The Shroud Codex - Jerome R. Corsi [128]
Prior to the meeting, Castle emailed Rothschild a summary memo he had written for the file detailing Father Bartholomew’s case history. By giving Rothschild the opportunity to study the memo in advance of the dinner, Castle knew he would save a lot of time explaining the basic facts.
“I declined to be on Ferrar’s television show,” Castle explained as they enjoyed their drinks. “I pleaded doctor-client privilege, but in truth, it’s just too soon for me to talk about any aspects of this case in public.”
“I think that’s wise,” Rothschild said. “Did Ferrar give you any hint on the angle he was going to pursue?”
“Ferrar told me that Canadian law enforcement officials have told the network they can find no record of any Matthew Cassidy working for either the Canadian National or the Canadian Pacific railways. Ferrar also says the Canadian government has no record of ever having issued a passport to Anne Cassidy. I guess I was a fool just to look at Anne’s passport and assume it proved anything.”
“Don’t beat yourself up too severely,” Rothschild said. “You’re only human and you’re not a trained law enforcement authority. You’re a psychiatrist, not a private investigator.”
“I know,” Castle said, “but I’m afraid I let down my guard, maybe because I liked the woman and wanted to accept her story.”
“I suspected as much, just from how you wrote up the case file,” the senior psychiatrist surmised. “You are usually pretty cool with women, but this time I detected you were on the verge of being romantically interested in her.”
Castle knew better than to try to hide anything from Rothschild. There was not much about him that Rothschild didn’t know, especially since he went into analysis with Rothschild right after Elizabeth had died. “I’ve never really loved any woman except Elizabeth,” he said openly. “I have always thought that no other woman could ever live up to her standard, or maybe it was that I have always been afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that if I loved another woman, I might lose her, too, just like I lost Elizabeth.”
Rothschild took a sip of his scotch, considering what Castle had just told him. “That’s possible. But I think I sense an important change in you.”
“What’s that?” Castle asked.
“It sounds to me as if you’re getting ready to make space for a woman again in your life; otherwise I doubt Anne or any other woman would have caught your attention.”
Rothschild was probably right, now that he thought about it. “I have to admit I was physically attracted to Anne. She was approaching maturity with a beauty most younger women would envy.”
“Who do you think Anne really was?” Rothschild asked as the appetizers were served.
“Of course, I’ve thought a lot about that,” Castle admitted. “I spoke with Dr. Bucholtz at CERN by phone before I left Rome and she would like me to think Anne was a time traveler. Maybe Dr. Bucholtz is right.”
“Do you have any idea who Paul Bartholomew’s father was?”
“No, not really. Ferrar told me the network’s reporters have tracked down Bartholomew’s birth certificate and the father is listed as ‘unknown,’ just as Anne’s letter said it would be. Maybe Anne was the reincarnation of the Christ’s mother, Mary. Maybe Paul was conceived by virgin birth.”
“You’re being facetious, I take it?” Rothschild asked.
“Yes, in large part I’m being facetious. But I can’t accept Marco Gabrielli’s theory that Father Bartholomew and Anne amount to nothing more than a con-artist team. I saw Bartholomew’s wounds with my own eyes; I watched as some of them were being inflicted. He suffered real pain, even if the injuries healed in record time. All that is consistent with my original diagnosis that Father Bartholomew was suffering from a multiple personality disorder and that his injuries were psychosomatically induced, but not a conclusion that he was a con man. Still, I have to admit that dealing with this case has forced me to