Broken Glass, page 15
“When did you get a handgun?
“I purchased it after Carlotti showed up at Sarah’s. It’s legal. I registered it and everything. I had a creepy feeling that I needed protection from this wacko priest.” DeVille had already checked on the status of Zane’s gun; it was legal, all right.
“When Father Carlotti arrived at your dad’s house, did you actually see his gun?”
“No, I didn’t see a gun until he pulled it out. It was night, and the floodlights were on, but everything was still half in the shadows. I was afraid, damn it! He had already threatened me, so I wanted to protect myself. I’m telling the truth when I say I had no intention of killing him! When my dad heard the arguing, he came out with his shotgun. At that point, you showed up, and… you saw the rest.”
“I saw Father Carlotti start to put down his gun.”
Zane jumped out of his chair and pumped his fists into the air, yelling, “I didn’t know what he was going to do. I feared for my life, so I protected myself! Damn it!”
The Davies’ attorney had shown remarkable restraint during the questioning, but now he intervened. “I think that is enough for this interview: You were at the scene; you assessed the level of confrontation; the priest had already threatened Zane with a gun. This is textbook self-defense. I want my client released.”
“One more question Zane. Did you murder Eugene Rose?”
“I did not! And I didn’t intend to kill Father Carlotti!”
Jablonsky stood and spoke to the attorney. “I will let you know what the District Attorney says about bail. But there is still the issue of this young man’s smuggling and the unknown extent of it. For right now, Zane goes back to holding.” The chief walked out of the room in the midst of the attorney’s protestations and Zane’s weeping.
Chapter 21
Jablonsky and Antoine were rearranging items on the murder board. “Eugene Rose’s murder was well thought out. A calculating and cool head was needed to set up all the details necessary for the murder to be successful. Do we think Father Carlotti has such a state of mind? In the short time we have known him, his behavior has begun to look like an ice skater in one of those spin turns going faster and faster. I spoke with the bishop about my concerns; he assured me that Carlotti will be taken care of.”
“Is Carlotti your man for the murder of Eugene?” Antoine asked the chief.
“He was. He had the strongest motive; he is driven by a personal spiritual crisis. He is educated enough to read and understand about poisons and would know how to order a poison online. He was seen at the glass center, probably casing it. His obsession with the pendant makes him unstable to the point of being out of control—and that makes him dangerous.” Jablonsky unwrapped a piece of cinnamon gum, folded it flat, and put it on his tongue. “Coupe, anything new about the Italian side of the family and the beating Carlotti took there.”
“Everything that Zane said about the history and transfer of the estate from the La Rosa family to the Carlotti’s was fairly easily researched, if you knew what you were looking for and could decipher a bit of Italian.”
“Did you or Lemon ever actually talk to Carlotti’s cousins?” The chief kept tapping his marker against the murder board. Something doesn’t quite jive here, he thought.
He turned and eyeballed his number one and number two. Coupe answered first.
“I spoke to one of the older detectives who was working in the Tuscan area when the priest was attacked. Between his English and my limited Italian, what he conveyed was that no one was ever arrested for the crime. He intimated that the Patron, Carlotti’s uncle, wanted it kept quiet.” Annie Lemon chimed in with the result of her research.
“The medical records describe that the young Carlotti almost died from the beating. I did speak with Carlotti’s cousins, trying not to reveal much about the details of our investigation.” Jablonsky could always count on Lemon for her discretion.
“Did they know about the sale of the necklace and pendant?”
“Yes. It was the oldest cousin, Antonio, who said that Father Carlotti’s behavior had caused his father great humiliation. After their father’s death, when they were dividing the estate and its contents, they placed the necklace and pendant with an antique dealer. It was that antique dealer that met Grandmother Rose, presented her with the estate background of the La Rosa/Carlotti family, and sold the pieces to her. Antonio said the sale of the necklace and pendant was their way of getting back at Father Carlotti for having caused their father so much shame.”
“Did he say how much this necklace and pendant sold for?”
“I asked, and he said the dealer sold it for five thousand dollars.”
The chief was surprised at the small amount. “Did Antonia have any idea what it would be worth today?”
“Yes. He said that if the Vatican knew about the piece, they would potentially pay upwards of a million for it. I don’t know if that is an exaggeration or not—this side of Carlotti’s family is quite wealthy, so they know what art objects cost. Grandma Rose did pay the requisite Italian county and state tax—if that is what it is termed there.” Lemon made a face that communicated how little the family wanted to keep the necklace and pendant.
“What Grandmother Rose paid and what the Carlotti family could have auctioned it for is an unbelievable difference. By the way, which mail carrier shipped it?” Shipping was a detail that niggled at the chief.
“None. Grandmother Rose took it with her. There is no shipping trail. When she came into the country, I assume she declared it and paid the duty.”
“I guess she thought it was safer with her. See if you can dig around for the declaration of purchase—I know it has been a decade, but our government might have a receipt for the duty.” The chief turned his attention to the murder board.
“There are other people who are in the frame. Eugene Rose was murdered because of this glass piece, which hardly anyone knew about. I think it is reasonable to add Father Lupinski to the list of suspects because he was privy to conversations between Zane and Carlotti at the golf club. He also knew about Carlotti having been attacked in Italy and the meaning of the necklace and the pendant to him. He knew that Carlotti hired Bogey Johnson to search for the flash drive and that his fellow priest had broken into two places looking for it. He knew that Carlotti had a gun and had taken it to Sarah Braithwaite’s house looking for Zane. Does he also know where the necklace and pendant are?” In his shorthand, Jablonsky listed the statements under Lupinski’s picture on the murder board.
“I’ll do a deeper dive into his past,” remarked Antoine, “but I can’t ascribe a reasonable motive to Lupinski.”
“I have the same problem—lots of knowledge of events, but other than greed, no motive that immediately makes sense. Then there is Joseph Davies and Zane. Here are my questions. Did we see everything Zane has collected for his father? Are there some art pieces for which there is no provenance? Were most of the foreign items in their collection smuggled into this country?” The chief had already written the word smuggling; now he added “antiquity theft” under Zane’s picture.
Lemon spoke up. “We could talk to Professor McCarthy about that. Since he is considered an expert in fine art, he might know the best person to help us find out what antiquities have recently been stolen, both here and in Europe. I’ll contact him.” Lemon took the initiative since she had been involved with Mrs. McCarthy’s case last year and communicated easily with Johnny and Kate.
“Good. You both have some research to do. We haven’t heard from the two amateur sleuths for a day or two. I wonder what’s going on?” They chuckled over their ongoing problems with the likable civilians.
Q
“Detective Lemon called me today,” remarked Johnny.
“What for?” Kate was surprised.
Johnny was loading high-quality photographs onto his computer of American portrait artists to present in one of his class lectures. Johnny was an organized professor.
It was a rainy, moody afternoon, so he had steamed some cappuccino for himself and Kate, who lounged in one of the comfortable chairs he had long ago brought into his university office. Aside from the desk and floor-to-ceiling bulging bookshelves, he had arranged the space to resemble a cozy den rather than a sterile office. Kate loved the warm atmosphere; today, she had slung her legs over the arm of her chair while delicately sipping the milky coffee out of some hand-decorated cups Johnny had bought when he had last traveled to Rome.
“Why did Detective Lemon call me? It had to do with the smuggling of antiquities. She wondered who the best people were to contact about what special objects across Europe have gone missing in the last couple of decades. I gave her Julian’s name.” Johnny’s ex-partner, Julian Castillo, was an attorney who specialized in antiquities theft and, in fact, was the person who had traveled with him on the Roman vacation.
He nonchalantly stirred his cup of coffee with a small spoon, and as an aside to the theft issue, mentioned the shoot-out at the Davies’ home, unaware of the bomb he had just dropped.
Kate’s feet hit the floor as she sat up. “What shoot-out?”
“You don’t know? Detective Lemon told me about it, but I thought it was on the news or that Joan would have told you. Carlotti showed up at the Davies’ home, wielding a gun and demanding the glass necklace and pendant. Zane had a pistol, with which he shot Carlotti. Joan was the surgeon on call, so she operated on him.”
“Is he alive?” Kate was furious! How could Joan not have telephoned her immediately with this news? If it were possible for steam to come out of her ears, like the espresso machine, it would have.
“He survived the surgery. Jablonsky was at the hospital and talked with Joan after the operation. He put a guard on Carlotti’s room. So, the ladies of the parish were right in their assessment—Carlotti has gone off the rails.” Kate knew that Johnny’s lame joke was an attempt to lighten her mood, but it fell flat. Johnny tried to calm her down.
“Why don’t you call Joan? Since the rain is now just a drizzle, they probably restarted the double-header the Pirates are playing late this afternoon. Maybe they are in the seventh inning stretch.”
Kate agreed and walked into the hallway outside of Johnny’s office. She paced up and down the empty corridor, unable to relax. She called Joan, her voice tight with anger.
“Joan? Are you at the game? Why didn’t you tell me that Father Carlotti was shot? You know I’m involved with this.”
Joan, used to demands from all sorts of hospital administrators, other surgeons, patients’ families, and insurance companies, responded in an aggravated tone. “I caught the case. And you knew that I had tickets to today’s double-header; it’s almost the end of the season. You also know that I should not talk to you about a patient. The game is starting again; we can catch up later.” Joan abruptly ended the telephone call, leaving Kate to stew. She remained standing in the hallway for a few minutes to calm her anger.
Johnny opened the door to his office. “Come back in; I have the news on my computer. They’re talking about the shooting.”
“In a follow-up to a previous news story, it has been reported to us that the person who was shot in an altercation at a Pittsburgh suburban home has died at the university hospital. The victim’s family has been notified, so the hospital has released the man’s name. The victim is a local priest named Father Timothy Carlotti. The police are investigating his death as a possible murder.”
Q
If Kate was furious with Joan in the afternoon, Jablonsky was seething that evening. “Where were you?” he snarled at the officer who had been posted at Carlotti’s door. “I told you in no uncertain terms that only medical personnel and fellow priests were allowed in his room. Man, you are hanging over the edge here. What happened?”
The young officer mopped his brow with a paper napkin and tried not to stammer. “Only the nurses and his physician went in the room. Oh, and two priests came.” The officer looked at his paper register, “A Father Lupinski and a Father Nolan.”
“Did they come together?” Jablonsky snapped out his question.
“Ah. No. Lupinski came at 7:35 and Nolan at 9:30.”
Jablonsky turned to Antoine. “Who the hell is Nolan? Call the Pittsburgh diocese and find out if there is such a person. I want some answers.” Antoine turned away and walked a short distance down the hallway to make his call.
Jablonsky eyed the officer. “What did Nolan look like?”
“Well, he was around six foot, probably in his forties, had black glasses and an old-fashioned black fedora—he had an everyman look to him. He was dressed in a black suit and wore the collar.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
“I asked him his name. He gave it and said that he wouldn’t stay long. He said he was here to give Carlotti communion. He held up a little bag, which I assumed was the communion stuff. I—I didn’t check the bag. Then he went in, stayed less than five minutes, and left.”
The chief just grunted and thought to himself, Lupinski would have been the one to bring communion to his friend. Nolan is our perp. I wonder what was in the black bag.
“I want you to give a description of this Nolan person to our sketch artist. Do it now!” The chief shouted at the officer like he was a frustrated Dad faced with a recalcitrant little boy.
DeVille walked back to the chief. Jablonsky quietly raised the obvious question. “Why would someone want to kill this man? Had he found the necklace and pendant, and we didn’t know about it? The pieces don’t fit.”
“Chief. The person I spoke with at the diocese checked his records and no Father Nolan is listed anywhere in the city. This perp knew enough about our investigation and Carlotti’s role in it that he came disguised as a priest to a public space and, we suspect, killed him. It has the same cool-headed stamp as Eugene Rose’s murder. The fact we know it was a man is at least something.”
“I’ll be at the morgue with Doctor Patel. Between us, this is definitely murder. See you back at the precinct.”
Chapter 22
It had been fireworks night for the second Pirates game, which meant that Jablonsky hit all of the post-game traffic. He relaxed into the rhythm of tapping the breaks, then inching forward—tap, inch, tap, inch. The delay would give Patel more time with the body.
No matter what time of day or night Doctor Patel was called to examine a body, she always looked beautiful to the chief. When he arrived, Aashi was bent over, peering into her microscope, a pencil stuck through the bun at the back of her neck.
“What do you have for me?” he asked.
As was her habit, she twirled her chair around, then continued to rotate it slowly back and forth while she gave her report. “It was an air embolism. The oldest trick in the book! A syringe filled with nothing but air was injected into the priest’s IV. When air goes into a vessel, it forms an air embolism, which may or may not cause death. In this case, the embolism traveled to a blood vessel in the heart and was large enough that it cut off the blood supply. Death was probably painful and not necessarily immediate. I also wanted to show you Carlotti’s body.”
They moved to the autopsy table, and Patel pulled back the sheet. “Look at all these old injuries and scars. At some point in his life, this man took quite a beating. Frankly, you usually see these kinds of injuries in someone who had been a soldier, imprisoned, or tortured.”
Jablonsky nodded and recounted Carlotti’s history. “Carlotti said that he had trouble with chastity—in everyday parlance, he was a womanizer. True to his nature, when he was in Italy, he carried on with a girl there—her father and his buddies beat him up. It was his uncle who bought him the elusive glass necklace and pendant. He believed that meditating on the image of St. Augustine, which was painted on the pendant, would help him with his desire for the ladies.” Jablonsky rolled his eyes, waiting for Patel to weigh in on the topic.
“All old cultures have talisman objects, but a pendant with a picture of St. Augustine is a new one for me. Were the men who beat him prosecuted?” Patel asked.
“No. Interestingly, the Uncle never brought charges against any of the local men. Sad. He said he didn’t want the notoriety.”
“Or, there was something else to it. Perhaps a pregnancy resulted, and the families wanted it hushed up.” Patel covered the priest’s body. “He survived all of that only to be murdered in Pittsburgh by a tiny air bubble.”
“Your official findings are?”
“The cause of death was an air embolism created by injection into his IV, and the manner of death is murder. This is the second murder related to the glass neckless and pendant. To me, it is very strange indeed. What could be the motive?” While Patel busied herself with maneuvering the body into the cooler, Jablonsky left for the precinct.
Q
The chief and his best detectives were gathered in the bullpen considering just that—motives. Carlotti’s picture was moved next to those of Eugene Rose and Zane Davies. Jablonsky added the photo of Father Lupinski, and DeVille tacked up the sketch of the man described by the officer guarding Carlotti’s hospital room.
Jablonsky remarked, “He does look like an everyman. But there is something familiar about his posture. It will come to me.”
Annie Lemon pointed to the picture. “Both murders could have been committed by this man. We know they were both bold and well-planned. If the priest’s motive for wanting to possess the neckless and pendant was spiritual, I think the perp’s motive is monetary.”
Jablonsky passed around some sticks of his cinnamon gum. Once its innervating flavor burst onto his taste buds, he added, “Our friend Andy Ormsby has remarked on several occasions that, if it could be authenticated that the necklace was crafted by Murano artists in the sixteenth or seventeenth century, it would be worth a bundle. It follows that whoever found it would become famous in glass circles.”
