Chapter 8
Rome! The Eternal City.
Looking out the window as they headed in for their landing, Shelly studied the landscape beneath her.
Fantastic! It wasn’t as if she’d never traveled; she had.
When she’d been a child, she’d been able to travel with her grandmother to London and Dublin, experiencing fascinating views as they’d moved across London to hop a ferry across to the Irish peninsula.
And, naturally, she’d studied a great deal of history. She had done so for the simple love of history and also because human beings and the crimes they committed tended to repeat.
Like many people, especially among her peers, she was a fan of George Santayana and his words stating that, “Those who cannot remember history are condemned to repeat it.”
Well, history did repeat. It was doing so now.
“I’ll get you to the Colosseum,” Grant promised her. “Vatican City, the Trevi Fountain, Palatine Hill—you know. A few of these major places just might prove to be important.”
She grinned. “Honestly? That would be great. I, um, think they may already be important, but you mean important in our quest. And I was thinking about ancient history and, therefore, the history of curse tablets. You studied them, right?”
He nodded solemnly. “And,” he told her, “I imagine that there are still hundreds, perhaps, to be found within structures and under the ground from years long gone by. At its peak, in the first and second centuries, it’s estimated that fifty to ninety million people lived in Roman Empire, which was twenty percent of the world’s population.
And there are many, many places underground to be visited, and therefore, probably lots and lots of places underground that aren’t part of any historic destinations. ”
“We aren’t archeologists—” Shelly began.
“In a way, we need to be,” Grant said.
She winced. “You’re right. We need to look at the past—and who is using history in the future to cause a similar kind of damage.”
They were now on the ground, Shelly realized.
Miles had come out to see that the door was opened and the ramp was in place.
She and Grant thanked him for the smooth flight, and they headed down the ramp. She was surprised to see that there were two men waiting on the ground to meet them. It was a nice surprise since they were at Leonardo da Vinci Airport, which certainly had to have steep security.
“Buongiorno!” Grant cried, lifting an arm and heading for the men.
The first man was about five ten, with dark hair and eyes, perhaps in his mid-forties or so.
The second man was taller, with dark blond hair that slashed across his forehead and green eyes.
He appeared to be a bit younger, in his late thirties, perhaps.
The taller man groaned. “English!” he told Grant.
Grant waved a hand in the air. “Prego, prego, prego!” he said, turning to Shelly. “Literally, I pray you. Works for please, thank you, whatever! Anyway, Shelly, the fellow here who hates my accent is Alfredo Durso, and he’s with the Italian carabinieri.”
“And the more courteous fellow at his side,” the other man said, offering his hand, “I’m Salvatore Giordano. Sal, if you will. And we both worked a case with your friend here.”
“And you both really know English!” Shelly said. “I’m honored to meet you!”
“Well, me, anyway!” Sal said. “And, yes, we speak English well, as it happens. My mother is an American, and we spent several years during my teens living in Baltimore, Maryland. And the gumbo by my side spent time at Yale. But we do appreciate your partner’s attempt at our language.”
“I’m not that bad!” Grant protested.
“He’s really not; we just like to give him a hard time,” Alfredo said. “And …”
He paused, glancing at Sal, who then picked up the sentence.
“We were skeptical about Antonio Martinelli being the killer as well. Naturally, we were working the case together, as the victim was a man named Vincenzo Mero, a popular politician. To the best of our investigations, Martinelli wasn’t a political man.
He had no association with the victim and no political aspirations himself.
But when a man confesses as he did, swearing before everyone in the world, in the press …
well, I guess we don’t blame those practicing the law for accepting his confession and then his suicide. ”
“I’m truly grateful that you two are willing—and able, with your own caseloads—to go over all this with the two of us again,” Grant told him.
The two men glanced at one another again, and then Sal shrugged and told them, “Apparently there is a Signor Adam Harrison in the US who had sway with those in power in your country, who, in turn, can gain favors from those in power in our country. Anyway, we’ll go through the security gates and get to the car and head out of here.
I’m afraid that, for us, you’ve arrived just at dinnertime, so if you don’t mind, we’ll start at one of my favorite restaurants, and we’ll let your Uncle Sam pick up the bill! ”
“That will work,” Grant said, laughing. “Shelly?”
“We fell asleep and never ate our prepared dinners,” Shelly said. “Dinner will be lovely.”
With a member of the carabinieri leading their party, they were quickly able to leave the airport and reach the car just outside, nicely awaiting them at the curb because of the law enforcement tags it displayed.
And leaving Leonardo da Vinci Airport, Shelly was fascinated to watch as they moved through the streets of Rome. History here was so ancient—but like a living, viable thing!
Maybe too viable. Someone believed in the ancient curse tablets. Either that, or they were able to make others believe in them.
“We have gotten all the reports, of course,” Sal said as they drove.
“You found another of the ancient curse tablets threatening a man. A dead man, burned to ash, was discovered, but it wasn’t the man threatened.
You did find him; he was being tortured and still can’t tell anyone anything because he’s in a coma.
Oh! And the chief suspect in the murder wound up nearly dead in a car crash leaving a police station. ”
“In a nutshell,” Grant told him.
“Well, Grant, you know that Alfredo and I will do anything at all that we can to help you. After we eat, of course! I’ve put a call through to Valeria, Vincenzo Mero’s daughter, and she says you can come and speak with her anytime. She’s expecting us tonight if you aren’t too worn out.”
Grant glanced over at Shelly with a wry smile. She lowered her head, smiling as well.
“I think we’ll be okay,” she said. “And I guess it’s going to be authentic Italian food. We are in Italy.”
Alfredo, driving, laughed. “Totally authentic. What you call a ‘mom-and-pop’ place in the old USA. Not even expensive. Just my favorite.”
They arrived shortly, and Shelly looked around, still amazed, as being on the street itself was like taking a walk back in time.
Sal was at her side. “My suggestion? Make your partner take you to Palatine Hill. You can see forever from there. The Forum, the Colosseum, the whole stretch of the city. And you can’t miss the Vatican.”
“Dead popes,” Sal added dryly. “Okay, well, yeah, it’s one of the most amazing places you’ll ever see for all kinds of incredible art. But for the moment …” He pointed to the door to his favorite restaurant. “Papa Luigi’s,” he said. “You’re going to love me for this, if for nothing else!”
They were greeted warmly by the owner, who was also the manager and the host. A bottle of prosecco immediately appeared on the table, along with a big basket of bread and olive oil, vinegar, and diced garlic.
“We just don’t breathe on each other when we leave,” Sal assured her. “The lasagna is truly great, and all of the pasta is made right here. You can’t go wrong!”
She was sure he was right and opted for a dish with three different pastas and sauces.
When they ordered, Alfredo looked at Sal and said, “Well, we do know you didn’t cross the pond for pasta.
I believe Grant knows most of this, but …
okay, the death of this man, Vincenzo Mero, was a true loss to a lot of people.
The man was what you would call a moderate.
He had the belief that we all need to learn to talk and compromise.
His competition would have been two men, one who was ultra conservative, and one who was not—a bit off the deep end the other way.
Now Vincenzo’s nephew is gaining a following in his wake, and of course, that makes him what you call a person of interest. Naturally, his opponents came under suspicion as well.
Thing is, both were seen by hundreds of people at the time of the murder.
Anyway, then we had the confession and death and the acceptance by the powers that be of the case having come to a close.
Tonight, we’ll see Valeria. And she can tell you more about Dante Mero, her cousin.
The cousin she’s begging to stay out of the spotlight because she’s afraid he’ll wind up dead, too. ”
“Can’t blame her,” Grant said. “What we’re thinking is a very strange kind of murder for hire.”
Alfredo frowned. “Murder for hire—with curse tablets?”
“Once upon a time,” Grant said, “the concept of curse tablets stretched across Europe and even beyond. They’ve been found from Britain to Egypt and everywhere in between.
Grecian tablets were usually set to honor Hermes, the messenger of the gods—a mischief maker, intelligent, and capable of using his message services to have other gods work on his behalf.
The Norse Loki of the Greeks, so it seems. Of course, here in Italy, they were often addressed to Charon, Persephone …
Hecate or Pluto. The god, not the planet.
If we did decide it was a planet. The two tablets that we’ve discovered haven’t been addressed to any god or goddess of any nation; they just have the curses written on them.
By someone who thinks he—or she—is a poet. ”