Killing Orders

He narrowed his eyes slightly, whether at my use of his first name or at the accusation. I couldn’t know.

“How dare you talk to the archbishop like that?” Mrs. Paciorek spat out.

“You know me, Catherine: brave enough to try anything. It all comes with practice, really.”

Dr. Paciorek held up his hands pleadingly. “Now that you’ve all insulted each other, could we get down to some real conversation? Victoria, you talked last night about the link between Corpus Christi and Ajax. What evidence do you have?”

I fished in my purse for the greasy photocopy of Rául Diaz Figueredo’s letter to O’Faolin. “I guess what I really have is O’Faolin’s involvement in the Ajax takeover. You read Spanish, don’t you?”

The doctor nodded silently and I handed the photocopy across to him. He read it carefully, several times, then showed it to O’Faolin.

“So it was you!” he hissed.

I shrugged. “I don’t know what was me, but I do know this letter shows you being advised that Ajax was the best, if not easiest takeover target. You’ve got a billion dollars in Banco Ambrosiano assets sitting in Panama banks. You can’t use them-if you withdraw the money and start spending it, the Bank of Italy is going to come down on you like lions on an early Christian.

“So you remembered Michael Sindona and the Franklin National Bank and realized what you needed was a U.S. financial institution to launder money through. And an insurance company is better than a bank in lots of ways because you can play all these games with loss reserves and your life-company assets and nobody will really be able to tell. Figueredo got someone to check out the available stock companies. My guess is Ajax looked good because it’s in Chicago. The money boys are myopic when something happens outside New York City-it’ll take them longer to notice what’s going on. With me so far?”

Catherine had gone quite pale. Her mouth was set in a thin line. O’Faolin, however, was at ease, smiling contemptuously. “It’s a beautiful theory. But if a friend of mine points out that Ajax is a good takeover target, that is not illegal. And if I am taking it over, that, too, is not illegal, although where I would get such money is a good question. But so far as I know, I am not taking it over.”

He sank back in his chair, legs stretched out, ankles crossed.

“Alas for the venality of the human condition,” I tried a contemptuous smile myself, but suavity is not my long suit. “My attorney, Freeman Carter, spoke with yours this afternoon, Mrs. Paciorek. Freeman belongs to the same club as

Fuller Gibson and Fuller didn’t mind telling him who handles the brokerage business for the Paciorek Trust. And then it wasn’t too difficult getting verification of the note Agnes left for me: Corpus Christi used twelve million to buy Ajax shares in the name of the Wood-Sage Corporation.”

No one said anything for a minute. Mrs. Paciorek made a strangled little noise and fainted, falling over on the couch. Paciorek went to her side while O’Faolin got up and strolled toward the door. I stood in the doorway, blocking his path. He was half a foot taller than I and maybe forty pounds heavier, but I was twenty years younger.

He tried to shove me aside with his left arm. Since his weight was forward on that side, I grabbed the arm and pulled, sending him sprawling on his face into the hall. This small piece of violence unleashed the fury I’d been holding barely in check. Panting slightly, I waited for him to climb to his feet.

He got up, backing warily away from me. I laughed slightly. “Not scared are you, Xavier?” I curled my right fingers at the second joint, and came in with my left elbow to his diaphragm. He landed an inexpert blow on my shoulder, while I used my crooked fingers to push at his eyes. Holding the back of his head with my left hand I pushed up with the right while he shoved at me and kicked. Not a fighter.

“I might blind you. I might kill you. If you fight, you up the pressure.”

I felt an arm on my left shoulder, pulling, and shrugged it away, but it pulled more insistently. I came away, gasping for air, red rage swirling through my head. “Let go of me! Let go of me!”

“Victoria!” It was Dr. Paciorek. I felt a stinging on my face, realized he’d slapped me, and came slowly back to the marble hallway.

“He tried to blind me,” I panted. “He tried to burn me to death. He probably killed Agnes. You should have let me kill him.”

O’Faolin was white except for his eyes-the skin around them was scarlet from the pressure of my fingers. He straightened his clerical collar. “She’s mad, Thomas. Call the police.”

Paciorek let go of my arm and I leaned against the wall. As reality returned, I remembered the other part of my plan.

“Oh, yes. Stefan Herschel died tonight. That’s another crime that this prince of peace is responsible for.”

Paciorek frowned. “Who is Stefan Herschel?”

“He was an old man, a master engraver, who tried to interest Xavier here in buying a forged stock certificate. Xavier stole the certificate, but not before his buddy Walter Novick had stabbed the man. Walter is the man who was lying shot on your lawn last night. He gets around.”

“Is this true?” Paciorek demanded.

“This woman is a lunatic, Thomas. How can you believe what she says? The old man is dead, apparently, so how can you verify your story? All of this is hearsay, anyway: an old man dead; Corpus Christi buying Ajax shares; Figueredo writing about Ajax’s investment potential-how does that implicate me in a crime?”

Paciorek was pale. “Whether you are implicated or not, Catherine is. Thanks to you, it’s her money that funds Corpus Christi here in Chicago. And it’s that money that’s being used to buy Ajax stock. And now, maybe because she was looking into that, my oldest daughter is dead. O’Faolin, I hold you responsible. You got Catherine involved in all this.”

“For years you have insisted I was Catherine’s evil genius, her Rasputin.” O’Faolin was haughty. “So it is no surprise to me that you blame me now.”

He turned on his heel and left. Neither Paciorek nor I moved to stop him. Paciorek looked wearier than ever. “How much of that is true?”

“How much of what?” I said irritably. “Is Corpus Christi behind Wood-Sage? Yes, that’s true. And Wood-Sage behind the Ajax takeover bid? Yes, they filed Friday with the SEC. And Agnes killed because of looking into it? Never will be proved. Probable.”

“I need a drink,” he muttered. “Months go by and I have one glass of wine. Here I am drinking two days in a row.” He led me through the labyrinth to his study.

“How’s Catherine?”

“Catherine?” The name seemed to surprise him. “Oh, Catherine. She’s all right. Just shock. She doesn’t need me, in any event.” He looked in his liquor cupboard. “We finished the brandy last night, didn’t we? I have some whiskey. You drink Chivas?”

“You have Black Label?”

He pawed through the little cupboard. No Black Label. I accepted a Chivas and sat in the leather armchair.

“What about the old man? The engraver?”

I shrugged. “He’s dead. That makes O’Faolin an accessory, if Novick can make the identification stick. Trouble is, it won’t be in time. He’ll be on that plane to Rome tomorrow at ten. As long as he never comes back to Chicago, he’ll be home free.”

“And the Ajax takeover?” He finished the whiskey in a gulp and poured another. He offered the bottle to me, but I shook my head-I didn’t want to be drunk for the drive back to Chicago.

“I think I can stop that.”

“How?”

I shook my head. “It’s a small piece of SEC law. So small that Xavier probably never noticed it.”

“I see.” He finished his second drink and poured himself a third. There wasn’t any point in watching him get drunk. At the door I turned for a moment to look at him. He was staring into the bottom of the glass, but he sensed my departure. Without looking up, he said, “You say Agnes’s death will never be proved. But how sure are you?”