“Please identify yourself,” says the presiding judge. He’s a gentle-faced monsignor with an old-fashioned appearance, his eyeglasses large and black-framed, his full head of graying hair combed back with tonic into a shiny little pompadour. I don’t recognize him, or either of the other two monsignors on the bench, so Mignatto must’ve been right: any judge who knew Simon has had to recuse himself. Instead this monsignor’s accent is Polish, which would make him one of the judges appointed to the Rota during the beginning of John Paul’s pontificate. But for having that much experience, he still seems uncomfortable on the bench. His voice is unimposing, his body language tentative. When the time comes for the judges to meet in private and vote on sentencing, it’s hard to imagine this man bending others to his will.
To his left is a much younger judge, still in his late forties, a friendly-looking man with tightly cropped hair. He has the air of a new student, eager to please. The last of the three is a grizzled bulldog with a clifflike brow and accusing eyes. He’s older than the others and wears his irritation plainly. Instinct tells me he’s the one this case will rest on.
“My name is Andreas Bachmeier. I am curator of medieval and Byzantine art at the Vatican Museums.”
“You may sit,” says the presiding judge. “Doctor Bachmeier, we’re here to establish why Doctor Ugolino Nogara might have been killed. You worked with Doctor Nogara?”
“To an extent.”
“Tell us what you know about his exhibit.”
Bachmeier plucks at his bushy eyebrows in a sour, querulous way. He seems to find the question open-ended. “Ugolino wasn’t very forthcoming about his work,” he says.
“Nevertheless,” says the lead judge.
Bachmeier looks down at the tip of his nose, gathering his thoughts. Finally he says, “The exhibit shows that the radiocarbon tests on the Shroud of Turin were wrong. The Shroud existed in the Christian East for most of the first millennium as a mystical relic called the Image of Edessa.”
The judges glance at each other. One of them murmurs something inaudible. My muscles are tense as I wait to see if Bachmeier can establish the groundwork the prosecution needs. Only one motive can possibly be pinned on Simon for killing Ugo: that Ugo was about to reveal our theft of the Shroud from Constantinople in 1204. If Bachmeier doesn’t know about 1204, then today has been a triumph for the defense.
The young judge says, “All of that comes as surprising and wonderful news. But how much of it was Father Andreou aware of ?”
“I don’t know. I met him only a few times and never asked him. But he was very close to Ugolino, so I’m sure he knew much more about the exhibit than I do.”
“And can you think of a reason,” the lead judge says, “why the defendant would’ve been motivated to kill Doctor Nogara because of what he knew?”
Even before Bachmeier answers, I’m thrilled. This is asking him for more information than he can possibly provide. Even if he knows about 1204, almost nobody is aware that Simon invited Orthodox clergy to attend. I glance at Mignatto and notice a certain gleam in his eye. Maybe this question came from a list of suggestions he gave the judges.
Bachmeier, though, takes us both by surprise.
“Yes,” he says. “I can imagine a reason. We recently discovered that one of the most important parts of the exhibit has disappeared. Someone took the Diatessaron manuscript from a locked display case.”
I launch from my seat in disbelief. Before I can speak, Mignatto’s hand is on my arm, pulling me back. The promoter of justice stares at us from the prosecution table.
“You’re suggesting Father Andreou stole the book?” asks the presiding judge.