12.

Crosetti had been questioned by the police hundreds of times, but never before by one who was not a close relative. He found it a good deal easier to lie to strangers, especially as they were handling him with care. They were all in the living room of the family home, Detective Murray perched on the couch, Detective Fernandez in the facing armchair with his pad out, Crosetti in the other armchair of the worn blue brocade suite, coffee things on the coffee table, coffee having been poured by Mary Peg before her discreet exit. Behind Crosetti's head was the large oil painting, manufactured from a photo, of Lieutenant Crosetti, heroic cop, in his heavily bemedaled blues, with his young family around him.

The eyes of the two cops occasionally flicked toward this icon as they put their questions; there was no danger that they were going to get rough. In any case, aside from complicity in the conversion of Sidney Glaser's property (the Bracegirdle ma.n.u.scripts) to unauthorized use, Crosetti had not done anything wrong, and the policemen did not press him on this point. They wanted to know about Bulstrode in a routine way, because they had found Crosetti's name in his appointment book and they were going through the usual motions. They were mildly interested in Rolly; that she had disappeared interested them, but when Crosetti told them about the London letter, their interest vanished. Leaving the country wasn't a crime. Crosetti knew better than to try to engage them in speculation about the murder; cops weren't there to supply information but to obtain it. They stayed twenty minutes, some of which were given over to reminiscences of the late Lieutenant Crosetti, and left as cheerful as homicide detectives ever get.

A cop who was your sister sister was a different item, and when Patty Dolan came by forty minutes later, Crosetti was perfectly willing to get into her face. After having established that he was but a minor figure in the life of the victim, he asked, "So what do you guys think?" Meaning her fellow cops; as he said this, he glanced at his mother as well. was a different item, and when Patty Dolan came by forty minutes later, Crosetti was perfectly willing to get into her face. After having established that he was but a minor figure in the life of the victim, he asked, "So what do you guys think?" Meaning her fellow cops; as he said this, he glanced at his mother as well.

"Well, the guy was a Brit and gay," said Patty. "They're figuring it for a s.e.x thing that went sour."

"I doubt that," said Crosetti.

"Why, did you have s.e.x with him?" asked the big sister. "You explored all his little twists?"

"No, did you? The first time I saw him I thought, Gee, Patty would really go for this guy. He's fat and sweaty and bald...."

This was a reference to Jerry Dolan, her husband. The Crosettis were the kind of family where physical imperfections were fair game among the sibs. Patty Dolan herself had come in for enough of it herself growing up. She was a blocky woman with a strong-featured face not unlike the one her dad wore in the oil painting. She had his black hair too, but with the mom's blue eyes.

"Look who's talking," said the detective, and her hand darted out in a practiced move to wring the loose flab above Crosetti's belt. He batted the hand away and said, "No, seriously. I a.s.sume you know the guy was involved in a big-money con a few years back. And he ripped me off on a valuable ma.n.u.script. That speaks to bad character."

"Which could've extended into his s.e.x life. What's your point?"

"I don't know if I have one," said Crosetti. "But look at the pattern. He cheats me and disappears to England. Carolyn Rolly ditches her whole life and disappears to England too, or so she says, in a letter that I know for a fact contains nine-tenths bulls.h.i.+t. Then Bulstrode comes back here and gets tortured to death. Did you find that ma.n.u.script on him?"

"I don't know. It's not my case."

"Well, if it's missing, there's your motive."

"What was it worth?"

"Hard to say. f.a.n.n.y says maybe fifty grand at auction."

At this, Detective Dolan raised an eyebrow, protruded her lower lip. "That's a lot of money."

"It's chump change compared to its real value."

"What do you mean?"

Crosetti looked at his mother. "Should we tell her?"

"Unless you want her to beat it out of you," said Mary Peg.

Crosetti told her what they knew and what the Bracegirdle letter suggested, after which Patty turned to her mother. "You believe all this?"

"I don't know," said Mary Peg. "f.a.n.n.y tells us that the original sheets we have here are genuine seventeenth century, so maybe the Bracegirdle letter is legit too. There really might be an unknown ma.n.u.script play by William Shakespeare buried someplace. Maybe Bulstrode got a line on it, and maybe not. Maybe he told someone about it while he was over in England looking and maybe the word got out to the kind of people who kill people for money."

"That's a lot of maybes, Ma. What I don't like is that Allie is mixed up in a chain of events that lead to a really nasty killing. And that he was involved with this woman who disappeared."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Crosetti.

"Just that looking at it from the cop point of view, if we a.s.sume for a minute that this murder isn't just a s.e.x thing like the guys on the case think, it's much more likely that it was a scam, just like the one that got Bulstrode into trouble in the first place. Someone slips a phony clue into an old book so that it gets discovered by someone-this Rolly woman-who's bound to send it to Bulstrode...you're shaking your head."

Crosetti had been, and now he said, with some ascerbity, "No, the find was genuine. I was there, Patty. It was pure accident that those volumes were burned and sent to be broken up."

"True, but she could've had those sheets prepared and just pretended to find them in those books."

"And somehow slipped them into all the volumes hoping for a fire? That's nuts. I saw them come out of those covers with my own eyes."

"Oh, there's good evidence! Any con man can do that kind of switch. I'm sorry, but when I hear about the secret treasure and the mysterious ma.n.u.script, I grab hold of my wallet."

"This is ridiculous," said Crosetti, his voice rising. "This is a real ma.n.u.script, by a real guy, and the cipher is a real cipher. Ask f.a.n.n.y if you don't believe me. Or Klim."

"Klim?"

"Yeah, our new houseguest. He's in your old room."

Patty gave her mother a look. Who said, "Don't give me that cop stare, Patricia. He's a perfectly respectable Polish gentleman who's helping us with deciphering these letters. And I have to say that you're being unduly suspicious and even unfair to your brother."

"Fine," said Dolan, suppressing a sigh. Getting between Mary Peg and her baby was ever a losing proposition. "But if a smooth-talking character shows up with a package he says is the Shakespeare ma.n.u.script and wants ten grand good faith money..."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" said mother and son almost simultaneously, which was funny enough to discharge the tensions. The family detective said she'd keep track of the Bulstrode case to the extent her duties and department protocol allowed and keep them abreast of any relevant findings.

As soon as she left, Mary Peg said, "I'm going to see if Radi wants any coffee. I think he's been up all night."

"Radi?"

"Oh, mind your own business!" said Mary Peg and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Crosetti to ponder the hitherto unrelated categories of Mom and Romance. He went to work, where he had to dissemble about his special knowledge of Bulstrode and his recent doings while Sidney Glaser went on about how shocking it was when someone one knew was actually murdered, and how this was yet another indication of the collapse of the city and of Western civ. On his return home that evening he entered a house full of the rich smell of cooking stew. He found his mother and Radeslaw Klim in the kitchen, drinking sherry and laughing. She was not sitting on his lap, but Crosetti would not have been surprised to see it, given the atmosphere in the room: not all the steam was coming from the pot on the stove.

"h.e.l.lo, darling," said Mary Peg gaily, "have some sherry." Crosetti had not before this been so greeted upon entering his home. He looked at his mother and observed that she seemed ten years younger. Two bright bars of pink stood on her cheeks, but there was a touch of nervousness in her eyes, as if she were a girl again, entertaining a boy on a porch swing with her dad nosing around. Klim stood and extended his hand, and they shook formally. Crosetti felt that he was in a movie, not one he ever would have directed or even wanted to see, one of those family farces where the single mom falls for the unsuitable man and the kids conspire to break it up, only to find...

But before he could organize his discomfort into an att.i.tude, Mary Peg said, in her hostess voice, an uncharacteristic chirp, "I was just telling Radi about your interest in Polish movies. He knows a lot about them."

"Really," said Crosetti politely. He went to the jug of red wine that stood (as one like it had always stood) in a corner of the kitchen counter and poured a juice gla.s.s full.

"Not at all," said Klim. "I am a fan only. Of course I do not need the little words under the screen to enjoy."

"Uh-huh. What Polish films in particular?"

"Oh, recently I have liked 'Zycie jako 'smiertelna choroba 'Zycie jako 'smiertelna choroba of Za.n.u.ssi. Very beautiful, although the Catholic...what do you say? Preaching?" of Za.n.u.ssi. Very beautiful, although the Catholic...what do you say? Preaching?"

"Proselytizing."

"Yes, just so. This is too crude, too-what you say-obvious, to me. Of course, Kieslowski did the same more subtler. He often would say, we don't hit on the head with the church, is as bad as. .h.i.tting on the head with the communism. It is enough we have a moral cinema without seeming to. As for example in Trois couleurs Trois couleurs and of course in and of course in Dekalog Dekalog."

"Wait a minute, you knew knew Kieslowski?" Kieslowski?"

"Oh, yes. It is a very small country and we were from the same neighborhood in Warsaw and I am only a few years older. Kicking b.a.l.l.s on the street and so on. Later I was able to be of some service to him."

"You mean on the films?"

"Indirectly. I was a.s.signed to spy on him, since I had an acquaintance with him already. I see you are shocked. Well, it is true. Everyone was spied on and everyone spied. Lech Walesa himself was an agent for a time. The best you could hope for was a spy who would be sympathetic and report only what one wished to have the authorities know, and so I was for Krzysztof."

After this, for some twenty minutes the two men talked about Polish movies, one of Crosetti's abiding loves, and he learned at last how to actually p.r.o.nounce the names of directors and films he had wors.h.i.+pped for years. The conversation circled back to the great Kieslowski, and Klim happened to remark, "I was in one of his films, you know."

"No kidding!"

"Not at all kidding. Robotnicy Robotnicy in 1971. I was one of young police in background, crushers of workers' movement. A quite insane time, which I think is very much similar to the time of your man Bracegirdle. I should say also I have made progress of a sort on your cipher." in 1971. I was one of young police in background, crushers of workers' movement. A quite insane time, which I think is very much similar to the time of your man Bracegirdle. I should say also I have made progress of a sort on your cipher."

"You cracked it already?"

"Alas, no. But I have identified its type. Extremely interesting for a cla.s.sical cipher, I believe, even unique. Shall I show? Or wait for after this excellent supper of your mother?"

Mary Peg said, "Oh, please show us. I have to make a salad and we can eat the stew anytime."

With his usual diffident little bow, Klim left the room. Crosetti immediately caught his mother's eye and rolled his own.

"What?" she challenged.

"Nothing. It's just this is all pretty fast. We're living here all by ourselves for years and all of a sudden we're in a Polish movie."

Mary Peg made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, come on! He's a dear man, and he's really suffered-his wife died, he was in jail-f.a.n.n.y's been after me to meet him for years. You like him, right?"

"Well, yeah. Obviously, not quite quite as much as you do. So...are you two...?" He rubbed his palms together, as if smoothing cream between them. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up a wooden spoon and cracked him smartly on the crown of his skull. "You be careful, buster. I can still wash your mouth out with soap." And they both laughed out loud. as much as you do. So...are you two...?" He rubbed his palms together, as if smoothing cream between them. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up a wooden spoon and cracked him smartly on the crown of his skull. "You be careful, buster. I can still wash your mouth out with soap." And they both laughed out loud.

Klim came in on their laughter holding a thick sheaf of printer paper densely packed with lines of text and a legal pad covered with neat European pencilings. Klim sat down next to Crosetti and smiled politely. "We are having fun? Good. This also may be fun. So. You can see from my red eyes, I have been up most of this night with colleagues across the world and many have commented on this most fascinating cryptogram. So first of course we work Friedman's superimposition. This is elementary, yes? We must distinguish the many different alphabets used in polyalphabetic cipher so we may do Kerckhoff 's solution by frequency a.n.a.lysis; and we do this by superimposition of one string of ciphertext upon another to find coincidences; and if we have done this correctly, number of coincident letters will approach value kappa sub p or seven percent approximately. This is clear, yes?"

"No. Maybe you could just skip to the bottom line."

Klim looked puzzled and began to riffle through the pages. "The bottom line? But the bottom line is enciphered like these others...."

"No, it's a figure of speech. I mean, please summarize your findings without all the technical jargon."

"Ah, yes. The bottom line. This bottom line is that we cannot do superimposition upon this cipher because the key does not repeat at all within the number of ciphertext characters we have available, which is 42, 466. Also, we find that the key has high entropy, much higher than expected for a running key from a book, so we cannot do simple a.n.a.lysis using common English words. So, either your man is not using an ordinary tabula recta, which I think highly unlikely, or he has discovered onetime system three hundred years earlier than Mauborgne did, in approximately 1918. Which also I cannot believe. There is no record of such a discovery. In fact, even the Vigenere cipher was not widely used. Most European intelligence services were satisfied with simple nomenclators until telegraphy came, and even afterward. There is no need for such very high security. It is a great flounder."

"You mean a fluke," said Crosetti. "So if it isn't a onetime system, what is it?"

"Ah. I have a theory. I think your man started with a simple running key, from a book, as originally we thought. But I also think he was a very clever person and saw quickly how a running key from a book might be compromised through subst.i.tution. Now he might have changed his tabula into some mixed alphabet, in order to disguise common English digraphs like tt, gg, in, th, tt, gg, in, th, and so forth, but we do not think he did that. No, I think he merely combined two methods well known in those times. I think he combined a running key from a book with a grille. It is a way of easily generating a pseudorandom key of arbitrary length." and so forth, but we do not think he did that. No, I think he merely combined two methods well known in those times. I think he combined a running key from a book with a grille. It is a way of easily generating a pseudorandom key of arbitrary length."

"Which means what? I mean as far as deciphering goes."

"Well, unfortunately it means we are stopped. As you know, onetime systems are unbreakable. Now, it is true that this is not a real onetime system. If we had ten thousand messages, I suppose we could make some progress, or even a thousand. But these few cryptograms are perfectly secure."

"Even with computers, brute force...?"

"Yes, even with. I could show you mathematically-"

"No, I got a C in algebra."

"Really? But you are intelligent person and it is so easy! Still, you will understand if I say it is like an equation with two unknowns, the unknowns being the key text and the ciphertext. Example: what is solution to x + y = 10?"

"Um...x is one, y is nine?"

"Yes. But also two and eight or three and seven, or one hundred and minus ninety, and so forth, an infinite infinite number of possible solutions for such equations, and it is the same with onetime systems. To solve a cryptogram you must have a unique solution for each particular letter, no matter how it is disguised by multiple alphabets and keys. Otherwise, how to distinguish between 'flee at once' and 'come to Paris'? Both can be derived from exact same ciphertext of a onetime system. Even if you capture some piece of plaintext you are still no better off because it is impossible to work backward from plaintext through ciphertext to determine what is key, because this key changes continually and is never used again. No, this is indecipherable, unless, of course, you have both the book he used and the grille." number of possible solutions for such equations, and it is the same with onetime systems. To solve a cryptogram you must have a unique solution for each particular letter, no matter how it is disguised by multiple alphabets and keys. Otherwise, how to distinguish between 'flee at once' and 'come to Paris'? Both can be derived from exact same ciphertext of a onetime system. Even if you capture some piece of plaintext you are still no better off because it is impossible to work backward from plaintext through ciphertext to determine what is key, because this key changes continually and is never used again. No, this is indecipherable, unless, of course, you have both the book he used and the grille."

"I thought we had the book. You said it was the Bible."

"I said probably probably the Bible. I have talked to f.a.n.n.y of this and she says most probably they would have used the Geneva Bible edition of 1560 or later. This is the most popular Bible of that era, the Breeches Bible, so called, very common and also portable, nine inches by seven. The grille would be pasteboard or thin metal, perhaps punched out in a simple pattern to disguise secret use. Your Bracegirdle places the grille on pages he agreed on previously with control and copies out the letters that appear under these holes. This is his key. He copies out enough letters to encipher message and on the other end his control does the same, but in reverse. For the next message he uses another page. As I say, if we had millions of characters of ciphertext so that he must repeat the Bible. I have talked to f.a.n.n.y of this and she says most probably they would have used the Geneva Bible edition of 1560 or later. This is the most popular Bible of that era, the Breeches Bible, so called, very common and also portable, nine inches by seven. The grille would be pasteboard or thin metal, perhaps punched out in a simple pattern to disguise secret use. Your Bracegirdle places the grille on pages he agreed on previously with control and copies out the letters that appear under these holes. This is his key. He copies out enough letters to encipher message and on the other end his control does the same, but in reverse. For the next message he uses another page. As I say, if we had millions of characters of ciphertext so that he must repeat same same position of grille on pages, then we can solve by usual methods, but not as it is now. I am sorry." position of grille on pages, then we can solve by usual methods, but not as it is now. I am sorry."

He really looked sorry too, the sorriest Crosetti had ever seen anyone look, almost comical, like a sad clown. But at that moment, Mary Peg declared that supper was ready and plopped a huge tureen of steaming lamb stew down before them, and the expression on Klim's face changed in an instant to utmost delight. Crosetti felt a little brighter himself. It always made him secure to be in a movie plot, and now, as he had mentioned to his mother, they were in a Polish movie: people bent almost to breaking under the weight of history and insolvable problems coming alive at the prospect of a warm meal.

Toward the close of which, Klim returned to the subject they had avoided during the pleasant meal. "You know, I am baffled about one more thing," he mused. "Why a cipher at all?"

"What do you mean?" asked Crosetti.

"Well, this man, your Bracegirdle, says he was spying on Shakespeare for the English government. Well, I too was a spy for the government and wrote reports, as did thousands of my countrymen. There are tons upon tons of these in archives in Warsaw and not one of them is in cipher. It is only foreign spies who use cipher. A Spanish spying on English people would use a cipher. Or if your man was abroad and sending messages back, then he would do the same. But government spies do not use ciphers. Why should they? It is governments who open mail, yes?"

"They were paranoid?" offered Crosetti. "Maybe they thought that the people they were after could open mail too."

Klim shook his head, making his white crest wobble amusingly. "I do not think that is possible. Spies create create secret messages, they do not decipher them. Ciphers and codes are used by governments only when they think other governments will read them. This cipher we have here-it is difficult to use, yes? Every letter must be enciphered by hand, and by a key that is quite laborious to generate. Why not simply write it in clear and give to royal messenger?" secret messages, they do not decipher them. Ciphers and codes are used by governments only when they think other governments will read them. This cipher we have here-it is difficult to use, yes? Every letter must be enciphered by hand, and by a key that is quite laborious to generate. Why not simply write it in clear and give to royal messenger?"

"I know why," said Mary Peg, after a wondering silence from the party. The men looked at her, the older with delight, the younger with dubiety, who said, "Why?"

"Because they weren't weren't working for the government. They were plotting working for the government. They were plotting against against the king and his policies. Didn't you read all that business in Bracegirdle's memoir about the Catholic match for the prince and how they were going to get King James to turn against the Catholics even more than he was already? I mean that was the the king and his policies. Didn't you read all that business in Bracegirdle's memoir about the Catholic match for the prince and how they were going to get King James to turn against the Catholics even more than he was already? I mean that was the point point of all of it. They were going to destroy the theater and discredit the pro-Catholic policies in one blow. They couldn't let anyone in the king's party or administration find out what they were doing, and so they had to use this powerful cipher." of all of it. They were going to destroy the theater and discredit the pro-Catholic policies in one blow. They couldn't let anyone in the king's party or administration find out what they were doing, and so they had to use this powerful cipher."

After some discussion, they agreed that this interpretation made good sense. Klim was particularly generous in his admiration. Mary Peg modestly attributed it to her Irish upbringing, in which she learned to look for the utmost in deviousness and perfidy among the English. Crosetti was impressed too, but not surprised, having been raised by the woman; but he was pleased to see that it had won the admiration of a secret policeman trained by the KGB. By that stage, the large jug of Californian red that had begun the evening nearly full was nearly empty. The talk now turned rather drunkenly to films. Klim told some Kieslowski anecdotes, giving Crosetti fodder for any number of saloon conversations, after which Crosetti asked what Klim thought of Polanski. Klim sniffed, pulled thoughtfully at the tip of his nose, and said, "I cannot like him. I am not a friend of nihilism however beautifully done."

"That's a little harsh, don't you think? You said before that you thought Za.n.u.ssi was too too religious. Religion or lack of it isn't the point. He's a great director. He can tell a story on the screen with vivid characters and terrific pacing and mood. It's like saying that if you like religious. Religion or lack of it isn't the point. He's a great director. He can tell a story on the screen with vivid characters and terrific pacing and mood. It's like saying that if you like Rosemary's Baby Rosemary's Baby, you're on the side of the devil."

"Are you not?"

Crosetti was about to launch into an exposition of the pure aesthetics of film, but this answer to what he had imagined was a purely rhetorical statement checked him. He looked at Klim to insure that the man was serious, at his pale blue eyes, which certainly were, serious as fate. Klim continued, "If film or any art for that matter has not some moral basis then you might as well look at flickering patterns, or random scenes. Now I do not say what is this moral basis, only that there should be one. Pagan hedonism is a perfectly acceptable moral basis for a work of art, for example, as in Hollywood. Domestic bliss. Romance. It does not have to be...what is the word? Where the villain always dies and the hero gets the girl..."

"Melodrama."

"Just so. But not nothing nothing. Not the devil laughing at us, or not only that."

"Why not? If that's the way you see the world."

"Because then art suffocates. The devil gives us nothing, only he takes, takes. Listen, in Europe, in last century, we decide we will not wors.h.i.+p G.o.d anymore, instead we will wors.h.i.+p nation, race, history, the working cla.s.ses, what you like, and as a result of this everything is totally ruined. And so they said, I mean the artists said, let us not believe anything but art. Let us not believe, it is too painful, it betrays us, but art we trust and understand, so let us believe at least in that. But this betrays too. And also, it is ungrateful for life."

"What do you mean?"

Klim turned to Mary Peg with a smile that quite transformed his face, showing her a faded image of the man he was when he knew Kieslowski. "I did not expect to talk of such things. We should be in smoky cafe in Warsaw."

"I'll go burn some toast," said Mary Peg. "But what did did you mean?" you mean?"