you read what’s in the bag?’ Her voice was flat as she hung on to her self-control.
‘Yes.’
‘And?’ She said it bitterly.
He sat back against the wall in the flickering candlelight. He did not want to talk about it now, but he had to.
‘Last night you said that this thing could destroy the whole Catholic Church.’
She blinked. She waved her hand in dismissal. Then sighed. ‘Oh, what’s the use, you won’t believe me. Yes, it’s about the Catholic Church. And that’s all I’m going to tell you …’ She sighed angrily. ‘Look, I know you’re not a Catholic any more –’
‘But I have great respect for the Church. All churches.’
‘All right. But to me it’s much more than that. It’s … God’s corporeal representative. God is the most important thing in life, and therefore His Church is the most important thing on this earth …’ She paused then made the point with slow emphasis: ‘I believe. I believe that the Pope is God’s vicar. That he is infallible. I believe in transubstantiation, in the Holy Trinity, in Heaven and Hell – the whole nine yards.’
Morgan nodded.
She went on, as if rehearsed: ‘I know the Church can make mistakes, but that’s because of human frailty. You get mistakes in any profession. And I know that many people resent the Catholic Church.’ She didn’t take her eyes off him. ‘It’s wealth, for example. The … grip it’s got on the people. The fear, if you like. Okay. Arguments can be made against all that. But I sincerely believe that the power of the Church works for the good of mankind. It is good for mankind to be under the thumb of the Church, because man is an irresponsible, cruel, thoughtless creature. Man needs a big stick. And the Church is God’s stick. The Church is vital to the stability of mankind, let alone to his immortal soul.’
Morgan waited. He nodded.
‘It follows that if anybody attempts to … damage the Church, I will do everything in my power to stop him. Not only as a Christian but as an honourable person.’ She paused. ‘That is my solemn duty. And if I didn’t do it, I would be … Judas Iscariot.’
Morgan watched her. And loved her. She went on:
‘And believe me, if these people who’re chasing me succeed …’ She tailed off. Then: ‘I don’t believe what Max told me is true. I believe it’s a vile fabrication. But the fabricated evidence exists. And Max got his hands on it.’
‘Did he say how he got hold of it?’
She shook her head. ‘But Max was everywhere, knew just about everybody. Fingers in all pies.’
He said: ‘You’ve heard of Klaus Barbie?’
She was taken by surprise. Then said dismissively: ‘Of course, it’s been in the newspapers recently. The Butcher of Lyons. He’s in jail in France.’
‘Awaiting trial. Did Max know Barbie?’
She looked mystified. ‘Not to my knowledge.’
He did not believe her. ‘Did Max know any old Nazis? Hiding in South America?’
‘He might have. They’re all over South America.’
‘Did he go to South America much?’
‘Often. He had business deals all over. Look, Max had many failings. If you’re wondering if Max was a Nazi, you’re quite wrong. Why’re you asking these questions?’
‘If you won’t tell me I’ve got to try to figure this out for myself.’ He went on: ‘Roberto Calvi, God’s Banker? Did Max know him?’
She stared at him an instant.
‘I don’t know. He knew a lot of people in international banking. I only met a few of them.’
‘What do you know about God’s Banker?’
‘Only what was in the newspapers.’
He said: ‘Why did Max keep those magazine articles about the Third World debt in his safe? One could find them in any public library.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Was God’s Banker involved in Max’s negotiations over the Third World debt?’
‘No.’
‘How do you know?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Oh Jack, Jack … Here!’ She thrust her hand into her pocket and tossed a wad of newspaper cuttings onto the mattress. ‘You might as well read it for yourself, if you can get it in any public library! This was also in the safe. He wasn’t murdered, he committed suicide. ’
He unfolded the cuttings. There were three. She said: ‘They sometimes contradict each other, like bloody newspapers do. I might as well summarize them for you.’
‘Okay.’
She sighed tensely, and looked away.
‘Nothing to it. Roberto Calvi, God’s so-called Banker, owned the Banco Ambrosiano in Italy. Thought to be very respectable. He also became a financial adviser to the Vatican Bank – that’s why he was nicknamed God’s Banker. But, unbeknown to the Vatican, he also did a lot of shady deals. The Vatican found itself innocently involved. There was a financial scandal. God’s Banker was eventually prosecuted in Italy, fined ten million dollars and sentenced to four years in jail. He got bail, pending appeal, and fled to England on a false passport. The next morning he committed suicide by hanging himself from Blackfriars Bridge. End of story.’
Morgan said: ‘Suicide? With ten kilos of bricks in his pockets?’
‘Exactly. If it was murder, they wouldn’t have weighted him – hanging was enough. He weighted himself to ensure a quick death. He also had a lot of money on him – fifteen thousand dollars. A murderer wouldn’t have left that.’
‘Last night you cried: “I’d rather die like God’s Banker than tell anybody”. You must believe it’s murder.’
She waved a hand. ‘I was hysterical last night. And completely flabbergasted by you showing up.’ She turned away. ‘When Wall Street crashed in 1929 bankers and stockbrokers jumped out of windows like lemmings.’
He did not believe her. ‘When was it that you had this drunken row with Max?’
‘On my birthday. Last year.’
‘That’s the twentieth of June?’
‘So you remember.’
He looked at the newspaper cuttings. ‘And God’s Banker was found hanging on the eighteenth of June. Two days before. And when Max had his drunken outburst he taunted you with God’s Banker, to prove he had the evidence?’
She turned away. ‘Oh, he was drunk. He was going away the next day and he was insanely jealous.
