telling you that a J esuit killed two people—"
"Three," Jacopo interrupted to correct him.
Gavache's eyes almost jumped out. An exasperated Rafael stared at Jacopo with disdain.
"Three? The count has now gone up to three? Did you hear that, Jean-Paul?" He looked at Rafael like an inquisitor.
"Yes, Inspector. Someone's hiding information." Jean-Paul joined the party.
"That's exactly what I think, Jean-Paul. Somebody's making fun of us. What can you expect from those who preach morality? They only preach morality when they're being immoral, right? But who's fooling us, Jean-Paul?" he looked around and stared at the passengers behind him.
Jean-Paul didn't answer Gavache's rhetorical question since he knew the inspector could be dramatic when necessary.
"I'm sorry, Inspector. I didn't remember that detail," Rafael began uncomfortably. He hated to apologize. Difficult for someone who nor mally did as he pleased . . . in the name of God. Jacopo had to learn to keep his mouth shut, but this could wait. "The third homicide, which chronologically was actually the first, was a Catholic priest in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem."
"When?" demanded Gavache brusquely.
"Three days ago."
"Name?"
"Ernesto Aragones. He was the administrator of the Catholic wing," Rafael clarified. He was still on shaky ground.
"Why do you say the Catholic wing?"
"Because the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is administered by six distinct churches."
"Did you hear that, Jean-Paul?"
"A real mess, Inspector." Jean-Paul kept his eyes on the road.
A light rain continued to fall, glazing over the windshield irritat ingly. The wipers dirtied the windshield more than cleaning it off, forc ing Jean-Paul to double his focus.
"How can six churches fit into one?" He turned around, facing the road. Spending so much time twisted around to the back was giving him a crick in the neck.
"Do you know the importance of this church?"
Gavache didn't answer, as if he were thinking about it, but Rafael realized that he was just irritating him.
"It's the most important."
"Exactly. It marks the place where Jesus was crucified and buried."
"Supposedly," Jacopo added, as if that one word made all the difference.
"I see your friend is not very Catholic," Gavache offered, amused but not smiling.
"Not at all Catholic," Jacopo added. "Not a drop."
"So why'd you come?"
Jacopo didn't know what to say. He'd rehearsed answers for every possible question, but he didn't know how to answer that.
"Jacopo is an eminent historian at the University of Rome, La Sapi enza," Rafael said. "He came because he was a friend of Yaman Zafer."
"And of Sigfried Hammal?"
"I think we met at a conference in '85, but it wasn't important enough to remember," Jacopo offered in a timid voice.
"And this Ernesto Aragones," Gavache insisted.
"I've never heard of him."
Gavache was silent a few moments. The only sound was the car moving on the street.
"Where were we?" he asked after some time.
"How is it six churches can fi t in one?" Jean-Paul remembered, as if it were nothing.
"Exactly. How?" Gavache repeated.
Rafael explained. "As we said, this church is the most important of all the ancient churches, for historical reasons." He stared hard at Jacopo. "A treaty worked out with the Ottomans in the 1850s divided the custody of the church and adjacent residences between Roman Catholics, Greek Orthodox, Armenians, Copts, Syrians, and Ethiopi ans. They named a neutral watchman."
"Watchman?" Gavache asked.
"The person who locks and unlocks the church," Rafael explained. "They named a Muslim watchman."
"What a happy world in which all the religions live together in peace,"
"Three," Jacopo interrupted to correct him.
Gavache's eyes almost jumped out. An exasperated Rafael stared at Jacopo with disdain.
"Three? The count has now gone up to three? Did you hear that, Jean-Paul?" He looked at Rafael like an inquisitor.
"Yes, Inspector. Someone's hiding information." Jean-Paul joined the party.
"That's exactly what I think, Jean-Paul. Somebody's making fun of us. What can you expect from those who preach morality? They only preach morality when they're being immoral, right? But who's fooling us, Jean-Paul?" he looked around and stared at the passengers behind him.
Jean-Paul didn't answer Gavache's rhetorical question since he knew the inspector could be dramatic when necessary.
"I'm sorry, Inspector. I didn't remember that detail," Rafael began uncomfortably. He hated to apologize. Difficult for someone who nor mally did as he pleased . . . in the name of God. Jacopo had to learn to keep his mouth shut, but this could wait. "The third homicide, which chronologically was actually the first, was a Catholic priest in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem."
"When?" demanded Gavache brusquely.
"Three days ago."
"Name?"
"Ernesto Aragones. He was the administrator of the Catholic wing," Rafael clarified. He was still on shaky ground.
"Why do you say the Catholic wing?"
"Because the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is administered by six distinct churches."
"Did you hear that, Jean-Paul?"
"A real mess, Inspector." Jean-Paul kept his eyes on the road.
A light rain continued to fall, glazing over the windshield irritat ingly. The wipers dirtied the windshield more than cleaning it off, forc ing Jean-Paul to double his focus.
"How can six churches fit into one?" He turned around, facing the road. Spending so much time twisted around to the back was giving him a crick in the neck.
"Do you know the importance of this church?"
Gavache didn't answer, as if he were thinking about it, but Rafael realized that he was just irritating him.
"It's the most important."
"Exactly. It marks the place where Jesus was crucified and buried."
"Supposedly," Jacopo added, as if that one word made all the difference.
"I see your friend is not very Catholic," Gavache offered, amused but not smiling.
"Not at all Catholic," Jacopo added. "Not a drop."
"So why'd you come?"
Jacopo didn't know what to say. He'd rehearsed answers for every possible question, but he didn't know how to answer that.
"Jacopo is an eminent historian at the University of Rome, La Sapi enza," Rafael said. "He came because he was a friend of Yaman Zafer."
"And of Sigfried Hammal?"
"I think we met at a conference in '85, but it wasn't important enough to remember," Jacopo offered in a timid voice.
"And this Ernesto Aragones," Gavache insisted.
"I've never heard of him."
Gavache was silent a few moments. The only sound was the car moving on the street.
"Where were we?" he asked after some time.
"How is it six churches can fi t in one?" Jean-Paul remembered, as if it were nothing.
"Exactly. How?" Gavache repeated.
Rafael explained. "As we said, this church is the most important of all the ancient churches, for historical reasons." He stared hard at Jacopo. "A treaty worked out with the Ottomans in the 1850s divided the custody of the church and adjacent residences between Roman Catholics, Greek Orthodox, Armenians, Copts, Syrians, and Ethiopi ans. They named a neutral watchman."
"Watchman?" Gavache asked.
"The person who locks and unlocks the church," Rafael explained. "They named a Muslim watchman."
"What a happy world in which all the religions live together in peace,"
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