Free The Absolution by Jonathan Holt Page A

obvious hypothesis, Captain, is that he went for a late-night swim and was mugged,” Saito said blandly.
    â€œWhilst dressed for a Masonic ritual?” she said incredulously.
    He shrugged. “It’s your first solo investigation. All I’m saying is, be careful not to get carried away.”
    â€œOf course, sir,” she said. “Am I right in thinking that you yourself are a Freemason?”
    His expression gave nothing away. “How is that relevant?”
    â€œOnly that in circumstances such as these we have to be seen to be completely objective. There may be people who will imagine that we might try and steer the investigation away from Freemasonry, in order to deflect attention from the number of carabinieri who are Masons.” She kept her tone as neutral as his had been.
    â€œOnly if we draw their attention to the issue in the first place. Which is precisely my point, Captain. Putting a more . . . melodramatic interpretation on events than is strictly warranted by the evidence might be counterproductive. It might even be seen as an attempt on the part of an inexperienced officer to sensationalise the case and thereby draw attention to himself. Or, indeed, herself. Do I make myself clear?”
    â€œThank you for the warning, sir. I’ll bear it in mind.”
    Softening his tone, he said, “Look . . . running an investigation like this effectively gives you the rank of acting major. Get it right, and promotion will surely follow. But you have to understand what getting it right means, in this context.”
    â€œIdentifying the killer and getting a conviction,” she said. “Obviously.”
    â€œWe always aim to do that, Captain. But there is another, equally important aspect to this case.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m talking about maintaining public confidence in the Carabinieri. A diligent and carefully managed investigation, one that’s proportionate to all the circumstances, is what’s required here.”
    She went downstairs still seething. Saito was as good as telling her to keep a low profile on this one, dangling the prospect of a promotion if she obliged. But at the same time, he was covering his arse by appointing an investigating officer who demonstrably wasn’t a Freemason. If Cassandre’s killers had hoped to create a climate of fear around his murder, they had certainly succeeded.
    Bagnasco was waiting for her, looking anxious.
    â€œWhat is it?” Kat said.
    â€œHave you been to the female officers’ locker room recently?”
    Kat sighed. “No, and I really can’t be bothered to right now. What is it this time? Someone’s decided to tell us that we’re lesbians? Or that we’re whores? Or that we’re lesbian whores?” Ever since she’d joined the Carabinieri, her locker had regularly been defaced with graffiti, none of it very imaginative. She added, “You wanted career advice earlier, so here’s some: lighter fluid gets rid of it just fine.”
    â€œI know,” Bagnasco said impatiently. “I’ve had plenty of stuff like that, and usually I ignore it. But I think you should see this one.”
    Kat followed her to the changing room. There, sprayed across her locker, was a cross inside a circle – the same symbol that had been on Alessandro Cassandre’s Masonic calling cards.
    â€œWhat does it mean?” Bagnasco asked.
    â€œIt’s a warning,” Kat said at last. “A warning that they’re watching us. And that’s fine. Because now we’re also watching them.”
    Her final interview of the day was with the archivist whose name Dr Hapadi had given her. It turned out that he worked in a library attached to the hospital complex, just a few hundred yards from the morgue. She trudged up a narrow stone staircase to the first floor. There she found a long, well-lit room under a magnificent gilded ceiling. It was unexpected, but