The Shroud Codex - Jerome R. Corsi [124]
Castle asked the waiter to return to his table. He asked the waiter to bring him one more scotch, but he had also decided to have dinner. “Let me see the menu,” Castle asked politely.
Castle paged through the photo album. The mother with the baby Paul Bartholomew was unmistakably the woman he knew as Anne Cassidy.
“Know that I and Paul are eternally grateful for all you have done for us both,” Anne wrote in conclusion. “You became part of our destiny the moment you accepted Paul as your patient.”
She signed her name simply, in the same firm hand with which she had written the letter.
Castle knew he had a lot of thinking to do, but one thing was certain. He needed some distance to gain perspective. He took out his cell phone and called Gabrielli.
Castle began a little tentatively. “Marco, I’ve been doing some thinking since we got back from Turin.”
“And what have you concluded?” Gabrielli asked, having no idea where his friend and associate was headed.
“Maybe you should write that book about the Shroud on your own,” Castle suggested. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be your coauthor.”
Gabrielli thought quickly. He was not about to let go of the opportunity of a lifetime to debunk the Catholic Church. “Well, I will miss your help,” he said, “but I guess that just means more royalties for me.”
Castle agreed, said good-bye, and wished his friend good luck.
The next call he made was to Norman Rothschild, the venerated psychiatrist who had brought Castle into the profession. It was afternoon in New York and Rothschild answered the phone when he recognized Castle’s name showing up on his caller ID.
“How’s Rome?” Rothschild asked.
“A little more interesting than I had anticipated,” Castle answered.
“I can tell from the tone of your voice. I’ve been worried about you since you first briefed me on your new patient, Father Bartholomew. I’ve been following the television reports.”
“I figured you would,” Castle said.
“What’s going on?” Rothschild asked. “I haven’t heard anything since you left for the Vatican.”
“I can’t explain it to you now; it’s too complicated. But I’m sure you will be catching up, once you turn on the television. Will you have time for dinner early next week, after I return to New York?”
“You know I will,” Rothschild said affirmatively. He was looking forward to seeing Stephen in the city. “When are you flying home?”
“I will leave Rome on Sunday,” Castle said. “I’ll take tomorrow to rest. Can we have dinner Monday evening?”
“Of course we can,” Rothschild said enthusiastically. “I will clear off my calendar whatever I need to clear. Call my office and my assistant will work out the details.”
“Sounds good,” Castle said appreciatively.
“Just tell me this,” Rothschild said seriously, wanting to be sure before they ended the conversation. “Are you okay or do you need some assistance right now? I have colleagues I trust in Rome.”
“I’ve been through a lot,” Castle said, “but I think I’m okay for now.”
Ending the call, Castle decided to turn his attention to dinner.
“What does the chef recommend?” he asked the waiter politely, ready to accept just about anything the waiter had in mind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Sunday evening
New York City, 8:00 P.M.
Day 32
Anchor Dave Dunaway had Fernando Ferrar appear in person on his Sunday evening broadcast to promote the hourlong special on Father Bartholomew and the Shroud of Turin that Ferrar had produced for national broadcast the coming Wednesday. Since Friday, Ferrar’s video of the events that transpired in the Chapel of the Shroud had been broadcast by the network and picked up on the Internet.
“What is the official status of Father Bartholomew and Anne Cassidy?” Dunaway asked.
“According to Italian law enforcement authorities, both are listed as ‘missing persons,’” Ferrar reported. “I was there in the Chapel of the Shroud in Turin, Italy, when the burst of light flooded the room. The pope was standing within five feet of me at the time. What I experienced, I can’t explain. But what I think