Chapter Twenty-Nine
True Believer
Mozzie met her back at her apartment. She wondered idly if he had actually even left, as the bottle was still sitting on the table where she had left it. She decided not to ask. She found him sitting on the balcony. "So, a bible," he asked, as she came out to join him.
"Yeah," she confirmed, "a bible." She tossed the file she had gotten from Peter down on the table, and he began flipping through it. He was silent for a moment, and she waited until he closed the file before speaking. "Who steals a bible?" she blurted out as they walked back inside. Nora wasn't a religious person, but the idea of stealing religious objects just didn't sit right with her.
Mozzie scoffed. "People steal everything."
"Why would we steal one?" The thought seemed to make Moz as uncomfortable as it had made her. "Theoretically," she added hastily.
He considered this for a moment. "Um… They're rare," he offered.
She bit her lip. "Nah… that makes them valuable, sure, but it's not like it's a Picasso. It'd be a niche market. Tough to fence." She laughed, stopping at the counter to pour them each a drink. "People get weird about buying stolen religious artifacts."
"I think it's an irony thing," Mozzie mused. "That pesky eighth commandment."
Nora chuckled. "Thou shall not steal." Obviously, she didn't follow that particular commandment. She took a sip of her drink.
"Well, it depends on what's important to people," Mozzie continued. "Did you know that an original Star Trek dome lunchbox goes for six hundred buck?" Nora raised an eyebrow at him. He held his hands up defensively. "I don't try to explain it."
"Why do you know that?" He didn't answer, just offered a simple shrug. He's Moz, she reminded herself. Why wouldn't he know that? She sighed, waving her hand dismissively. "Moving on. Why our missing bible? Why this one specifically?"
"Well, your missing book is famous," he explained, as if it should have been obvious.
"Famous?" She rubbed her temple. He'd known that but didn't see fit to mention it sooner?
"It's known as the healing bible."
"Really?" She was intrigued. There could be a whole slew of motives attached to that. "Attribution."
Mozzie began rattling off from a list of information he had somehow had time to gather in the time it took her to get back home from the church. "In 1588, the Plague passed through Naples. Father Camillus carried the book into disease-stricken ships in the harbor. Not a single person who touched the bible died."
"Nice story," she said skeptically.
He continued. "Twenty years later, a blind girl regained her sight when she rescued the book from a fire." Nora rolled her eyes. "I could give you more examples," he offered.
"Please, don't." She thought for a moment. A theory was beginning to form in her mind. "Maybe you don't steal it for the money," she said slowly. "Maybe you steal it because you're a true believer." She finished the rest of her drink.
"You find someone connected to the church," Mozzie said, taking a sip of his own drink, "someone who is sick, or has a friend or family member who is, and you find your bible."
"Bingo." She took his papers, folding them neatly and tucking them in her purse. "Thanks for the help, Moz. I gotta get back to the office."
He nodded, still sipping his drink leisurely. She rolled her eyes, but left him to his devices. Peter was in his office when she stepped out of the elevator. She stopped to set the papers Mozzie gave her on her desk. Peter saw her as she walked through the glass doors and stood to come meet her as she helped herself to a cup of tar-coffee.
Nora grinned. "Oh," Peter said, smiling himself. "I know that look. You got something?"
"I might," she admitted. "Turns out our book has a history. It's known as a healing bible. Religious artifacts are hard to sell. So, what if our thief didn't steal it to sell it? What if they stole it because they're a true believer?"
"A true believer?" Peter asked, incredulous.
Nora raised an eyebrow. "You got something better?" she challenged.
Peter opened a file he was holding. "Every person in that church has a felony record," he explained. "Only people I don't suspect are the ones in prison."
Nora shrugged. "So, let's start with the faithful."
Peter referred to his file. "It cures blind nuns and lepers," he summarized. "Sounds like every story in Sunday school." They came to a stop next to Nora's desk.
"Look at this," she sighed, picking up the papers and handing them to Peter. "In 1918, thirty thousand people in New York died from the Spanish Flu. No one in this parish even caught a cold."
Peter didn't look convinced, but he did see the sense in what she was saying. "Maybe whoever took it thinks it's going to heal them."
Nora nodded. "It's worth checking into," she said.
Peter nodded. "Okay, let's go talk to Father D'Allesio."
Back at the church, it seemed Barelli had left. The area around the bible's case was sectioned off with police tape, but no agents lingered around. Peter looked around once again when they entered. A few parishioners sat in the pews silently, heads bowed in prayer. "Nobody in this church caught the flu," he repeated, skeptical. His voice echoed loudly.
Nora laughed. "It's true," she assured him.
"Why these guys, and not the church down the block? Because of some book?" he scoffed. "Tough to swallow." A few of the people cast wary glances their way.
Nora stared at him for a second. "I thought you were Catholic?"
"Lapsed," Peter explained, not bothering to ask how she knew that to begin with.
"So you don't think some higher power could have saved the congregation?" she asked lightly. She personally didn't buy into it either, but something about Peter's skepticism amused her. And, of course, she couldn't help but pick and prod at him when the chance arose.
"I'm more inclined to think they kept the doors shut and loaded up on vitamin C," he admitted.
She grinned. "Maybe God works with what he's got," she countered. It wasn't that she didn't believe in God, per se. Whether he existed or not just didn't really matter to her. She was who she was; she wasn't going to pretend to be anything else on the chance an all-powerful being actually cared.
Peter scoffed. "And God said shut thine door and eat thine oranges?"
Nora shrugged. "Why not?"
Peter regarded her for a moment. "Alright, look," he said, taking the conversation a lot more seriously than she had been. "When they dug up King Tut, everyone made such a big deal out of the curse of the Pharaoh."
"Yeah," she argued, "two dozen people who entered the tomb ended up dead." Peter didn't seem surprised she knew that. Ancient history and grave robbery was right in line with her interests.
"Yeah," Peter laughed, "they probably caught some old bacterial infection. Germs. There's your divine intervention."
Nora raised an eyebrow. "God can't use bacteria?" She was just arguing for the sake of arguing, she realized. She didn't disagree with Peter.
Peter shook his head. "I prefer my miracles with a little more smiting and lightning."
Nora was about to counter that, when Father D'Allesio came up behind them. "Can I help you?" he asked.
Peter turned his attention to the priest. "Thanks for seeing us again, Father," Peter said. "We wanted to run down one thing. You didn't tell us your bible was also known as a healing bible."
He shifted for a second before answering. "I didn't think it was relevant," he admitted.
"Could be," Peter said. "Was there anybody in your church who was a… true believer of the healing power of the bible."
He didn't answer immediately. "Someone who was terminally ill," Nora pressed. "Someone who had a sick family member?"
D'Allesio cast his eyes down and sighed. "I was afraid this might happen," he sighed, pacing away.
"What?" Peter inquired.
D'Allesio took a breath. "Mr. Barelli has discouraged the homeless from the church," he explained.
"He made you shut down the soup kitchen," Peter guessed. The Father nodded. "How Christian of him."
"The night of the theft," the Father continued, "I let a homeless man sleep in the sanctuary. His name's Steve."
"Is he sick?" Peter asked softly.
"No," the Father admitted, "but someone very close to him is." Peter and Nora exchanged a glance. The hard, inquisitive look in Peter's eyes had softened. Their lead had taken a sad turn.
"Do you know where we can find Steve?" Nora asked. "Anywhere he spends a lot of time, or any routine you might know he follows?"
The Father thought about this for a moment. "I think he spends a lot of time in the park a few blocks away," he told them.
"What does he look like?" Peter asked.
"He's African-American, average height and build I would say. He has a short beard, he usually wears a camouflage hat. And he has a dog."
Peter nodded. "Thank you for your time, Father."
"You're welcome. Let me know if I can be of any further help to you later." With that, they parted ways. Peter and Nora set off down the block, hoping they would be able to find Steve.
They reached the park quickly and surveyed the area. "Peter," Nora said, motioning to a bench several feet away. A black man with a short beard and a camo hat sat petting a dog. "He matches our description." Peter nodded and they approached.
"Steve?" Peter asked gently, getting the man's attention. He looked up with wide eyes, not responding. "Hi… Uh, my name's Peter. This is my friend, Nora."
"Hi," he said timidly.
"Do you mind if we ask you some questions?" He didn't answer, just continued petting his dog. "The church you stayed in last week, they're missing a bible. You know anything about it?"
He looked at Peter sheepishly. "Yeah, I took it," he admitted. Peter and Nora exchanged a look. That was easy, she thought.
"Great," Peter said. Nora wondered if he was going to let Steve off with just a warning, convince Barelli not to press charges - or go after him himself. Steve didn't look like the criminal type. "We need it back."
Steve shook his head, frantic. "No," he said, "no, I need it back."
"What do you mean?" Nora asked, regretting prematurely thinking the case had been easy. "Where is it?"
"I took it from the church, like he asked me to," Steve explained. "Now he said that he would show me how to help Lucy get better. Then he took it from me. Now he has not brought it back." His eyes were desperate. "Do you know where he is?"
"No," Peter admitted. "I wish I did."
"Who asked you to take the bible from the church?" Nora asked softly.
"Look," he huffed, "he said that he would help Lucy get better." He motioned down at the dog. "She's not getting better, okay? She's getting worse." His voice trembled.
Nora's heart sank. Lucy, the one who was sick, was his dog. She felt awful for poor Steve. "What's wrong with her?" she asked as she knelt down in front of Lucy, petting her softly on head.
"She's tired all the time," Steve explained sadly. "She don't eat nothing. Now, if I could get that bible back, she'll get better." Nora continued petting Lucy.
"The man who asked you to take the bible," Peter continued. "Did you meet him at the church?"
"Yeah." Nora stood.
"Steve, if we showed you some pictures, do you think you could recognize him?" Peter asked.
Steve's voice shook as he spoke. "We just need to the get bible back, okay?" he plead. "'Cause she's fading, alright?"
Peter and Nora exchanged a glance. "We want to help Lucy," Nora assured him gently. "To get the bible back, we need you to help us. Will you come with us?"
Steve looked down at Lucy. "Okay," he agreed, standing. They walked with him to the car. Steve laid a blanket down in the back seat, and he and Lucy climbed in.
While they drove, Peter called Lauren to ask her to get mug shots ready for Steve to look through. "Where are we going?" Steve asked after Peter hung up. "To a police station?"
"Actually," Peter said, "we're FBI, not police." Steve didn't respond. He just stared sadly at Lucy, stroking her head softly.
