“I have no idea.”
He grimaces and writes a few short notes on his pad.
“Would you explain something?” he says, looking up. “I overheard you talking to your uncle about Doctor Nogara’s exhibit. Why did you think Cardinal Galuppo would threaten your brother over an exhibit on the Turin Shroud, when the Shroud has been proven to be medieval?”
“Ugo was going to prove that the tests were mistaken.”
Mignatto’s eyes widen slightly.
“He was also going to prove,” I continue, “how the Shroud got here. How it ended up in Catholic hands.”
Mignatto begins writing notes again. “Go on.”
“It used to be in Orthodox territory, in Turkey, where my brother works. And Simon may have invited Orthodox clergy to the exhibit without permission from the Secretariat.”
Mignatto taps the pen on the page. “Which is important why?”
“Because the message of Ugo’s exhibit may be that the Shroud isn’t ours. It belongs to the Orthodox, too. We owned it together when we were a single Church, before the schism of 1054.”
How it came to the West, I don’t know for sure, but no matter how it came, the implications remain the same.
“Is this a controversial thing to suggest?” Mignatto asks.
“Of course. It could open to the door to a custody battle. Especially if we were to say it at the pope’s own museum.”
Mignatto begins writing again. “And in that battle, you think Turin stands to lose.”
“Turin stands to lose no matter what. Without the custody battle, Ugo told me the Shroud might be moved into a reliquary at Saint Peter’s. It’s not going back to Turin.”
“So your theory,” Mignatto says, “is that the enemies of Nogara’s research wanted to stop the whole exhibit.”
“Yes.”
He looks up. “Which means Nogara was killed in the hopes of silencing him.”
I haven’t admitted this to myself so frontally. “I guess so.”
“Yet you said people are being threatened—you are being threatened—because someone believes Nogara had a secret and wants to know what that secret is.”
“Yes.”
He stops. Rolls the pen between his palms. Modulates his voice so that it sounds both kind and firm. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Father Andreou. Someone wants to stop the exhibit, to silence it. Yet you’re being threatened to reveal what it’s about.”
“If you don’t believe me, I can show you the message that came to my hotel room.”
Grudgingly he agrees. For the first time, though, it occurs to me that he’s deciding how far to trust me.
When I return to the bedroom, I find Peter passed out on the bed. After tucking him in, I come back to Mignatto with the envelope. He studies the text on the back but remains silent for a long while. Finally he says, “I need time. May I take this back with me tonight?”
“Yes.”
“I also need to think about everything you’ve just told me.” He checks his watch. “Would you meet me in the morning at my office?”
“Of course.”
He hands me a business card and writes 10 AM on the back. “I’ll have more questions for you about Nogara’s exhibit, so please come prepared to answer them. In the meantime, I expect to find out shortly where your brother is. If you find out, please contact me immediately.”