“So where’s the footage?”
“They’re looking for it, of course. Somewhere between Castel Gandolfo and here it took a detour.” His eyebrows rise, as if waiting for my reaction.
“This is good news, right?” I say tentatively.
He chuckles. “Oh, I would say so.”
Then the smile dims. His eyes sharpen.
“Father, I want to suggest something to you. And I need to know your honest reaction.”
“Of course.”
“I think your brother has a friend on high. A guardian angel. He’s being protected by someone who has access to the evidence.”
“Who?”
“You tell me. It’s extremely important that I know who our friends are.”
“I don’t even know who could do something like this.”
Mignatto tugs at his earlobe, waiting.
“You think my uncle did it?”
“Did he?”
I’m speechless.
“Don’t the groundskeepers at Castel Gandolfo report to him?” Mignatto prods.
“Maybe. But he couldn’t make a file disappear from the Secretariat. And you saw the condition he was in last night.”
The monsignor shrugs, as if my uncle is a clever man. “Food for thought.”
I glance at the libellus. With the video footage gone and the personnel file missing, the case against Simon has shrunk dramatically. Two-thirds of the direct evidence has evaporated.
“Is there still grounds for a trial?” I ask.
Mignatto becomes more solemn. “Unfortunately, not all the developments since last night are positive. You probably remember that the libellus mentions a voice message left at the nunciature by No-gara. I haven’t heard the message yet, but the promoter of justice—the prosecutor—feels it’s an important part of the evidence against your brother.”
“Why haven’t you heard it yet?”
“Because I’ve petitioned the court for forensic verification that it was really left by Nogara.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m trying to win us a few more days of preparation time. The message probably was left by Nogara, but—”
“If the message is really from Ugo, then there’s nothing to worry about. Ugo and Simon were close friends.”
Mignatto frowns. “Father, there’s something irregular about this piece of evidence that suggests to me a certain attitude of caution.”
“What is it?”
The monsignor runs his thumbs along the inner edge of the desk surface. For a second, his eyes leave mine. “Nogara left your brother the voice mail on his bedroom phone at the embassy. Somehow a recording of the voice mail was made. It appears someone was tapping your brother’s phone.”
I feel myself go hot. “Monsignor . . .”
“I realize,” Mignatto continues quickly, “this might strengthen your feeling that your brother was somehow targeted. But I want to warn you against premature conclusions. I don’t pretend to understand how the Secretariat operates, but recordings like this may be routine. We both know that in practice Secretariat priests rarely talk over an open line and seem to have little expectation of privacy. There’s no reason to worry ourselves over this until we have more information.”