“No. He would never have killed Ugo.”
The monsignor weaves his head back and forth, balancing facts on either side. “His Eminence,” he says, meaning Lucio, “has informed me that Orthodox relations are your brother’s fixation.”
“But Ugo would’ve done anything for my brother. All Simon had to do was ask.”
Now that I say it, I wonder if that’s exactly what happened. Ugo tried to contact me about what he’d found. But he would’ve gone to Simon first. And if Simon begged him to keep quiet, then the result might’ve been the galleries he left unfinished and the Secretariat’s sudden interest in the reason for his change of heart.
Mignatto makes a long note, then slips it into a folder. “We’ll need to return to this later,” he says. “First I need to ask you some important questions. Above all, I haven’t heard a word about your brother’s location. Have you?”
“No. But I have someone working on it. How long do we have?”
“If this were an ordinary trial we would have weeks, months. But this is developing with astonishing speed. I hope we’ll have at least a week.” To my surprise, he smiles. “Since there have been some developments since last night.”
He pauses to reach into a stack of papers, and I hang on his words. I’m eager for good news but anxious that what appeared as such yesterday is already proving otherwise.
Mignatto hands me an open envelope. “Your brother’s Secretariat file is mentioned in the libellus, but I never received a copy with my acta causae, so I petitioned for one. An hour ago, this came by courier.” He waves me on. “Go ahead and look. As procurator, you may see it.”
Inside is a single sheet of stationery.
Reverend and Dear Monsignor Mignatto,
It is my pleasure to confirm receipt of your request for the personnel file of Rev. Simon Andreou. At this time, however, the information you requested cannot be found in the general records of the Secretariat of State, and is therefore unavailable.
With every good wish, I remain,
Yours devotedly in the Lord,
Stefano Annibale
I turn the page over for something more. “I don’t understand.”
“The file is missing.”
“How is that possible?”
“It’s not. Someone doesn’t want it to be seen.”
I slam the paper on his desk. “How are we supposed to make a defense without seeing the evidence?”
Mignatto lifts a finger of caution. “If the file’s gone, the judges can’t see it either.”
“But what if the personnel file could help Simon?”
Mignatto rolls an old fountain pen across his lips. “I asked myself the same question. Until I received a phone call twenty minutes ago from the tribunal clerk. It seems your brother’s file isn’t the only piece of evidence that’s gone missing.”
His eyes sparkle as he slides a copy of the libellus toward me. His middle finger is glued to one line in the list of evidence.
“You’re kidding,” I say.
With a flourish of his other hand, Mignatto says, “No more surveillance video.”
My eyes hang on the printed words. A giddy feeling stirs inside me.
“I can’t tell you how concerned I’ve been about that video,” the monsignor continues. “Any detail contradicting your brother’s testimony would be damning.”