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Fulghum arrived on campus the next morning a media hero, only this time The Clarion told the story with the byline, Robin Cavanaugh. It was the front-page story and included a remarkable likeness by staff cartoonist Greg Marston showing the detective standing next to his Saab with his apartment building blowing up behind him and all the emergency vehicles and other building inhabitants clustered around. It was clear that Marston had used students and faculty as models for the figures in the crowds. Therefore, it appeared as if Fulghum was the hero by saving the student body from a cataclysmic event that had beset the college.
Robin texted Fulghum, “WDYT about Clarion Piece?”
Fulghum complimented her with “Ace Reporter Hits Home Run!”
To his class, Fulghum announced his offering in the SUCCESS program. The class cheered. He asked for a show of hands of those who intended to sign up for the course. Fifteen hands were raised.
“Well, if that many of you sign up, the class will carry. Ten’s the minimum. Today I want to talk a minute about noir, documentary, and propaganda.”
When the class ended, and while the students filed out, Sister Barbara came into the lecture hall and asked Fulghum if he would walk with her. They set out immediately to walk the perimeter.
“Professor Fulghum, once again, you’re a media hero.”
“Sister Barbara, do I detect in your observation a hidden criticism?”
“The president was okay with the text of the article. He doesn’t believe many will read that. He’s furious about the cartoon that was published with the article. He thinks it’s a commentary on the college. When he went into his rationale, it made sense to me. The recognizable college faces make the image a portrayal of a catastrophe that could only have occurred on this campus.”
“Perhaps the president should send The Clarion a letter explaining his discomfort?”
“You must be joking. Anyway, I thought you’d like to know what he’s thinking.”
“Do you want to tell me about the Nazi gold now or later?”
“How did you find out about the gold?”
“I’m a sleuth. It’s what I do for a living. How much gold came with the paintings and prints?”
She hesitated before answering. Finally, she sighed and said, “We think twenty thousand pounds came with this specific consignment.”
Fulghum whistled in amazement. “And I suppose a proportionate amount came with each of the other four lots.”
“The Nazis were careful to pay for everything necessary to house and protect the artwork. Consider what bad thoughts people might have had if they didn’t.”
“I don’t think anyone would think more or less of the Nazis in any case. To pursue your point, though, what happens to the gold that remains when the deal is struck to return the art?”
“That’s part of the negotiation. You see, each building that contains the art was constructed with funds borrowed against the current value of the gold. If the gold is returned with the art, we’re left with the loans on the buildings. We can’t possibly pay off those mortgage loans unless we sell some of the gold to do that. Then, of course, we’ll have to maintain the buildings indefinitely when we’ve not budgeted to do so within our facilities maintenance plan.”
“So, you’ve been negotiating to keep the lion’s share of the Nazi gold?”
“It seems only fair, considering.”
“Considering that you courteously housed the artifacts all these years without divulging their source?”
“And the expensive shipping and insurance for the transit of the art back to its proper owners.”
“Has the collection been appraised?”
“The Vatican is sending an approved appraiser who will spend a month in the retreat doing a catalog with color photographs as part of a formal appraisal. The appraiser, a lay Catholic, has a Ph.D. in Italian Renaissance art from Columbia University. He has done appraisals for art held in the Vatican, so he knows the politics of appraisals done for His Holiness.”
“That probably means, he’ll remain silent about provenance issues that he unearths in his investigations. I imagine that a man with his talents doesn’t come cheaply.”
“His bills will be paid partly from the Nazi gold hoard and partly from Vatican contingency funds, of which there are, alas, fewer each year, what with the recent tribulations.”
“By tribulations, you mean paying off those who claim to have been molested by priests, which can’t be cheap. What’s Felix Contreras’ opinion on the gold?”
“He believes the gold and the art are separate issues entirely. Yes, the credit based on the gold has been used to house and maintain the artworks to date, but there is no explicit, written contract for that.”
“What does that mean, in his mind?”
“He thinks the entire amount of the gold should become part of the college’s endowment and the owners should pick up the costs of housing and maintaining the collection once it has been successfully shipped to them.”
“I think that decision might end up in the courts. Even if it doesn’t, the gold is Nazi gold. It’s tainted. Some of that gold may have been derived from melted down gold fillings of Jews that were exterminated in the death camps.”
“That’s what Dr. Sturbridge maintains. That’s why she takes umbrage with the negotiations so far. She believes the gold should go to reparations to the families of the victims of the Third Reich.”
“Did the Lebetters have a similar view about the gold?”
“In fact, they did. When Max and Amanda came back from Argentina, they were obsessed with the gold side of the negotiations, almost to the exclusion of the artifacts side.”
“Did you ever discuss this in detail with Max?”
“I did.”
“What did he say? Sister Barbara, I’m beginning to think the Nazi gold is the crux of everything that’s happened.”
“Max thought so too. As I said, when he came back from Argentina he was obsessed. Repeatedly he used the term, ‘scaffold of lies,’ as if the gold didn’t exist.”
“What could have given him that idea from a visit to Argentina?”
“Maybe you should talk with our college treasurer, Father Burin.”
“Give me a hint, Sister Barbara. You may know more from your discussions with Max Lebetter than anyone else simply because he put all the information together.”
“Max told me the gold, if indeed it did exist, had been loaned out not twice but twenty times to different lenders. No lender knew about any of the other loans that were backed and collateralized by the gold.”
“Oops. Please walk me through what he specifically said if you can.”
“He said the most important loan from the Nazi point of view was its purposed use - to protect the artifacts. Next came the Argentineans, the Americans, and every level of clergy from the priests straight up to the Pope—all those who were privy to the secret of the gold took out loans against the same gold, whose value ballooned in each telling.”
“I take it no one every inventoried the gold or had it analyzed?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“So, the myth of the gold spawned dozens of loans, and the total of the loans was many times the value of the gold.”
“Except that gold in the open markets kept rising in price.”
“And I’ll bet the people who already had taken loans against the gold went back for more loans every few years. Why, Sister Barbara, this is huge anyway you look at it. Forget the art, which is a different ball game entirely. Who in this college community knows about the gold?”
“Besides you, whoever told you and whomever you told, only the president, the treasurer, the librarian and me. Of course, my predecessor and the two Lebetters knew about the gold too. And I presume Mr. Felix Contreras knows, but no one else on the board does, to my knowledge.”
“I’m guessing, but the very fact of there being multiple loans against the same collateral could be a motive for murder.”
Sister Barbara crossed herself and looked at the ground. They were interrupted by Robin Cavanaugh, who cheerily ran up to greet them.
“Professor Fulghum, Sister Barbara, hello!”
“Hello Robin,” Sister Barbara said. “That was a fine number of The Clarion. The president had good words about it this morning, except for the cartoon. You can guess why.”
“What did you think, Professor Fulghum?”
“As I texted earlier, Robin, you did a fine job of reporting. You included just enough of what I told you to get the story right, but you didn’t overdo. I had no idea you had such a talented staff artist.”
“Greg’s an art major. I think one day we’ll see a lot of his work in museums.”
“I’d like to have the original of the drawing you used to accompany the article. Is that possible? I’d be willing to pay for it.”
“I’ll talk with Greg. He’ll probably want to give you the piece. He’s like that.”
“Out of curiosity, did Greg ever do a cartoon of Max or Amanda Lebetter?”
“He did a whole series of drawings over three years, but I could only use a couple in The Clarion.”
“Will you let him know I’d like to see him today during my office hours?”
“I’ll do that. Look, I’ve got to go now. I’m glad you liked the story. Dr. Blackwood wrote me that she liked it too. Now I must focus on the next number. If you’ve got any ideas about what to include, Sister, please email me.”
“Goodbye, Robin.”
The editor was out of earshot when Sister Barbara commented, “Robin is a bundle of energy, always moving, often unpredictable.”
“You’re lucky the college has so many bright and active students.”
“I agree. I saw your offering for the SUCCESS course. I might just take that one.”
“Speaking of live wires, Dr. Medic is a prime college asset.”
“Has he sung the national anthem of Serbia while weeping profusely in your presence yet?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“He’s quite the Serbian nationalist. Or course, as director of the night program, he’s not subject to the same rules as everyone else. He’s Serbian Orthodox, but he doesn’t proselytize. He’s grown SUCCESS from zero to a major cost center on campus.”
“I understand that Felix Contreras underwrites his program.”
“The president thought we could use contingency funds, but the advertising alone was much more expensive than our largest estimates. Mr. Contreras graciously offered two million in a line of credit to underwrite SUCCESS. If he hadn’t done that, the idea would have died an early death.”
“It seems Mr. Contreras has a lot to do with the growth of the college.”
“He and his A-list donor friends are the keys to our success. Whatever we want, they find the money to support us. The theater building is their gift. Mr. Contreras personally funded the new retreat house.”
“Where was the original retreat house?”
“It was back in those woods somewhere. After we had moved everything to the new building, a fire destroyed the old one. It was a blessing that we didn’t experience that fire before the shift, or all the artworks would have been lost. Of course, the insurance money from the fire went into the sustainment fund for the new building. As far as I know, those funds are still providing most of the building’s maintenance. I have to keep track of every piece of real estate for Father Burin. We consider each a profit center that must be covered by its revenues.”
‘I’ll bet though you have an operating budget that smooths things over. You mentioned contingency funds. How do those work?”
“Father Malloy has discretion over contingency funds that help defray the costs of startups like the photography program. The way that worked was through a grant. Only $20,000 built our first darkroom. The two photographers who wanted to teach in the program designed the darkroom, and contractors close to the college built it at no cost using leftover materials from their other projects. The president also funded the purchase of the original equipment to show the films taught in our film courses. Imagine borrowing a projector and a few 16mm films from local libraries to start something that now has three hundred students drawing from all over the Greater Boston area.”
“So, ingenuity makes miracles happen on a shoestring budget. Is that it?”
“We snuck up on the other colleges in New England, borrowing the best they had to offer and finding niches they’d overlooked. We became the integrator of programs across the area’s colleges and universities. We pioneered the idea of making courses interchangeable for credit across the universe of colleges including the community colleges. It’s been an inspiration to witness all this growth. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
“You still teach a full load of English courses while you serve as interim VP and help the treasurer with his financing projections. Do you think that will lead to burn out some day?”
“Mr. Fulghum, this is my life. I’m excited by the possibilities. Every day’s a new challenge. How are you coming with your quest for me?”
“I think the new wrinkle of the Nazi gold will have to be thoroughly investigated before I can make sense out of my other findings. I’d like you to arrange a meeting for me with your appraiser as soon as possible. I’d also like you to introduce me to Father Burin.”
“I’ll arrange both meetings this afternoon. Now I’ve got to run to class. It’s English Romantic Poetry. Today I teach Wordsworth. I can hardly wait. See you later. I’ll text you about the meetings.”
“It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,” Fulghum quoted.
“Yes, that one’s my favorite! But I can’t keep quiet though I sincerely try to be holy,” Sister Barbara exclaimed.
Fulghum found the mime in his glass box on the main path of the quad.
“When you have the chance, I’d like to know where the old retreat building is back in the woods.”
Clancy continued tracing the outlines of his box. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded; then he mouthed, “Bowie knife.”
Fulghum continued until he arrived at his office where students waited for him to begin seeing them. The first in line was Greg Marston. The detective had never met the artist, but there he sat with his drawing pad open sketching the other students in the line.
“Are you Greg Marston?” Fulghum asked him.
Marston nodded as he looked to the left and right.
“Come right in. What I have to say will only take a minute.”
When they were seated across the table from each other, Fulghum said, “Two things. First, I’d like to purchase the original of the cartoon you did for today’s Clarion.”
Marston leafed through his portfolio and placed the original drawing on the table. “Professor Fulghum, please accept this as my gift to you. I’m glad you liked it.”
“I’ll find some way to reward you, Greg. Second, I’d like to review the drawings you did of the Lebetters-all of them if you’re willing to share.”
Marston thoughtfully placed his sketch pad on Fulghum’s desk and turned it so Fulghum could review it.
“They’re all in this sketch pad?”
“Yes, they are. I’d appreciate your returning this to me after you’ve reviewed them. They’re special to me, now that the Lebetters are gone.”
“Yes, of course. I should be able to review them just after my office hours. If you leave them with me, you can pick them up at four o’clock right here. Would that be okay with you?”
“That’ll be fine.”
“As you leave, please tell the next person in line to come right in.”
Fulghum turned off his cell phone for the duration of his office hours so he could give each student his undivided attention. He remembered his undergraduate days with a mix of nostalgia and hostility. His teachers had never been available for discussions. Large lecture halls were impersonal, and grading was mechanical. He had vowed not to conform to what he understood was the norm. Insensitivity, rote education—if that wasn’t an oxymoron, and endless drudgery doing homework that was clearly ‘make work.’
When he finished his office hours at three o’clock, he devoted an hour to reviewing Marston’s drawings of the Lebetters. There were forty-three drawings, done over the last three years according to the dates on the drawings. Some drawings were of Amanda alone. Others were of Max alone.
As the date of the drawings approached the present, increasingly both Lebetters appeared in the same drawing. Other faculty members also appeared in the drawings. Clancy the mime appeared in eight drawings, always to the back left of Amanda, who herself was drawn to the left of Max from the viewer’s point of view. In seven drawings showing both Lebetters, students figured, to the right of Max. Four times Robin appeared with admiration for Max Lebetter radiating from her. It was clear she was smitten with him. Fulghum had an idea and went back over the drawings wherein Clancy figured to the left of Amanda. In two of those Robin figured to the right of Max. The adoration of Clancy for Amanda paralleled that of Robin for Max.
While Fulghum scanned the backgrounds of the drawings, most of the familiar buildings on campus were depicted. Twice a building in the woods was drawn. Fulghum guessed that building was the retreat. He made a mental note to ask Marston about that. In one drawing a scene in the forest showed a picnic. Amanda and Max with a group of students were standing near a ruin of some sort in a forest opening. Again, Fulghum decided to ask Marston where that had taken place.
Only one of the drawings featured a crowd of people that also included the Lebetters. Fulghum could identify the president, Sister Barbara, a figure who might have been Felix Contreras, the librarian, a priest Fulghum had not met, the former VP for Academic Affairs, Professor Clancy, Professor Meg Sturbridge, Father De Brachia and Dr. Medic. Fulghum was so taken by this drawing he decided to make a record of it with his cell phone camera. He also shone his cell phone light on the picture and saw that a lot of eraser work had eliminated a great many other figures from the final image. Fulghum made a mental note to query Marston about that.
Fulghum flipped through the images again looking for changes in the facial features and expressions of Amanda and Max. Amanda’s features remained much the same. In each picture, she seemed to favor Max as in a series of wedding portraits, Fulghum thought. In contrast, Max’s features changed. At first, he seemed the average driven professor whom the artist caught in the midst of his game by surprise. Later Fulghum detected a glint in the man’s eyes, leading to a fanatical gleam in the later drawings. Fulghum noted that the last drawing of the Lebetters had been made after they had returned from their winter break sojourn to Argentina. In that drawing, Max was captured with a look bordering on frenzy and despair. Amanda seemed concerned for her husband’s sanity. Fulghum made a cell phone copy of that image. He carefully scanned the original to determine whether any erasures had changed the image. He thought the only erasures were around Max’s eyes, but he could not be sure.
Marston arrived at precisely four o’clock to retrieve his pictures. Fulghum took the opportunity to ask the questions he had stored in his memory.
The only surprise was Marston’s account of the group picture with the many erasures.
“The president asked for this cartoon. This is the original for a final that I made with all erasures made. Somewhere I have a copy of the original. If I find it, I’ll let you review that too.”
“I’d like that, Greg. Can you characterize the changes you made to the original and why you made them?”
“Mr. Contreras wanted me to remove everyone who filled what he called the back ranks of the pictures. I’d included a lot of other administrators, faculty, and students who seemed important to me. That figure on the left is Father Burin. Mr. Contreras almost excluded him, but at the last minute decided to keep him in the picture.”
“In effect, this work is like a commissioned piece, and the sponsor was Mr. Contreras?”
“You could say that. He called it his ‘closed room mystery’ portrait.”
“Did he clarify what he meant by that phrase?”
“He didn’t. It seemed to be his joke. No one else understood it, so I thought it was an inside joke meant for outsiders, not campus people.”
“Greg, the picnic drawing is intriguing because of the setting. Where was that drawn?”
“Oh. That ruin is the old retreat building that burned to the ground. The joke is supposed to be apocalyptic.”
“So, as I guessed, all your drawings are jokes of your making. Like the drawing you gave me earlier.”
“If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry or go stark raving mad.”
“Did Max Lebetter say anything in that line to you?”
“Yes. I thought we were kindred spirits in that. Max once told me a story of his days working for the government. He had gone on a mission and discovered that his target was an old friend who’d turned bad. He completed his mission, but his friend’s ghost haunted him ever after.”
“Did he mention this ghost when he returned from Argentina?”
“Not exactly. When he returned from Argentina, he told me the ghost of that trip was flesh and blood, not a spirit. He said the figure he brought back would change the world unless he could do something to change the dynamics. At that point, I think he had become obsessed.”
“Did he happen to tell you who the figure was?”
“Pardon?”
“Did Max Lebetter or Amada Lebetter tell you who they brought back from Argentina?”
“I’m sure they weren’t serious.”
“But they did give you an inkling.”
“Yes, they did. They said they brought back Adolf Hitler’s great grandson.”
“That’s interesting. Please tell me exactly what they told you.”
“Max and I often talked about his vision. He understood the Nazi movement better than anyone I’ve known. He went to Argentina for his tenure. Amanda went with him because it meant her tenure also. They went together because Father Burin had urged them to do it. Their reward for bringing the boy to live with foster parents in America was tenure. The only caveat was that neither could tell anyone what they had done.”
“But he told you.”
“Not until just before the end.”
“So why did he divulge his deepest secret to you?”
“Because he discovered an even deeper secret lying under the secret of the heir to Adolf Hitler.”
“What was that deeper secret?”
Marston thought for a moment about whether to tell Fulghum about what he knew. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now that they’re dead. It was the secret of the Nazi gold.”
“And did he discuss the nature of that deeper secret?”
“He was investigating that when he died. I believe he died because of his investigation. If he’d been satisfied to stop with his completed mission, he might have lived along with his wife.”
“The image you drew for The Clarion is apocalyptic. What was your intention in drawing that?”
“It’s what I saw when I read the story about you. I tend to get visions. I draw the visions. The characters are incidental to my visions.”
“Greg, thank you for allowing me to ask so many questions and for letting me review your pictures.”
“No problem, Professor Fulghum. If you need to see any of my pictures again, just let me know. Right now, I’ve got to get to the dining hall for dinner; then it’s homework through the night. I’m glad you liked my drawing of you. Robin told me the president wasn’t as complimentary.”
“Don’t be deterred by what other people think, Greg. Keep drawing your visions. And let the chips fall where they may.”
“Thanks, Professor Fulghum, and goodnight.”
Fulghum remained in his office thinking about his interchange with artist Greg Marston. He felt he was getting close to closure on a whole range of issues, but he refrained from jumping to conclusions. He shook his head and recalled that he had turned off his cell phone. In the twilight, he turned his cell phone back on and waited until it had downloaded all the messages received while he conducted his office hours.
Silvia messaged, “CMON over ASAP for more ginseng.”
Professor Sturbridge had texted, “Patriot ASAP.”
Sister Barbara apprised him of various appointments. “Meeting tomorrow 10 AM Burin. Meeting day after appraiser at Retreat Building 2 PM.”
Ken Mander had texted, “POC meeting midnight Lillian’s Motel 007? Watch six.”
Fulghum replied to Mander, “K&K!”
Feeling that things were moving rapidly in the right direction as a form of synchronicity, Fulghum was brought low by a message that came in while he was texting Mander.
“Hi, John. DPRK failed to hit you. Will try again. Be careful. Sue. How do you like ginseng?”
He texted back, “Hi Sue, RUOK? Find your poet? Thanks for the warning. Ginseng is great, root and liquor, but not JD! John.”
“So,” Fulghum reasoned aloud, “I can rule out the hit on my apartment as something related to my work on my cases involving the college. That’s a great relief. It’s not, however, a relief to know that the DPRK will try again. As for my order of events, I’ve sent “K” to a whole raft of people. If I hurry to Patriot Park, I should be able to get to Silvia’s before I make the midnight meeting at Lillian’s. To do that I’ve got to get moving right now. I’d also better send Silvia an update.”
He texted Silvia, “ENR with one stop between. Will update soon. Love, John.”
He did not have to wait long for her reply. “You don’t know what you’re missing. Come when you’re able. Love, Silvia.”
Fulghum found a note under the windshield wiper of his Saab. After he had got into his car, he opened the note and read it.
“Professor Fulghum—We haven’t met, but I request your presence at my residence, 5 Saddlehorn Drive in Needham, at ten o’clock tomorrow night. I have a gift for you that can’t wait. F. Contreras.”
Fulghum saw that his dance card for the next two days was filling up fast. He lit a Marlboro and turned on his headlights. He drove off campus and threaded the shortest route to Patriot Park. There he cleared the box and saw the instruction “Number 2.” In the twilight, he used his cell phone flashlight to find the small kitchen bag near historical marker Number 2. He took the bag back to his Saab and riffled through the peanuts until he found a handwritten note that read:
“Beware an imminent invitation from the great. Remember that the key is the gold.”
Fulghum walked back to his Saab and dropped to the ground when he heard the report of a rifle. He made sure he had not been hit before he crawled to his car and pulled himself inside. He waited for a few minutes watching his surroundings. He started his Saab but did not turn on his headlights. Driving out to the highway, he used ambient lighting. Only when he got on the on-ramp did he pull the lever for his headlights and lit a Marlboro.
His drive to Silvia’s apartment was uneventful. Arriving, he used the magic knock sequence. Silvia appeared at the door with a plate of sliced ginseng in one hand and a glass of red liquid in the other. He drank the liquid and ate the ginseng while she led him to the kitchen table. There she had opened a cabernet sauvignon to breathe. On the table were toast points and liver pate. While she lit the candles, he poured the rich, red wine.
“John, I managed to get through all my students’ papers while you were meandering all over Greater Boston.”
“That’s great. By the way, they missed tonight.”
“Oh, dear. What was it?”
“A rifle shot. Since they missed, it may have been a hunter.”
“It’s not hunting season.”
“Maybe hunting season for nosy detectives doesn’t end?”
She smiled ruefully. “I’m glad they missed. What do you think you did to provoke the attack?”
“There are too many possibilities. Anyway, it looks as if I’m going into the lion’s den tomorrow night at ten o’clock.”
“Mr. Contreras?”
“You guessed it. Here’s to us.” He touched his wineglass to hers. Both drank as they sampled the liver.
“How much do you need to eat before we move right on to more important things?”
“I never thought you’d ask. I’ve turned the bed down. Why don’t you relax here and eat some more liver pâté? I’ll get ready and give a call.”
Fulghum devoured the toast points with liver and drank the cabernet. He heard her call and did not disappoint. They had just begun their mutual investigations when he remembered he had a midnight rendezvous. He set her alarm for eleven. She was not happy until he made her forget everything else through his attentions.
The alarm went off in spite of their trying to ignore time. She fell fast asleep while he washed and rushed out the door to make his meeting at Lillian’s just in time. Outside his motel room stood Mander and a slender man in a Fedora and trench coat, almost a caricature of a spy. He got everyone inside and closed the door before Mander made the introduction.
“John Fulghum, meet Alex ‘Sandy’ Colfax. He’s the man who's been minding the Nazi database, operationally speaking.”
Fulghum shook the man’s extended hand. “Hello, Sandy. My needs are few and specific. I’ve been following a number of trails that lead to the foothills of the Andes in Argentina.”
Colfax nodded for Fulghum to proceed.
“The story involves a human, reported to be the great grandson of Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun.” He paused, and again Colfax merely nodded.
“The great-grandson was brought to the US and turned over to a foster parent living in Nashua, New Hampshire. I’ve been told she was one of the Hitler Youth in her day. I’m still working on the details.”
Colfax nodded and gestured for Fulghum to continue.
Becoming somewhat exasperated, Fulghum shifted gears. “This conveyance of the great grandson may be related to a large horde of Nazi gold that accompanied a group of Old Master paintings and prints now at St. Paturnus College in Needham, Massachusetts. My latest information is that the gold has been used as surety for loans twenty or so times the gold’s current value. I haven’t seen the gold. I’m not sure it even exists. Can you sort this out for me?”
Colfax thought a moment. “Can you tell me the current state of negotiations between the Vatican and the college for the return of the paintings and prints?”
“In precise terms, no. I do know that a deal is imminent. An appraiser is coming to campus to appraise the artworks for insurance purposes. I’m to meet the appraiser the day after tomorrow at two p.m.”
“Good. Everything you’ve said accords with our intelligence. We estimate the gold associated with the artifacts at St. Paturnus College campus at four tons. Eight additional tons of gold are distributed evenly among four other caches around the country, all controlled by St. Paturnus College. The key to control is the college treasurer, a priest named Burin. What you say about the gold having been overused as collateral is true. We just don’t know the extent of the overage.”
“What’s the Agency’s angle with the gold?”
“Naturally, we’d like to impound the gold without ruffling the Vatican’s feathers.”
“Why? You’ve got unlimited assets of your own.”
Both agents laughed. Colfax said, “We want it because we can have it but don’t. Just kidding. Seriously, we want it to stop the Neo-Nazi movement in its tracks. The link between the World War II-era Nazi criminals and present-day Neo-Nazis is the Nazi gold. If it isn’t interdicted, it will support and promote the heir of Adolf Hitler. It will also provide seed money for Neo-Nazi and far right-wing movements throughout the world. If anyone’s going to abuse the norms for collateral requirements, we want it to be the Agency using the gold against the Neo-Nazis.”
Fulghum digested this information for a moment. “All that international intrigue is useless for my purposes. I’m trying to solve three murders and a death threat. What you’ve told me is the secret that the gold is being used as collateral for loans many times greater than is typical. How can we help each other achieve our different aims?”
Mander looked at Colfax, who nodded for him to proceed. “We’ve got data for you, but we’d like information in return. We need to have a copy of the appraisal being done for the Vatican. You can get that for us. We also need to know where the Nazi gold is currently being stored. This will take some work on your part, but we are confident you can find it.”
“Do you have any interest in the great-grandson of Adolf Hitler?”
Colfax said, “Once we take care of the gold, his existence isn’t our problem. He’s just a curiosity.”
“Okay, gentlemen, let me ask an impolite question. Did Dr. Max and Dr. Amanda Lebetter, wittingly or not, serve as agents of the CIA?”
“We followed the Lebetters’ progress as best we could. Max became obsessed with finding the gold. We think that obsession led to his death and his wife’s.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Let me ask another. Do you know who ordered them to be killed?”
“No.”
“Were you involved in the events that occurred just after their deaths? I have information that some government group secreted away the bodies from their house and left only the signs of a murder and suicide. Further, the same group convinced the police and coroner to sign off on that scenario.”
“The CIA will neither confirm nor deny our involvement in an illegal cover-up such as you’ve described.”
“That answers my question. Thank you. As for the priest who worked with Argentinean intelligence and found his way to the college to serve as a broker between the old Nazis and the Church, was he one of yours as well?”
Colfax looked at Mander before he chose his words carefully. “The CIA has a complex relationship with Argentinean intelligence. Sometimes our cooperation is very close. Sometimes we are the bitterest of enemies. The Falklands War is an example of the latter.”
“And the Nazi gold is an example of the former, I surmise. Since you don’t deny it, I’ll assume I’m right. Do you know how the bombing of the Jewish Community Center in 1994 fits into this picture?”
Colfax looked at his hands. “That information is, unfortunately, classified and caveated. All I’m empowered to tell you is there is a connection. I just can’t discuss the details.”
“I’ve only got two more questions for you before I tell you I’ll cooperate. First, will the Agency destroy St. Paturnus College pursuing this gold seam? And second, is Felix Contreras, who is on the board of the college, a CIA stringer or agent?”
Colfax cracked his knuckles and sat forward. He blinked twice making Fulghum wary of believing what he said. “The continued existence of the college doesn’t really depend on the gold if you take the broad view. Our concern, at the moment, is the Nazi gold that accompanied the artifacts to the present location of the college. As to your second question, yes, Mr. Contreras has been a stringer, but not an agent, of the CIA. We, therefore, don’t control him absolutely. He does many things entirely off our reservation.”
“What would the Agency do if he were killed or exposed to publicity implicating him in crimes such as murder?”
“Mr. Contreras is subject to all laws of the United States. If he can be proven a violator, he must face the full penalty of the law, even if that means his death.”
Fulghum nodded. “I agree to get the information you want with one caveat.”
“What’s that?” Colfax asked, his eyes narrowing.
“I will get you a copy of the appraisal. I will tell you where the Nazi gold is being held at St. Paturnus College. But I won’t provide the locations of the other four gold hordes.”
“Why do you want to limit your search to this one cache?”
“For a number of reasons, but primarily because I don’t know whether I can find the other locations in the time I have remaining at the college. I think I can deliver what I’m prepared to agree to absolutely.”
Colfax said, “Fair enough. Shall we shake on it? Naturally, nothing was said in this room, and that’s because we never met.”
The men shook hands. Fulghum motioned for Mander to stay while Colfax stepped outside.
“Ken, I got a text message from Sue.”
“I know. We’re working on it now.”
“Good shit, Ken. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Do you want to drop by my office to put me in your picture vis-à-vis the DPRK?”
“Let’s leave it at this - I’d like to text you about meeting with Mr. Jack Daniels to discuss a range of things including a young, starving and handsome poet we’re going to introduce to one Kim Su Baek.”
Fulghum laughed, and Mander laughed with him as he departed. The detective gave the spies ten minutes to clear the area before he walked out of the motel, climbed into his Saab and drove to Silvia’s.
When he arrived at his destination, Fulghum gave their secret knock sequence. He did a double take when she answered the door in a gold silk bathrobe embroidered with red-crowned cranes. It was identical to the gown worn by Sue.
“It came by hand delivery after you departed with a note from you. It was so beautiful I just had to try it on. It fits perfectly. Thank you.”
Fulghum observed as she turned around modeling the bathrobe and the two hair sticks that had come with it. The detective was reluctant to confess that the gift had not come from him. He knew Silvia would not appreciate knowing Sue had worn an identical outfit.
“You do the garment justice and not the other way around. I’m glad you like it. Let’s have some JD while I fill you in on the latest. Three fingers for me, please. A short version of what I have to tell you is that I’m now literally a gold digger, and I sincerely hope St. Paturnus College is my Sutter’s Mill.”
The next morning Fulghum met Sister Barbara fifteen minutes before his ten o’clock meeting with Father Burin, the treasurer. She took him to Burin’s office for the introduction then she left them alone.
“Father Burin, I know you’re a busy man. I won’t beat around the bush. I’m interested in knowing about the Nazi gold that came with the paintings and prints in the retreat house.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“I want to know where the gold is now, how much gold is there and what the gold collateralizes.”
“I understand from Sister Barbara you are investigating the unfortunate deaths of the Doctors Lebetter.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you think the information you’re requesting can help in your investigation?”
“I won’t know until I have the answers.”
“If the information will help you—even by closing off fruitless considerations, I’ll provide it, in strictest confidence.”
Fulghum nodded.
“The gold is kept in a vault under this administrative building alongside the security center where the police reside. It formerly was held in the old retreat building before it burned to the ground. The net weight of the gold is almost exactly ten metric tons. Collateralization is a difficult question to address.”
“Why is that? I’d think a lender would want to know what portion of the gold cache comprised the collateral for his loan.”
“You’re overlooking something, Mr. Fulghum. Technically, the gold we’re holding belongs to the Vatican by reversion. The Banco Ambrosiano, as the Vatican’s bank, executes all loan transactions.”
“So, the gold is collateralized through the Banco Ambrosiano?”
“That’s right. Further, the practice of collateralization at twenty to fifty times value is no different from the way governments, including the American government, manages loans against held precious metals.”
“If I wanted to make a loan against the gold, I’d have to go to the Banco Ambrosiano to get that done?”
Father Burin smiled. “It’s never that simple, but for purposes of our discussion, let’s agree that it is.”
“How does the college manage its loans against the gold?”
“Pardon me? The college’s loans are funded against revenues, endowment and contingency funds, not against the gold, which is governed elsewhere.”
“I understand that the new retreat building was funded by Mr. Contreras.”
“That’s true. It was a complex arrangement involving a special bequest, a long-term signature loan, and building revenues. Every building on campus is considered a cost center. That’s fairly easy to grasp when you’re dealing with the student dorms and cafeteria, which are driven by student payments. This administration building is funded by a proportion of gross revenues from all sources. The theater building is funded by bequests, loans, proceeds from theatrical events and a proportion of gross revenues for lectures and classes within the structure.”
“Sister Barbara told me about the cost center concept behind your accounting.”
“Let me give you a couple of examples you may not have heard about. First, the satellite dish on the small hill in the forest gains revenue by our lease with the provider of streaming content to its customer base. Second, the right of way near the back of the property is rented by local farmers to sell their produce at the summer fairs. Third, the photography lab is rented out evenings to local contractors because we offer better prices and maintenance than can be obtained elsewhere in the area. To give you an idea of how tightfisted our budgeting is, our time discussing the gold will be billed to project development because we’re really talking about your future SUCCESS program and courses on the Neo-Nazi phenomena.”
“Father Burin, are you aware of any collateralization of the Nazi gold held here for any off-campus programs to support Neo-Nazi causes?”
“I am not, and I would never condone such collateralization.”
“Two last questions - if the negotiations should end in the relocation of the Nazi gold, to say, the Vatican or the Banco Ambrosiano, would that have any deleterious effect on the smooth financing and operation of this college?”
“Absolutely not, for all the reasons I’ve given. What’s your last question?”
“May I see the Nazi gold with you right now?”
“I see no reason you shouldn’t see it. Come with me.”
Father Burin escorted Fulghum to the basement security area where two policemen were studying flat panel displays of computer data and streaming imagery from all over campus. In the back of the area behind a black curtain was a large walk-in safe, which the priest opened, carefully screening the combination from Fulghum. He invited the detective to step into the safe where on the back floor, stacked almost to the ceiling were ten tons of bars of Nazi gold. Father Burin selected one bar at random to show Fulghum the markings. There was no mistake. The bars were marked 99.99% pure with the Nazi swastika indicia. While they were in the vault, Father Burin showed Fulghum stacks of hundred dollar bills, bearer bonds, bags of gold and silver one-ounce coins in addition to pouches of diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. Fulghum thought of the fabulous cave of the forty thieves in Arabian lore.
When he thought Fulghum had seen enough, Father Burin gestured for him to step out of the vault. He closed and locked the door and drew the black shade that sheltered the safe from view.
“Do you have any more questions today, Mr. Fulghum?”
“Not today, Father Burin. Thank you for the tour.”
“What tour, Mr. Fulghum? I showed you nothing. You saw nothing. As we’re both busy, I suggest that we get back to work.” He extended his hand and Fulghum shook it.
Fulghum went back down the hall to thank Sister Barbara for the introduction, but she was out. Fulghum went to his office to do some grading while he waited for his office hours to commence. In the next three hours, he managed to grade two hundred fifty papers. Fifteen minutes before his office hours were to begin, he heard a meek knock on his door. When he opened the door, Rita Rivanna stood there crying.
“Mr. Fulghum, may I come in for a minute?”
“Of course. Come in. Do you want a tissue?” He offered his handkerchief, which she took, gratefully.
She had composed herself before she asked, “If I asked you a delicate question, would you give me a straightforward answer?”
“I’d hope so. Ask away.”
“Let’s say a girl knew she was pregnant, but she didn’t want to marry the father of her child, should she carry the child to term or abort it?”
Her eyes were wide in expectation. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“Rita, what do you think?” Fulghum asked.
“I think it’s a cruel choice.”
“That may be, but you didn’t really answer my question.”
“There’s nothing in the world I’d rather do than carry this child to term.”
“What’s the problem?”
“It’s what everyone will think, that’s what. It’s ending life as I know it. I don’t know what I’ll do. My parents will disown me because I’ve disgraced my family.”
“Rita, you just told me that there’s nothing in the world you’d rather do than have this child.”
She was sobbing now, holding the handkerchief to her eyes with little effect. Fulghum let her cry.
Professor Clancy knocked, opened the door and stuck his head in. When he saw the scene of the student weeping in front of Fulghum, he barged right in.
“Professor Fulghum, we must talk right away.”
“Can’t it wait, Clancy? I’m counseling a student just now.”
“It’s all right, Professor Fulghum. I’ll be okay now, thanks to you. I’ll see you in class. Do you mind if I keep your hanky?”
“Keep it, Rita. Don’t lose heart. Please close the door on your way out.”
When the door was safely closed, Clancy said, “They’ve finally done it.”
“Who’s done what, Clancy?”
“They’ve killed her. Meg Sturbridge.”
Fulghum was alarmed. “What? How do you know?”
“Take a look at this.”
Clancy opened his laptop and showed Fulghum a file of streaming imagery showing a repeat of the imagery Fulghum had seen before. Three men drove into Sturbridge’s driveway. The garage door opened. Two of the men went into the garage and closed the door behind them while the third man drove the car away. Sturbridge arrived and opened the garage door. When she went into the garage, the two men overpowered and beat her. This time one man drew a Bowie knife and stabbed her repeatedly. He left the blade buried in her bloody chest as the other man called someone on his cell phone. The car arrived. The men climbed into the car and drove away.
“What do you think?” Clancy asked.
“I think it’s time to dial 911,” Fulghum answered, sorry he hadn’t initiated police security for Sturbridge.
“I dialed 911 already. The police are at her residence doing their forensic analysis. The accumulation of deaths has got to stop.”
Since the murder had not been publicized as yet, Fulghum decided to call his friend Nigel Pounce to recommend his becoming involved in the investigation.
“Nigel, this murder is not an isolated case. Three other murders may be linked to it. More murders may be coming.”
“I’ll see what I can do. This stretches the jurisdictional boundaries. I’ll let you know what the Chief decides.”
Fulghum texted Silvia to watch her six. He called Sister Barbara and left her a voicemail message to be in touch. He decided to turn his cell phone off during his office hours before he poked his head outside his office and asked the first student in line to come in.
Fulghum spent two hours counseling students. When he was done, he turned on his cell phone to check his mail, determined to send replies to the most urgent messages.
Silvia checked in, “K. RUOK?”
He texted back, “IMOK.”
Rita had texted, “Thank you for saving two lives. I owe you.”
Fulghum could only advise with a concerned tone, “Hang in there. If you need to talk further, just holler.”
Professor Sturbridge had emailed, “Patriot ASAP.” Fulghum checked the date stamp for the email to discover it had been sent at 6 a.m. that morning. He was sure it had not gotten through earlier because he had reviewed all his traffic before he met Sister Barbara.
He texted back, “K!” even though he knew the woman had been murdered.
Right away, he received a reply, “Disregard prior. Have a nice day. Meg.” Fulghum was astounded.
Nigel Pounce had left a voicemail message, “I’m on the case. Look to discuss this p.m., your place?”
Fulghum texted, “Meet with JD 8 p.m. office above Joe’s. Have 10 p.m. appointment after. Can you rig wire?”
Almost immediately Pounce replied, “Will bring a wire expert. Tell me why later.”
Fulghum breathed a sigh of relief when suddenly he had an intuition. He texted Silvia, “I want you to relo for tonight. OK?”
She immediately replied, “K, I guess. Where?”
He responded, “Lillian’s Motel, Nashua, Room 7. Pick up key at the desk. Wait there. Do not, repeat not, return to your apartment. ACK.”
She texted, “ACK. CU later?”
He replied, “Y!”
Fulghum sat back at his conference table wondering what he would do without modern communications. A knock on his door revealed Sister Barbara. He let her in and closed the door, so they would not be overheard yet changed his mind a moment later.
“Sister, let’s walk the perimeter for a few minutes. Do you have the time?”
“I’m frightfully busy what with Dr. Sturbridge’s demise, but I’ll take the time for you.”
They walked out of the building and headed across the meadow to the tree line.
“Thanks again for arranging the meeting with Father Burin. It clarified a lot.”
“He’s got a handle on almost everything that happens on campus.”
“And he seems to be an adept accountant.”
“He’s a lot more than that. He’s fully trusted by the hierarchy. What’s the latest from your point of view?”
“A few minutes ago, I received a text message from Professor Sturbridge.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I don’t think it’s good. Whoever died at Sturbridge’s residence is now in the capable hands of Boston Police Homicide. I’ve got to depart ASAP to take care of a loose end. I wanted to warn you to be careful. I’m converging on a solution to all our questions. The answers all hinge on a meeting I’m having at ten o’clock tonight.”
“I wonder whether my being in touch with you made things better or worse on this campus.”
“I thought that too. But it can’t be helped now. I’m here, and we’ve all got to see this thing through to the end, no matter what.”
“You sound like Max Lebetter again.”
“I thought so. Anyway, I’m off. See you later, I hope.”
Fulghum drove at the limit to Patriot Park to clear the drop. He was directed to Number 3 where he discovered a small tied bag that contained a thumb drive with forty files including a letter addressed to him. He stuck the thumb drive in his laptop and reviewed the files. The first he reviewed was the letter.
“Professor Fulghum, or Mr. John Fulghum, PI, if we cut to the chase, my life is in danger. I thought the damage might be limited to my face. In fact, though, the people behind my beating now want to see me dead. That’s the reason I’m sending you a core dump on this thumb drive. I hope it will enlighten you about what you’ve been looking for and lead you to your goal. I won’t be mawkish in my farewell. It may be that we’ll see each other again. If we don’t, have a great life with your special friend. She’s brilliant and loves you as much as I once loved someone just like you. Enjoy! Best Rachel.”
Fulghum knew he had a mother lode of intelligence in the remaining files. He also knew he had to remain alive to make the best use of them. With his headlights off, he found his way to the highway and, once he put on his headlights and lit up a Marlboro, headed north to his office where he planned to see Nigel Pounce and his old friend Jack Daniels. A Lincoln Town Car tailed him from the time he got on the highway, so he decided he would elude his followers. By a sequence of maneuvers, he managed to do that. In the process, he deduced that the Lincoln contained two gorillas. The prey became the predator as the powder blue Saab tailed the Lincoln Town Car five cars behind. When the Town Car pulled off the highway in frustration for losing their prey, Fulghum followed it to the address of Mr. Felix Contreras, where he was scheduled to visit later that evening.
Satisfied that all his thoughts were being confirmed by the actions of others, Fulghum continued to his office where he sat behind his desk in his captain’s chair, chain smoking and brooding until Pounce arrived with his wire man at eight o’clock.
“How much time have we got?” Pounce asked him.
“I’ve got to be at my destination, the home of Felix Contreras, on the board of St. Paturnus College, at ten o’clock tonight. That means we’ve got an hour and a half.”
“While my man outfits you with a wire system, tell me what’s going on.”
“First, the woman that was found at Professor Sturbridge’s home may not be the Professor. Her identity is going to be an important part of your homicide solution.”
“I knew this wasn’t going to be an open-and-shut case of murder. Do you mind pouring us some JD while we work?”
Fulghum poured three fingers of the brown, velvety liquid for each of the policemen.
“Sorry I couldn’t include you earlier, but we didn’t have a body that would justify that. I won’t bore you with all the details. Suffice it to say that Professor Max Lebetter did not, as alleged, commit a murder and suicide. He and Professor Amanda Lebetter, his wife, were murdered to cover up activities of one Felix Contreras, whom I’m going to see tonight. One of Mr. Contreras’ other victims was Father Sulpido Rivera, the VP for Academic Affairs. That murder was covered up by the involvement of two thugs associated with the Rhode Island Mob, both now deceased. The murder of the woman at Professor Sturbridge’s residence was committed by the same two Neo-Nazi skinheads who killed the Lebetters, all on Contreras’ instructions.
“What I hope the wire recordings show is the orchestration of the killings to protect Contreras’ grab at an enormous mother lode of Nazi gold now held in a safe at St. Paturnus College.”
“Good Lord! How much gold are we talking?”
“Ten metric tons. I’ve seen the pile of gold bars myself.”
“Do you have the loose ends tied together?”
“I hope to have them tied and in your hands by midnight if I’m not killed first.”
“We can provide protection if you need it.”
“Thanks, Nigel, but we don’t want to scare the game. Besides, this man is an operator. With a phone call, he might make your superiors look the other way long enough to do real damage.”
Pounce and his associate, Officer Roney, drank JD while Roney fitted Fulghum with one of the police department’s new wires. Pounce showed Fulghum how every word that was spoken within a circumference of ten meters of Fulghum would be captured on a magnetic medium.
“What else can you tell me about the case?”
“Your sister-in-law, Sister Barbara, called me in to investigate the deaths of the Lebetters. Dr. Sturbridge wanted me to investigate the death of Father Sulpido Rivera. A third party wanted me to find out who was sending death threats to the president of the college. I had no idea at the beginning how complicated things would be. This case has all the ingredients of a thriller with secret agents, intrigue at the highest levels and a hidden agenda to promote Neo-Nazism worldwide.”
“John, let’s focus on the humdrum facts of each murder.”
Fulghum turned his laptop towards Pounce and played the imagery of the murder at Sturbridge’s home. Pounce whistled. He then asked, “Where did you get this recording?”
“I can’t tell you that, but I can say that it came from a surveillance system installed by a colleague of Dr. Sturbridge. It may or may not be admissible as evidence, but it contains the license plate and make and model of the getaway vehicle. It also documents the two murderers so that you can easily recognize them and compare their images with others in your databases.”
Pounce’s associate signaled the homicide officer that he was done fitting Fulghum with the wire.
“Well, John, you’re wired to perfection,” Pounce said. “I appreciate why you don’t want police to be visible in this. I’ll have my men standing by. If you want them to interrupt anything while you’re in that house, just say the word ‘patriots, ’ and we’ll break in.”
“I’ll remember that. I’ve got a lot of other data that may be germane to this case. I’ll share it later when you and I have the time to review it together. Do I have to press a button to activate the wire?”
“The wire is active now. It’ll stay active until we disarm it. Good luck—and watch what you say. We’ll be listening.”
“I don’t know whether to feel reassured or violated!”
The men laughed. Soon after, the policemen departed leaving Fulghum to contemplate the infinite until it was time for him to depart for Contreras’ McMansion.
Fulghum arrived in Contreras’ circular driveway in the woods ten minutes early for his appointment. Two goons stood as sentinels on either side of the front door. They showed no signs of life as Fulghum pressed the lever of the speaker system to announce himself.
“John Fulghum, calling for Mr. Felix Contreras. I have an appointment at 10 p.m.”
“Mr. Contreras will be with you in a moment, sir.”
The great double doors opened, and Contreras stepped forward to shake Fulghum’s hand in welcome. “Come right in. I’m glad you could take time out from your busy schedule to see me.”
Fulghum admitted to himself that the man was smooth. He had all the social graces of the upper classes and the subdued vocal tones of a chairman of the board. He had no expectation of being contradicted.
“Are your two sentinels human or statuary?”
Contreras laughed. “You may see later what they are. Come into my study and have some Jack Daniels Old No. 7 whiskey. That’s what you drink, isn’t it?”
“Thanks, I’ll have three fingers of that potion.”
Contreras poured the same amount into two cut crystal tumblers and handed one to Fulghum. He touched his glass to Fulghum’s and toasted, “To Catholic education!” Contreras gestured for Fulghum to be seated in an enormous leather-upholstered chair that faced the desk he sat behind, with a green shaded lamp illuminating the two of them.
“I called you here tonight, so I owe you an explanation for why I asked you to see me late at night without prior notification.”
“Sir, there’s no need for apologies,” Fulghum said.
“I’m not apologizing. Please indulge me for a moment. I called you here because you’re rapidly getting to know about matters that hitherto have remained sensitive and therefore secret. I’m on the board of the college, and I’m concerned when the college may become entangled in investigations from the outside.” He hesitated as if he wanted a comment from Fulghum. Receiving no comment, he nodded and continued.
“As you know, we’ve had a run of bad luck recently. Two of our prime faculty members were killed, one a suicide. One of our administrators disappeared, only to be discovered in the Charles River. Today a fourth member of our community was discovered killed in her home. I usually don’t believe in coincidences, but, Mr. Fulghum, I can’t believe these incidents are not related. What do you think?”
“Mr. Contreras, I think we should shunt the bullshit and cut right to the chase. You know I’m by profession a private investigator. I’ve found hard information linking you to each of the murders. I’d like you to tell me you were in no way involved in the killings that you just enumerated, particularly the murders of the Lebetters.” Fulghum paused to let Contreras answer. The man merely looked at Fulghum without speaking.
Fulghum asked, “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Go right ahead.” He pushed a pristine glass ashtray toward Fulghum, who got out a box of Marlboros and put one in his mouth. He took his time to light the cigarette. “I’ve obtained a recording I’d like you to hear. Would you mind if I play it?”
“Play out your charade, Mr. Fulghum.”
Fulghum played the recording of Contreras threatening Professor Sturbridge.
“What do you think of that? That was your voice, wasn’t it? You clearly warned Dr. Sturbridge that she would be killed just as the Lebetters were killed if she didn’t play ball about the art negotiations. Isn’t that true?”
“Mr. Fulghum, you’re opening a Pandora’s box. Are you sure you want to pursue this line of questioning?”
“In fact, Mr. Contreras, I don’t think it would be fruitful for us to pursue any other.” Fulghum took a long draft from his cigarette and watched Contreras’ eyes for a blink. There was none. Instead, Contreras surprised Fulghum.
“Mr. Fulghum, I’d like to join you smoking. Would you mind if I take one of your Marlboros?”
“Not at all. Be my guest.” He slid the box of Marlboros toward Contreras. The man pulled out a solid gold lighter and lit a cigarette. He set the lighter upright on his desk and took a long draft. He locked eyes with Fulghum and proceeded to tell a story.
“Mr. Fulghum, I made it the hard way on the street. I was molested by priests who thought I was too poor to complain about their lascivious ways. I swore that one day I’d own a Catholic college. I made my fortune the hard way, with no privileged set to approve loans and no lawyers or bankers to protect me from predators. In protecting myself, I learned predator ways. I studied the best, including the Mob. I made connections in the underworld. When I had made enough money, the people I hated came to me to offer their services and their loans. The shoe was on the other foot. Can you imagine my surprise when I learned that right in my own backyard was an incalculable fortune in illegal gold, whose presence was sanctioned at the highest levels of the Church?” He paused significantly. Fulghum only took another draft. Then he chain lit another cigarette and stubbed out his former smoke in the ashtray.
“Go on, please.”
“No one knew what to do with all the gold they had sequestered. I knew exactly what to do. It was a lesson learned in World War II.”
“What lesson was that?”
“The British were in a quandary because they needed weapons they could not afford. A great cache of Nazi gold was located on an island. The British told the Americans they owned the gold because they could take it anytime they wanted. Without taking absolute possession of the gold, they floated loans based on its value. That way they got their arms.”
“So how was that a lesson for you?”
“Think for a moment, Mr. Fulghum. Here at St. Paturnus College was a horde of ten metric tons of Nazi gold. Numerous churchmen had already taken loans against its value. The college needed to expand. Why not take loans against its value to expand the college?”
“So, you devised a way to take out additional loans to all the others on the pretext to build the college.”
“It was no pretext, Mr. Fulghum. Look at the Theater department, the Nursing department, the SUCCESS night program, which is now going worldwide through the miracle of technology. The benefits of the gold working for the college are demonstrable. And that’s not all.”
“Go on.”
“I belong to a Catholic laity group, Opus Dei.”
“I’ve heard of that group.”
“The group is tied to money and power all over the world. What I brought to them was a grand idea. Can you guess what that was, Mr. Fulghum?”
“The gold could become collateral for almost any investment because it was not trammeled by the ordinary rules of banking?”
“Mr. Fulghum, you and I could have done such marvelous things together.”
“So why did the Lebetters have to die?”
“They happened to know what you know now.”
“And why was that knowledge so lethal, Mr. Contreras?”
Contreras sighed. He chain-lit another cigarette and stubbed out his former smoke. He sat back in his chair.
“Only a very few people know about the gold.”
“All right, but not sufficient.”
“Of those who know, only a fraction knows how much has been leveraged by the gold.”
“Again, all right, but not sufficient.”
Contreras’ eyes were now flashing in the glare from the green-shaded light.
“Mr. Fulghum, do you know what a mess this world is in? Are you aware how America defeated the one great power that could have set the world on the right track? Can you conceive what might be done if Adolf Hitler should return and finish the work he started?”
“Mr. Contreras, these grand visions are like conspiracy theories. What do they have to do with mundane matters like a few paltry killings in Massachusetts?”
“As I told you, the Lebetters objected even though they were instrumental in relocating a special person to New England.”
“You mean Adolf Hitler’s great-grandson, whom they brought from Argentina to buy their tenure. Tell me, why didn’t you engineer their tenure after they succeeded in doing your bidding?”
He laughed maliciously. “They wouldn’t stop.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“They persisted in digging into my affairs, wanting to know how my plans intersected with Opus Dei and the Neo-Nazis and, for that matter, with the old Nazis’ descendants in Argentina and elsewhere.”
“Was that also your motive for wanting to eliminate Dr. Sturbridge?”
“Mr. Fulghum, did you know that Dr. Sturbridge was formerly Rachel Levy, a Jew, who held onto her position at the college by litigation? The shrew tried to block my moves at every turn. She was the epitome of the Jewish problem that Hitler tried to eradicate from earth. She was relentless. I’m convinced she was working with the Zionists. She got Amanda Lebetter excited about the Nazi gold having been extracted from the mouths of gassed Jews at Auschwitz. She threatened to go public with what she knew.”
“So, you paid her a visit and threatened her in a way you thought she’d understand?”
“Let’s have it your way, Mr. Fulghum.”
“Do you consider yourself to be a Nazi, Mr. Contreras?”
“Nothing could be farther from the truth. The Nazis are a convenience. Do you realize that I make on some days more than my father earned in his entire lifetime?”
“Money is your object?”
“And why not? I’m not a priest. I’m a businessman.”
“How did you think you’d ever own the Nazi gold?”
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me earlier. I never intended to own the gold. I only want to continue borrowing against the gold.”
“What would happen if the gold were suddenly shipped to the Vatican?”
“That’s not remotely in the picture, Mr. Fulghum. Why should the Church transfer what they’ve already leveraged twenty to fifty times right where it is? The Church has built a scaffold from their own needs that it dares not pull down.”
“Thus, they’ll protect you as you do whatever you deem necessary to protect the secret of the gold.”
Fulghum drank the last of his JD. Seeing this, Contreras was quick to replenish both their glasses.
“Mr. Fulghum, I’m prepared to make you the same offer I made to the Lebetters and the others.”
“What’s that?”
“If you’ll stand down on your investigation and forget everything you’ve learned, you’ll remain alive. In fact, I’ll guarantee that you’ll get tenure at the college, as unlikely as that seems. I managed to get a marriage of twenty years annulled, and a priest released from his vows so the wife and the priest could be married.”
“I guess that’s how money trumps faith sometimes.”
“Exactly.”
“Since the Lebetters refused to stand down, how did you accomplish the murders? That seemed to me an act of consummate genius. A hunting rifle to kill both the wife and the husband in their own bed, at that.”
“Poisons are an ancient art. Modern forensics can’t find the evidence, especially when the police and coroner are encouraged to take the obvious as evidence without further fuss and bother.”
“Accordingly, you poisoned both of them, placed them in their bed and shot them with his deer rifle? I think you must have had help doing that.”
“I don’t soil my own hands in these matters, Mr. Fulghum. Now, our time has run its course. It’s time for you to decide.”
“Was that what you told Professor Sturbridge when you last visited her home?”
“You know about that?”
“And about your thugs beating her up. It was their Bowie knife that killed the woman they found in her home yesterday. Everything will trace nicely back to them and, ultimately, to you.”
“Nice try, Mr. Fulghum. As I said, it’s time for you to leave—unless you want to recant everything and renounce your quest for answers.”
“Well, that’s the problem with me, Mr. Contreras. I live for the quest.”
“Let me put things a little differently, so we understand each other.”
“What do you have to say?”
“You have a lady friend, Silvia Blackwood, a fellow lecturer at the college. It would be a dreadful shame if the two of you should be found in the same unfortunate way that the Lebetters were found. Are you certain that you want to risk that?”
“Mr. Contreras, you’ve made yourself clear as a bell. I think I’ve done the same. Thank you for your hospitality this evening. It’s been most enlightening.”
Fulghum did not extend his hand when Contreras offered a handshake on their parting. He walked alone to the front door and opened it. The two goons were still standing like sentinels on either side of the entrance.
The detective went to his Saab and walked around it before he climbed inside. He waited while he sat and sensed the vehicle. Nothing seemed amiss, so he started it and drove out the driveway and headed for the street. He passed three police cars with their lights flashing and sirens blaring that were heading towards the Contreras residence. He said, “Nigel, if you can still hear me, the game’s all yours now. Text me about getting rid of this wire ASAP. I’ll be waiting for your message.”
Fulghum drove straight to Silvia’s apartment. He wanted to be sure she had not gone home. Across the street from there, he texted her, “RUOK?”
She texted back immediately, “IM fine. RU?”
He texted, “Y. I’m outside your apartment now.”
It took her a minute before she replied, “I’m in Lillian’s Room 7 as instructed.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “CU soon.”
He drove to Route 3 and was on his way to Lillian’s when he received a text from Nigel. “Your office ASAP for unwiring.” Fulghum maneuvered to head for his office rather than continuing to Lillian’s. He figured he did not want the police to know everything about his intimate life with Silvia.
Nigel and his friend met Fulghum at his office for the second time. This time, the police removed the sensitive wire job.
“John, the wire worked perfectly. We raided Contreras’ estate and arrested two goons and Contreras himself. Of course, he was released within forty-five minutes of his arrest. His freedom won’t help him. He’s going to be indicted on four counts of murder one. The publicity surrounding his indictment will be a caution.”
“It won’t protect Silvia from the repercussions. Can we get protection in the interim?”
“I’ll see what we can arrange.”
“Let me know ASAP what you can do. You know where to reach me.”
Fulghum drove straight to Lillian’s and embraced Silvia at the door to Room 7 after she answered his secret knock.
“Come right in, John. I brought your favorites. Jack Daniels, Marlboros and sliced ginseng root.”
“My favorite is right in front of me. It’s been a long day. You pour. I’ll rinse my face. I’m going to tell you a tale that’ll curl your hair.” They sat at the small table for two hours while John wound down and Silvia digested all he had to say.
“Does this mean it’s over? I mean our adventure at the college.”
“It’s definitely not over until the law has had its way with Mr. Felix Contreras. We’re going to fulfill our contracts at the college. After all, you’ve got that Pulitzer Prize material to write.”
“What’s left to write, John? What will I be permitted to write after all we’ve been through?”
“Believe me, there’s plenty to write, and you’ve got the better part of a semester to garner your materials.”