Apocalypsis 1.03 Thoth by Mario Giordano

XXIII
    May 12, 2011, Rome
    W hat was your relationship with Mrs. Hooper?«
    »What was it she wanted to show you?«
    »Where is the gun?«
    »Why did you kill her?«
    Time and again the same questions. For hours on end. He always gave the same answers but they didn’t seem to get tired because they saw how tired he was. At some point, they figured, he would talk.
    Peter Adam sat at a table in a bleak interrogation room. Close behind him stood the younger of the two commissarios taking turns questioning him. A pale guy in a blue vest. They had offered him coffee and cigarettes but he’d declined both and just asked for some water. The entire time he saw Loretta in his mind’s eye, Loretta lying in her own blood. The hole in her chest, the bloody sign on the floor, the fright in her eyes as she recognized him. Peter was desperately trying to understand what Loretta had meant by her last words.
    Which list existed? Prophetia de summis pontificibus. Apocalypsis.
    However, what worried him most at this point was the statement from the hotel concierge. He claimed to have seen him not only shortly before the police arrived but also two hours earlier.
    That can’t be! It’s simply not possible.
    But this was exactly the time that he couldn’t recall, because there was a gaping hole of four hours in his memory. The police didn’t believe his migraine story; of course they didn’t.
    In fact, they didn’t believe a single word he said.
    »I want to talk to a lawyer,« he mumbled for the umpteenth time.
    »Were you having an affair with Mrs. Hooper?«
    Peter didn’t answer. The young commissario behind him drew in a breath sharply through his teeth. It seemed to be some sort of tic. At that moment, the door opened and his older colleague entered the room with another man whom Peter hadn’t seen before. A bullish, muscular guy with a shaven head. Early fifties, Peter guessed. The man took off his jacket and without further ado sat down at the table, right in front of Peter.
    »What now? The hard way?« Peter asked in Italian.
    »Urs Bühler,« the man introduced himself in German, »Commander of the Swiss Guards.«
    »Come on, this is completely out of your jurisdiction.«
    Bühler didn’t respond to that remark. »What were you doing in the papal apartment last night?«
    »I’ve never been to the papal apartment.«
    Bühler’s jaw muscles twitched. Peter assumed that the man was itching to beat him up. But he controlled his temper and pushed a photograph towards Peter. It was a picture of the crime scene. Loretta’s dead body. The three bloody numbers on the floor. The number in the middle was not clearly recognizable. It could have been »306« or »3x6«.
    »What does this mean?«
    »No idea. This is how I found Loretta.«
    »The first figure is a three. The last figure is a six. But what’s that in the middle? A multiplication sign or what? Three times six? What does this mean? 666? The number of the Beast?«
    »I’ve already told you: I don’t know.«
    »But you spent an awful lot of time with Padre Luigi. Perhaps you are possessed. Perhaps it wasn’t actually you who killed Mrs. Hooper but your demon. Perhaps you will even get away with it.«
    »This is ridiculous.«
    Suddenly Bühler leaned towards Peter. »No, it is far from it, Mr. Adam,« he hissed at him. »You are a murderer and you broke into the papal apartment. I want to know why. I want to know everything. Even if I have to tear you a new asshole to get it out of you.«
    Peter looked up at the two commissarios. Bühler shook his head.
    »Forget it. Unfortunately, they don’t understand German. Italians. What else can you expect from them?«
    »I did not kill Loretta.«
    »Let me give you some good advice, Mr. Adam: cooperate with me. At this point you are still among friends.«
    »Why are you threatening me? I won’t say another word without a lawyer.«
    The older commissario cleared his throat loudly and motioned with his head toward the door.