would persevere, and if God did exist, He would bless the trespasser’s work and not the work of those who would pervert His love into something abominable.
The trespasser waited an hour and a half, filling the time with breathing exercises and meditation. When the time came, the trespasser was filled with calm and purpose.
The trespasser reached the house ten minutes later. The priest’s car was parked in the driveway. It wouldn’t help save the trespasser from notice to park far away and approach on foot, so the trespasser parked in the driveway behind the priest’s car.
The house was a fair size but not too large. The trespasser walked the perimeter and confirmed that all the curtains were drawn and both doors locked. No sound came from inside the house. Some exorcisms were quieter than others. Some priests gagged their victims so they couldn’t cry for help. It was also possible that the thick logs of the cabin walls simply muffled the sound. Either way, the air was ominously still as the trespasser carefully picked the lock of the back door and entered the house.
Once inside, the noise became immediately apparent. The wailing cries of the young victim, the anxious exclamations of the mother, the droning chant of the priest. The driver made no noise, and that was bad because the trespasser didn’t know where he was, not even a guess.
Well, the risk was acceptable. Once the trespasser had decided to intervene, all associated risks were assumed.
The trespasser crept slowly through the house, listening and looking. The exorcism was still in the early stages, judging by the snippets of speech the trespasser caught from time to time. The priest hadn’t even begun the Evocation of Saint Michael yet. The trespasser had time and patience was key to success.
The trespasser found the driver in the living room, a dark-skinned young man with a thick beard and powerful shoulders resting above equally stocky legs and a barrel chest. The young man was praying with his head in his hands, his lips moving silently. He didn’t notice the trespasser, and the trespasser left him there. He wouldn’t leave until the rite was completed. The devout were unfailingly devout. If the priest had instructed him to remain there, he would remain there until summoned.
The mother would be more of a problem. She waited in the bedroom where the priest conducted the charade. She knelt on the floor, hands clasped in front of her, weeping and praying. The trespasser would have to wait until the end of the rite. The girl seemed fine enough for now. If the priest refrained from the more invasive techniques employed by some exorcists, the trespasser would wait until the rite had completed and the priest left the mother.
The trespasser mapped her escape. The priest would likely either send the mother out or leave the mother with the victim and come out himself. In either case, the trespasser would strike swiftly, then leave quietly the same way the trespasser entered. It was very likely the others wouldn’t notice before the trespasser was well on the way home.
The trespasser quietly pushed open a door to an adjacent room and stepped inside, concealed in the shadows. The trespasser closed the door, leaving only a crack of space to see through.
Then the trespasser wrapped a hand around the needle in the inner jacket pocket, took a deep breath and waited.
CHAPTER EIGHT
After leaving the church, Lauren called Julia using the number Bianca provided. Julia agreed to meet them at her apartment, a short drive away from the church.
Julia was a modest young woman, pleasant but far less bubbly and outgoing than Bianca. She greeted the two investigators in a long-sleeve dark blue dress with a high collar and a hem that nearly brushed the floor. She wore her hair loosely over her shoulders and used only a token amount of makeup. She greeted Father Emilio with a curtsey and kept her eyes pointed demurely downward. Lauren was reminded uncomfortably of her own days as a nun, long before her FBI career.
Julia offered them coffee, which Lauren declined and Father Emilio accepted. When the coffee was ready, the two investigators joined Julia in her living room.
While Father Emilio savored his coffee, Lauren began. “Miss Julia, tell us in your own words what happened.”
Julia nodded seriously and said, “Well, a month ago yesterday, I visited Bianca. I hadn’t heard from her in a few weeks, and I was concerned. She and I are like sisters. We rarely go a day without calling.”
“What happened when you saw her?”
“Well, I knew right away that she was possessed.”
“And what gave you the impression that she was possessed?” Father Emilio asked.
“She had all the signs. She was listless, pale, malnourished. She didn’t recognize me at first, and when she did, she still didn’t seem to remember me well. She would mutter to herself and wouldn’t allow me or her father to touch her. I told him then that she needed to see a priest.”
“And what was his reaction?” Lauren asked.
“He agreed, at first,” Julia replied. “We took her to see Father Bernardo, the parish priest. He recommended strongly that Bianca see an exorcist, and I agreed. Mr. Iacovelli did not.”
“Can you expand on that?” Lauren asked.
"You mean, did he really threaten to harm Father Grigoriy? Yes, he did. He would never have done that though. He was simply scared for his daughter.”
“We’ve already ruled Mr. Iacovelli out as a suspect," Lauren said. "I meant, how did he react to you?"
“Oh.” Julia blinked. “Well, he was very upset. He feels that I’m… foolish… for believing in possession and exorcism. He is a devout Catholic, but he has a very narrow interpretation of God’s word. Not that it’s my place to judge,” she added quickly.
“But he allowed you in his house on the night of the exorcism?” Father Emilio asked, getting to the root of Lauren’s question.
“Yes. I was very anxious and wished to pray with Bianca’s closest living relative and our priest. Giorgio was terrified as well, and I believe that’s why he relented and allowed us inside. I’m glad he did. I think he is a good man, and I hope he and I can become friends again.”
“How was Bianca when she came home?” Lauren asked. “Did you notice anything strange about her?”
Julia brightened. “She was healed! Completely! Even the scar on her face was gone.”
Lauren lifted an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“She had an old scar on her face just below her left eye. It was small enough that you wouldn’t notice unless you looked real closely. I don’t think even her father noticed it was gone, but well… I noticed.”
She blushed a little as she said that, and Lauren wondered if perhaps Julia’s feelings for Bianca went beyond sisterly affection.
“What else did you notice?” Lauren asked. “Any change in mood or behavior? Maybe unusual facial expressions?”
Father Emilio looked quizzically at her. Julia looked equally confused. “Unusual facial expressions? Like what?”
“Just… anything out of the ordinary.”
Julia shook her head. “No, nothing. She was completely back to normal. She tends to be anxious around new people, and when she’s anxious, she smiles a lot. Some people think it’s offputting, but I find it charming.”
Lauren nodded. “She was lovely to meet, as are you. One final question: has Bianca met anyone new in her life lately?”
Julia shook her head firmly, almost jealously. “No, Bianca is not looking for a boyfriend right now.”
“What about a friend or coworker? An acquaintance? Anyone at all within the past year?”
Julia shook her head again. “She was caring for her mother and helping her father prepare for life without her. I was the only friend she talked to that I know of. You can ask her, I suppose.”
Lauren nodded. “Thank you.” She smiled and handed the young woman her card. “If you think of anything else, please give us a call.”
When Lauren and Father Emilio were back in the car, Father Emilio asked, “What did you see in the hotel? And don’t tell me it was nothing. You’ve been fixated on Bianca ever since you saw her. You didn’t even ask Julia a single question about Father Grigoriy.”
Lauren weighed her words carefully. “I had a feeling that Bianca wasn’t being entirely truthful. Call it a hunch. I followed the evidence, and the evidence has exonerated her.”
“What made you feel she wasn’t being truthful?”
“It was just a feeling I had.”
“Well,” the father said, “I have a feeling you’re not being truthful now. Am I foolish to think that?”
Lauren sighed irritably. “Look, I… I thought… in the video, it looked like Bianca was staring at me, okay? Like she was staring through the video.”
“You thought the demon knew you were there,” Father Emilio deduced.
“No,” Lauren said, fingers tightening around the wheel. “No, I thought that Bianca had planned the murder and was making sure the camera was still there so she could have evidence she wasn’t the killer.”
“Ah,” the father said. “Well, I understand why you would need to follow up on that. But you no longer think she was involved?”
“No,” Lauren said. “I don’t think so.”
“Well. Then what is our next step?”
Lauren considered a moment. “I think we’ve pulled the thread on Father Grigoriy as far as we can. We should look into Father Vincenzo.”
“Very well,” Father Emilio said. He pulled the file from his briefcase. “It looks like Father Vincenzo exorcised a demon from a young boy in Parioli.”
Lauren lifted an eyebrow. “Parioli?” Parioli was Rome’s wealthiest residential neighborhood. Many of the people who lived there were politicians and foreign dignitaries. “Do we have the name of the exorcised individual?”
“Paolo Gotti. Seven years old. Father Vincenzo exorcised him a week ago. Interestingly, it says he was murdered five days ago. He was found dead in his apartment.”
“That is interesting,” Lauren said, “Where is his apartment?”
“Near downtown,” Father Emilio replied. “He worked full time at the Vatican.”
“We’ll check that out next. I want to talk to Paolo Gotti’s family. Do you have an address?”
Father Emilio gave it, and Lauren started the twenty-five-minute drive to Parioli. They reached the address just as the sun touched the western horizon.
The house was an elegant four-story villa, at least ten-thousand square feet on what Lauren guessed was five or six acres of sculpted gardens and tree-lined paths for both feet and horses. The estate was surrounded by a twenty-foot-tall electric fence and protected by a solid gate and an armed security guard.
“It says here that Mr. Gotti works in shipbuilding,” Father Emilio says.
“It seems to be working well for him,” Lauren opined.
The security guard approached the vehicle, one hand resting comfortably on the butt of his handgun, not a threat, just a reminder. He motioned for Lauren to roll down her window.
“Good evening,” he said. “Can I help you?”
"We're with the Vatican Investigative Division," Lauren replied. "I'm Lauren Lamb, and this is Father Emilio Carbone. We need to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Gotti and their son, Paolo.”
“I’m afraid the Gottis are unavailable at the moment,” the guard replied. “If you have a card, I’ll take it and let the Gottis know you asked after them.”
A light came on in the Gotti house, followed by another, then another. Lauren looked at the guard and said, “We’re here investigating the murder of Father Vincenzo Loggia. I appreciate that you’ve probably been instructed to turn away law enforcement, but if we come back, it will be with a warrant and a contingent of the Swiss Guard, so if the Gottis are home, they should consider making themselves available for a few minutes.”
The security guard hesitated a moment. “Do you have any identification?”
Lauren handed the guard her ID and motioned for Father Emilio to do the same. The guard retreated to the shack and picked up a landline phone. He spoke for several minutes, then returned to the car. “The Gottis will see you in their summer room,” he said. “Please proceed to the courtyard. The valet will meet you there.”
They drove through the gate, and when they drew closer to the house, Lauren realized she had underestimated its size. It was at least half again as big as she thought, a palace more than a mansion. The gardens were filled with exotic species artfully arranged so that shade, soil, and water were distributed in a way that allowed all of the plants to thrive. The paths were lined with electric torches that radiated a soft yellow glow. Some of them were paved with marble.
The driveway was a quarter of a mile long and paved with very small perfectly fitted cobblestones. Lauren pulled the car around a massive stone fountain with four gargoyles facing the cardinal directions as a centerpiece and stopped in front of a gleaming white stone porch.
“Shipbuilding’s doing really well,” Lauren remarked.
“God has blessed them,” Father Emilio opined.
The investigators met the valet, a perfectly groomed young man of about twenty-five who took their keys, bowed stiffly and drove the car away without a single word. A butler—equally well-groomed but twice the age of the valet—escorted them to the summer room, which looked to Lauren to be a living room with expansive windows that the Gottis currently left open. It was late in the year to be considered summer, but the air was warm and the breeze soft.
The Gottis sat on a sofa on the back wall of the room. They stood as one when the butler escorted the guests into the room. The butler offered refreshments, which Lauren declined. Father Emilio, of course, asked for a cappuccino.
The butler bowed and left for the coffee after confirming that the Gottis didn’t need anything further. When he left the room, the elder Gotti—a polished gentleman of about sixty—approached Lauren and Father Emilio with his hand extended. “A pleasure to speak with you,” he said, “My name is Marco Gotti, this is my wife, Lorena and our son Paolo.
Mrs. Gotti was approximately thirty years younger than her husband, statuesque and cold. She draped a protective arm around her son and glared at the investigators as though daring them to take him from her.
Paolo stared open-mouthed at the strangers, curious but anxious as small children are around strange adults. Lauren smiled at him, and he lifted his hand and wagged his fingers hello. His eyes seemed perfectly normal, and he didn’t smile.
“I trust the traffic wasn’t too bad on your way over?” Mr. Gotti asked.
“Traffic was all right, thank you,” Lauren said. “Thank you also for taking the time to see us.”
“Anything we can do to help,” Mr. Gotti replied. “We were devastated to hear what happened to Father Vincenzo. Anything we can do to help find his killer, we will.”
CHAPTER NINE
The butler returned with the coffee, and the conversation fell silent, save for Father Emilio’s gentle thank-you. When the butler left, Lauren asked, “When did you first come into contact with Father Vincenzo?”
“He was recommended to us by a friend in Parliament last month when Paolo had his troubles,” Mr. Gotti replied. “I don’t think it would be wise for me to share that friend’s name. The public, unfortunately, takes a dim view on exorcism.”
“I take it you don’t share that view,” Lauren said.
“Not at all,” Mr. Gotti replied proudly. “I believe in the mysteries of God and of the Adversary. I believe that the Adversary walks about as a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour, and because of that, he preys on the weak, children and women and the elderly.”
“And you believed your son to be possessed?”
“He told me he was,” Mr. Gotti replied. “He told me that his name was—”
“Do not speak it,” Father Emilio interrupted firmly.
“Yes, of course,” Mr. Gotti replied with a short bow. “I nearly forgot myself. Well, he gave the demon’s name and told me to come get Paolo back if I wanted him.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Father Emilio said. “That must have been horrifying for you.”
“It was,” Mr. Gotti replied. “No father ever wants to go through anything like that.” He smiled down at his son. “But Paolo is strong. He is a Gotti. He came back to us.”
