The cathedral murders, p.17
The Cathedral Murders, page 17
“Yes, of course we do, your excellence,” said The Doc, nodding his head. “Doctor Cazorla and Doctor La Mota, we desperately need your help in this matter.” He paused and looked directly into their eyes. “You can help all the citizens of this country.”
Silvestri then opened his Bible. “I would like to read a passage from 1 Samuel 15:
“This is what the Lord Almighty says: I will punish the Amalekites for what they did to Israel when they waylaid them as they came up from Egypt. Now go attack the Amalekites and totally destroy all that belongs to them. Do not spare them: put to death men and women, children and infants, cattle and sheep, camels and donkeys.”
He then closed the book and looked at the men in front of him. “Gentleman, sometimes when you fight against the evil enemies of the Lord you have to be merciless.”
“Thank you, Father,” said The Doc. “Gentleman, yesterday, Archbishop Villena -Alarcon was admitted to the hospital severely ill.”
“We are aware of that,” Cazorla said. “He’s in the intensive care unit. On mechanical ventilation.”
The Doc slowly turned his eyes towards him, obviously bothered, probably not used to being interrupted. “That’s correct. This meeting was called urgently as the Archbishop may be moved to Clinica Internacional. Once he is there, we may not have another opportunity to get things done.”
“I have a question for Father Silvestri,” Cazorla said, looking at the Doc. “Let me ask you, Father, isn’t the Archbishop your boss?”
“Not really. No. Pope John Paul II named the Opus Dei as his personal prelature. That means Opus Dei is governed from Rome directly instead of the local diocese. The Archbishop is not my boss. But I do have a lot of respect for him. Archbishop Villena-Alarcon has served our Lord with his best intentions. He was given the opportunity to step aside from his position and unfortunately he has declined.”
“Father Silvestri,” The Doc said, “Thank you very much for coming to our meeting. I will manage from here. A plane is waiting for you to take you back to Ayacucho tonight.”
“Thank you for having me. Have a good night, gentlemen,” Silvestri said. As he got up, he heard Cazorla asking, “What are we gonna do with the girl?”
The priest turned around. “The girl? What girl are we talking about?”
“Isabella Castle, she’s one of our students,” said Cazorla.
“Gentlemen. You don’t have to worry about it. I’ll take care of that,” the Doc said, clearly irritated. “Now let’s go back to our business.”
As the driver opened the door and he entered the car, Silvestri wondered if The Doc had noticed his Seiko Pogue.
76
Isabella’s cell did not receive any natural light so she couldn’t tell what time it was. How many hours have gone by? For how long has she lay motionless on the floor? She wished she had a wristwatch. If I get out of here alive, I’ll get one. Maybe a Swatch on some crazy colors.
If I get out of here alive? She was starting to lose any hope. She wondered if her captors, probably men from a paramilitary group, were debating which way to kill her and how to dispose of her body, or were maybe waiting for orders from their leader.
It was getting more and more chilly. The rough concrete floor felt cold beneath her feet and she put her shoes back on. Then she suddenly felt the need to urinate.
“Excuse me!” she yelled. “I need to go to the bathroom!”
But nobody answered.
She was eating a piece of bread from earlier that was already hard to bite, when the door opened.
“Did you say you need to go to the bathroom?” the man said.
“Yes, please.”
“Fuck!” he said, rolling his eyes. “Wait a second,” and he closed the door.
About five minutes later, he was back.
“This way,” the man said.
She followed him through a long hallway. He could see him better now. He looked very young, probably early twenties. He had dark hair and dark eyes and avoided looking straight at her eyes. He was wearing a camouflage military uniform and was carrying a short barrel rifle.
“There, at the end of the hall to the right. I’ll be waiting for you. You have five minutes.”
“Thank you.”
Isabella washed her face and hands, and stood there for a few seconds looking around for any ways to escape, but there were not any windows there either. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the door when she heard the guard talking to somebody else. She could only hear short pieces of the conversation.
“I won’t be able to go with you guys…something came up…Santa Maria Hospital…big fucking deal tonight…”
Did he just say Santa Maria Hospital?
77
Guillermo was very aware his team did not look fully engaged during rounds. Despite Casals doing his best effort to make this teaching session as good as possible, they were all worried about Isabella still missing.
Raul presented the last case of the morning, a young boy with new-onset seizures caused by a parasitic condition of the brain called cysticercosis.
“Actually, cysticercosis is the most common cause of epilepsy in many countries in the developing world,” said Casals. “In ancient times , it was thought that epilepsy was caused by the Gods . The Greeks called it the sacred disease. However, Hippocrates wrote that men thought epilepsy was divine because they did not understand it. One day, he said, we will understand what causes epilepsy and we will cease to believe it’s divine. And so, it is with everything in the universe.”
Guillermo understood the hidden meaning behind Hippocrates’ teaching, but Hugo and Raul looked confused. “Between you and Isabella, I may become agnostic by the end of the rotation.”
“No news from her yet?” Casals asked.
“No, sir. She’s still missing.”
“She’s a very smart girl. She is gonna be okay”
“Can I talk to you for a second?” Guillermo asked after they finished their rounds.
“Yes. Something I should know?” Casals asked.
“I’m worried about Isabella, sir. For the last several weeks, she’s been obsessed with thinking there is an angel of mercy serial killer in the hospital murdering old terminally ill patients. The perpetrator leaves a signature mark on their bodies: a black cross.”
Casals raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth like he was ready to say something. But he didn’t.
“The day before she disappeared she went to see Dean Cazorla to tell him about her theory. But then she found a younger patient with the same sign of the cross mark that didn’t match the victims’ profile.”
Casals looked down and shook his head. “I need to go!” he said abruptly.
“Dr. Casals, something wrong?”
But he didn’t answer.
78
Captain Raymundo Vidal had just returned to his office from a late dinner at Cordano, the historic old restaurant in downtown Lima, and was hoping to call it a day and go home soon when an urgent phone call interrupted his post-meal reflections. He got up from his desk and called his two most trusted DINCOTE officers.
He gave one of them a piece of paper with a name on it. “I want you to get on the phone right now and call all your military contacts and find out where they’re keeping this person, and I want you to call me on the radio as soon as you know anything. Understood?”
“Yes sir. But what about our Guzman operation? I think we are getting very close.”
“It’s on hold for now. We’ve got another priority to deal with.”
Then he looked at the second one “You are coming with me. We’re gonna visit a couple of our army friends that owe us some favors.”
“Sir, is this mission related to terrorist activity?”
“Not necessarily,” Vidal said. “But sometimes you have to do the right thing. Especially when God himself is calling you for help.”
The officer gave him a puzzled look. “Excuse me, captain, did you say God?”
79
Cazorla was not in his office. The secretary said he had arrived at the school administration building on time as usual but after a couple of early meetings he had left. She also mentioned he looked distracted and not engaging like his normal self.
Casals first looked for him at the main library where the two of them used to navigate among the medical journals, sometimes trying to find an answer to a clinical question but sometimes just for fun. Casals missed those days. Engaged in the art of medicine without attachments or worries. The purest form of love. But his old classmate wasn’t there. He then quickly stopped by the anatomy amphitheater, the biochemistry lab and the main auditorium. But Cazorla wasn’t there either.
He finally walked down the halls of the old building where the dean’s office and the administration used to be when the school first opened in the 1950’s.
Cazorla was there, staring at the picture of the 1978 class.
“Hi, Alejandro.”
He turned his head almost in slow motion. He looked like he had aged twenty years all of a sudden. His hair, which was light brown and blondish, had turned salt-and-pepper gray. A day or two of unshaved coarse beard covered his jaw and cheeks.
“Where is Isabella?” Casals asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. His eyes were bloodshot and weary and the circles below his eyes had never seemed more prominent, like he had not slept for days.
“What happened? You look like shit.”
“They have her.”
“Who are they?”
Cazorla shook his head and turned towards the picture on the wall.
“Remember those days? Things were so good those days.”
“Those were great days and we can still have many more great days to come.”
Cazorla shook his head again and looked down.
“Alejandro, what have you done? Where is Isabella?”
“I didn’t want to do it, Jorge, but he made me.”
“He? Who is he?”
He looked at Casals, his eyes widened in fear. “The Doc, Jorge, The Doc!”
80
“Something wrong, Guillermo? It seems like you are not paying attention to what I’m saying,” Mario said.
“I’m sorry, I’m really distracted.” Guillermo closed the patient record he was working on. “Something is going on here. First Isabella disappears and then my attending leaves us. I think Casals may know something. I really hope Isabella is not in trouble.”
“You’re overreacting. It’s gonna be okay. It’s probably something really mundane. I’m sure she’s fine, seriously! I just wanted to be sure you’re still coming to my party.”
“I don’t know, man, I don’t feel good about this whole thing.”
“Brother, I had driven all the way from my hospital just to be sure that one of my best friends is coming to my party. Let me tell you. I know Isabella is fine. She is okay. I know that for a fact. You know what? She may even show up to the party at the last minute.”
Guillermo looked down and rubbed the side of his neck.
“Remember Stella, the girl we met the other night in Barranco? Well, I know for a fact she is coming.”
“Stella is coming?”
“Yes, she meets all the criteria you’re looking for in a girl and I’m sure your Mom will approve. And, one more thing, Cecilia told me that she asked about you.”
“Did she?” Something to look forward to, he thought. “I guess there is no way I’m not coming then.”
81
Isabella had fallen asleep again when her cell door opened.
“It’s time to go,” the guard said.
She got up with some difficulty. Her body was sore and her joints were stiff. How many hours had she been here in this state of semi-consciousness? Now awake all of a sudden, she couldn’t stop thinking her time was up. Few years ago, when she battled with depression, Isabella had thought about suicide. Maybe she had no care about her life so much back then. But now she wanted to live. She desperately needed to. God plays with our mortal lives in mysterious and wicked ways. They were coming for her now. The worst imaginable thing is finally going to happen. She won’t have the chance to say goodbye to her parents. She won’t ever get to see her brother Diego again. And she won’t be able to stop Freddy from killing patients at The Cathedral. She walked outside her cell slowly. Next to the guard on military clothes there was a middle-aged man with black hair and copper skin who was wearing dress clothes. He must be one of the bosses, she thought.
“Please, sir, I swear I’m innocent,” she started begging. What else could she do?
“Hi, Miss Castle. I’m Captain Raymundo Vidal. I’m taking you home.”
She didn’t know what to say. The man was probably lying for her to stop talking.
“Please follow me this way,” he said.
“Sir, I swear I’m innocent. I haven’t committed any crimes,” she kept saying as they were leaving the building.
He asked her to get into the back of a sedan. A second man on the driver’s seat was also wearing civilian clothes.
“Are you military?”
“No, Miss Castle, we are the police.”
“What’s happening? Where are you taking me?” She was still unsure if the men were telling the truth.
“This was an unfortunate case of a mistaken identity. I’m really sorry this happened to you. We’re going to take you home now.”
As they drove away, she noticed it was dark outside.
“What time is it, captain?”
“It’s almost nine o’clock.”
“You’re telling me the truth, right? You’re not gonna kill me.”
“We’re not assassins, Miss Castle. You’re safe and we’re taking you home.” He then extended his hand. “Here. Your keys.”
She remembered her truck was parked right outside Freddy’s house.
“Captain, I work at Santa Maria Hospital. Is something going on there?”
“Why are you asking?”
“I overheard the guards talking about it.”
“The Archbishop has been admitted there, so a lot of security and reporters and cameras are all over, but otherwise nothing unusual as far as I know.”
“Captain, the people that brought me here…” she hesitated for a second…“They are not with the police, right?”
“They are not,” Vidal said.
“They look like part of the military. How did you learn about me? Who told you to come and rescue me?”
Vidal did not reply.
“Captain Vidal, are those men part of the group known as the Frenchies?”
Vidal did not reply.
The Frenchies. The ruthless paramilitary group, probably supported by the government, had kidnapped her and somehow, she had survived. But now they were on their way to her hospital.
“Do you mind if rather than driving me home we go to pick up my car?”
82
The Stranger looked at his watch. It was nine-thirty p.m. At that exact time, he saw two of the critical care nurses leaving the unit after help was urgently requested from the night supervisor’s office. A bizarre accident involving several automobiles had occurred a few blocks from the hospital, and the emergency room was overwhelmed with the number of cases. The police guards that had been a constant presence outside the unit were not there. The door of the ICU was not locked as usual. As he slowly walked in, there was a short entrance way where gowns were hanging from the wall and a table with boxes of surgical masks and disposable shoe covers. He did not see any security people around. The six patients were in a single open space with three beds situated at each side. Every bed was occupied by an intubated patient on a ventilator. The lighting was minimal, with the idea to maintain the natural awake–sleep cycle. Except for the constant beeps of the cardiac monitors, the room was extremely quiet. He saw a very young nurse in the back office updating the charts. He recognized her face. She had recently graduated and was probably inexperienced and naive and if needed, a brief I’m doing a quick check for the attending on call would probably suffice to get her out of his way. He looked at the numbers on top of the beds. 1-2-3-4-5. Number five. It was him. He recognized his face. He stood up next to the bed and looked at the old man for a few seconds. It was him. There was no doubt. Archbishop Villena-Alarcon was lying on an ICU bed. A white linen bed sheet covered the lower half of his body. He had a breathing tube coming out of his mouth. A central line catheter on the right internal jugular vein, an arterial catheter on his left wrist and a Foley urinary catheter. He was receiving morphine IV every few hours to keep him comfortable. Despite the precarious position that he was in, there was something dignifying about him.
“Good evening, Father” he said as he opened his fanny pack.
The patient in bed 5 slowly opened his eyes.
“Do you remember me, Father?”
The priest looked straight at the stranger’s eyes.
“It’s been so many years.” He then put on his headphones and pressed play while grabbing a syringe from inside his fanny pack.
The priest’s pupils rapidly increased in size and the heart monitor beeps almost doubled in frequency.
“There is no reason for so much pain.”
83
Isabella’s truck was still parked in the same place, about half a block from Freddy’s house. It was crazy to think this was the same place she was just taken away from less than forty-eight hours ago.
