Read from the beginning
Read Part 21
Cardinal Mara moved into the space slowly, almost as if he was trying to sneak into the stall. Fr. Miller remained with the rest of the group on the concrete walkway that bisected the long apartment building.
Mara made his way to the desk. He bent down to get a closer look at the table top, but did not touch it. To Gilbert it appeared that he was smelling it. He did the same to the two chairs, before returning to Singleton.
“May I have a pair of gloves?” he asked.
“Sure,” Singleton shrugged and pulled a pair of blue latex gloves out of one of the pockets on his vest, handing them to Mara. “We’ve already been all over this space, so you can’t mess anything up.”
Mara smiled. “That’s good to know. I hope you’re right.”
Parme rolled his eyes and then growled, “How long is this going to take?”
Mara replied, “I’m not sure. We have to move this.” He pointed to the pile of old furniture.
“My men have already moved every stick of that garbage. There was nothing under it,” Singleton said.
Cardinal Mara looked back at him over his shoulder and smiled. “Please, indulge me.”
Gilbert, Singleton, Fr. Miller and Ronnie Smith moved off the concrete walkway and over to the pile of broken furniture. Singleton directed this crew to move the furniture, most of which was wooden bedroom and living room furniture in various states of disrepair, into the stall directly across the building. Then sent them past Parme, who watched them angrily for a while and then pitched in. Within a few minutes the floor was clear of anything but dirt, packed down as hard as an adobe wall.
The police personnel moved back to the walkway and let the priests walk around the room, now empty of everything but the small writing table and two chairs. Cardinal Mara walked around the space a few times and Fr. Miller walked across the room from one side to the other. Suddenly, Mara crouched down and began to examine the dirt floor carefully.
“Did you employ Luminol?” Mara asked without looking up.
Singleton frowned and then replied, “We didn’t find any blood, so it didn’t seem necessary.”
“Look at this,” Mara said, looking up at him.
Singleton moved into the room and took a knee next to the Cardinal. He put his head down low and whistled softly.
“Smith, go get it,” Singleton said. Without a word, Ronnie Smith flew back up the concrete walkway to the stairwell leading up out of the basement.
“That may not be blood,” Singleton said softly.
“I believe it is,” Cardinal Mara replied.
Parme, who had been pacing back and forth along the concrete walkway in front of the stall had stopped and was staring at the two men, who looked rather like they were playing together in the dirt. Fr. Miller stood over them, a respectable distance back but still trying to see what they were looking at. Gilbert had moved into the room on an angle that brought him near the desk. He leaned back against the table and watched the men in the center of the empty stall.
A few moments later, Smith returned with two large orange cases. He had donned gloves. He opened up the cases and took a spray bottle over to Singleton. Then he began wiring up a portable black light to the extension cord that was powering the worklight.
“Excuse me,” Singleton said as he stood and began gentle covering the area with the liquid in the spray bottle. Both priests moved back against the walls and watched him work. As he finished, Smith handed him the black light and then moved back to the walkway and shut off the worklight.
The string of bare bulbs that hung above the walkway did not throw much light into the stalls on either side and Gilbert suddenly found himself in the shadows. He backed up until he was leaning against the writing table and waited for Smith to return to the stall. Fr. Miller was standing against the back wall and Cardinal Mara stood next to Singleton.
Smith returned and handed the portable black light to Singleton who switched it on.
“Jesus Christ!” It was Smith who said what everyone in the stall was thinking. On the section of floor that had previously been covered by a pile of old furniture and rubbish was a perfectly formed image of the circle from the front of the notebook, apparently painted in human bodily fluids.
Smith scurried back out of the stall to stand next to Parme, who was now standing still on the concrete walkway. Cardinal Mara dropped to one knee to get a closer look at the markings. He traced the line with his gloved hand and then looked up to see Fr. Miller, who had crossed from the back of the room to get a closer look.
From where he was standing, Gilbert could see the concern on Cardinal Mara’s face, etched in the eerie white glow of the black light.
“Get out of the circle!” Mara cried.
What happened next happened so quickly that none of the reports provided by the men in the room would match up perfectly afterward. Each seemed to see it unfold slightly differently. One thing they all agreed about was the wind that rose up on the middle of the stall, blowing dirt and debris into their eyes and making their jackets flap against their bodies. Cardinal Mara dropped the black light, which fell so that it continued to cast its glow across the back of the stall.
From the concrete walkway, Parme saw Mara drop the light and watched Gilbert leap forward and grab Fr. Miller, who had fallen down and seemed to be attempting to crawl out of the circle, which was glowing more now than before, despite the howling wind and blowing dirt. Just as Gilbert was about to pull the priest out of the center of the stall, the furniture fell from where it had been stacked precariously against the side of the stall. It knocked Singleton back and nearly struck Mara. As it landed on the priest the wind died.
Parme turned around quickly, hoping to God he would still see the stack of furniture on the other side of the building where the team had moved it. It was not there. He turned back to see his partner and Cardinal Mara pulling the unconscious body of Fr. Miller from beneath it.
Parme turned to Smith. “Did you see that?” The smaller technician slowly looked over his sleeve and then shook his head. He would later report that he had covered his eyes as soon as the wind came up and had seen nothing.
Singleton had been struck by something wooden and there was blood on his wrist above his left latex glove. “Turn on the light!” he shouted at Smith.
Smith jumped and switched back on the worklight, flooding the stall. The shadows cast by the pile of furniture sprang up and danced on the back wall. Singleton could see that Fr. Miller had blood on his head and ordered Smith to get upstairs and call for an ambulance. He left quickly.
Gilbert and Cardinal Mara finished pulling Fr. Miller free and checked his wounds. They looked serious, but he was still breathing. Gilbert jumped to his feet and yelled to his partner.
“Where the hell did this stuff come from? I thought we moved it!” there was venom in his voice. He realized he had sent it in the direction of his partner when Parme stepped off the walkway and into the stall and then immediately regretted it. Parme narrowed his eyes and was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his words left no room for discussion.
“Get this place locked down. Nobody comes down here but the EMTs,” he turned to Singleton. “Wayne, you’d better get a full crew down here.”
Singleton had just finished mopping up the blood on his arm. He looked up at his friend and nodded. “I’m on it,” he said and headed for the stairs.
Gilbert crouched back down and looked at Cardinal Mara over the unconscious body of his friend. “What the hell was that?”
“What was what, son?”
“That blue arm that had Marty by the leg.”
Mara raised an eyebrow. “You saw that?”
Gilbert growled and looked like he was about to climb over the body of the priest and grab the Cardinal by the throat.
“Rob,” it was Parme, using a voice Gilbert hadn’t heard before. It had a gentleness to it, but also a sense of urgency.
Gilbert tore his eyes away from Mara, who was still looking at him with mild surprise, and focused on his partner. Parme nodded to the stairway. “Lock it down.”
Gilbert nodded and headed for the stairs. When he was gone, there was only Parme and the Cardinal left in the stall.
“What are we really dealing with here,” Parme asked him.
Cardinal Mara finished a prayer that Parme could barely hear in a language the detective did not know, and then stood up and turned to face the policeman. “I don’t think you want to know detective,” he replied.
Parme took a step forward and towered over the small Italian clergyman. “Don’t play games with me,” he warned.
“I’m not sure,” he replied, which made Parme lean a little further into the Cardinal’s personal space. “But if you let me see the book, I think I can find out.”
The door opened at the top of the stairs and Parme heard Gilbert leading the EMTs down into the basement.
“Then let’s go see the book,” Parme said.
Part 23 Coming Soon
Sunday, February 18, 2018
Saturday, February 10, 2018
21. A Field Trip
Read from the beginning
Read Part 20
When Parme hit the diner door, both Gilbert and Fr. Martin jumped. Pat didn’t. She had been watching him from the time he left the precinct house across the street. She could tell he was not happy by the way he walked. He was using that John Wayne gait that meant he was just looking for an excuse to kick someone’s ass. When he came through the door and found Gilbert sitting on his side of the booth, Pat was sure he’d found it.
“Coffee, gentlemen?” she asked brightly.
Parme, who had been glaring at his partner since he hit the door, slowed down for a half a step and looked up at her. Damn that woman, he thought. How does she do that. He refused to smile, not because he wanted to withhold the pleasure he knew it would give Pat to know that she could change his mood just by speaking to him, but because he wasn’t willing to be any less angry than he was right now.
And right now, the primary cause of his anger was sitting in his bench on his side of his booth in his diner.
There is a sense a prey animal gets just before it becomes a predator’s next meal. If it’s lucky, it comes with just enough time to zig when it’s expected to zag and it lives another day. If it’s not, it’s the last sense it registers before it enters the long sleep. Gilbert was getting that sense now as he watched his partner stomp across the diner in his direction, with the Cardinal, who know appeared much shorter than he had the night before, trailing in his wake like the tail of a kite.
Gilbert started to stand up but realized that he wouldn’t make it to his feet before his partner go to him and probably shot him. Suddenly, Pat was standing between them. Parme came to a stop just in time, his shirt brushing once against her chest just below the old “Barb” tag she wore on her blouse.
“Hi!” she said brightly. “Coffee?”
By the time Parme had growled a reply that only she seemed capable of translating, Gilbert has slid out of the booth and was standing next to Fr. Miller. He took a small amount of comfort in the idea that at least he would get last rights.
“Grab your gear,” Parme told Gilbert. “We’re taking the Cardinal and his associate out to the crime scene, at the Captain’s request.” He looked down at Pat for a moment but didn’t smile. She did and then returned to her work.
Parme led them outside and across the street to his car. Gilbert rode shotgun, while the priests filled the back seat. They barely had their doors closed before Parme took off. Gilbert snapped his seat belt, noticing with a sidelong glance that Parme wasn’t buckled in.
“Where are we going?” Gilbert asked.
Parme looked over at him, not with malice but with something that made Gilbert uncomfortable. “We’re taking them to see the basement, where the book was found. Then they’ll look at the book. Then, that’s it.”
The priests didn’t argue. Fr. Miller looked ahead and seemed quite pleased and comfortable with this turn of events. Cardinal Mara was directly behind Gilbert and so he couldn’t get a read on him. Now that he thought about it, the cardinal hadn’t said a word since he had entered the diner.
Gilbert turned around in his seat to get a look at the Cardinal, then asked him, “Did the Captain release the book to you?”
“Not yet,” he replied and Gilbert heard the Italian lilt in the older man’s voice, not that he could tell exactly how old he was.
“I expect that we’ll have the chance to examine it upon our return.” Parme neither confirmed nor denied the cardinal’s expectations. They made the rest of the ride in silence.
Gilbert felt relieved that his friend would finally have an opportunity to review the notebook. He felt certain that most of what it contained would be revealed as gibberish, but it would good to knock one more theory off their list. Not that demonic possession had ever been one of their theories. In hindsight, he felt stupid for ever sending Marty the material in the first place.
As they neared the apartment building, previously occupied by one Arlington C. Eagen, now deceased, they could see that Wayne Singlton and one of his techs were already on the scene.
“How did Wayne know…” Gilbert began.
“I called him,” Parme growled. “We’re not going to go stomping around a crime scene without him.”
“I thought you said the basement wasn’t a crime scene, detective,” Cardinal Mara said.
Parme turned around and shot him a look that said many things, none of them good. Gilbert couldn’t see what effect this had on the clergyman, but he hoped his partner never looked at him that way.
“Let’s go,” Parme said and exited the vehicle.
As Gilbert and Parme approached Singleton, he slid off the back of his cruiser and met them at the walk leading up to the building. “What are we doing, boys?” he asked.
Parme’s frown deepened and Gilbert answered. “These two are from the Catholic Church. They may have a line on translating the book we found and they want to see where we found it.”
“Not much to see down there, but okay.” Singleton ordered his associate to grab a set of lights out of the trunk and follow them down. He then turned to the priests. “I’m Wayne Singleton, I run the crime scene team. You guys know the basement isn’t a crime scene, right?”
“We were informed,” Cardinal Mara replied. He introduced himself and Fr. Miller and then the six of them headed into the building. They followed Parme down the hall to the basement steps and then own the stairs into the basement. At the bottom, Parme clicked the switch to turn on the string of lights down the center of the building and lead them down the concrete walkway.
When they got to the division that held the desk, Parme stopped. Singleton’s technician had unrolled an extension cord and was setting up a work light. Gilbert recognized him as Ronnie Smith, the tech he had met the night Eagan’s body had been found. Smith clicked on the work light and the “room” came out of the shadows, exactly as they had left it. The desk and two chairs against the right hand wall and the pile of used and broken furniture covering much of the rest of the space.
“Here we are,” Parme said to the priests. “Knock yourselves out.”
Read Part 22
Read Part 20
When Parme hit the diner door, both Gilbert and Fr. Martin jumped. Pat didn’t. She had been watching him from the time he left the precinct house across the street. She could tell he was not happy by the way he walked. He was using that John Wayne gait that meant he was just looking for an excuse to kick someone’s ass. When he came through the door and found Gilbert sitting on his side of the booth, Pat was sure he’d found it.
“Coffee, gentlemen?” she asked brightly.
Parme, who had been glaring at his partner since he hit the door, slowed down for a half a step and looked up at her. Damn that woman, he thought. How does she do that. He refused to smile, not because he wanted to withhold the pleasure he knew it would give Pat to know that she could change his mood just by speaking to him, but because he wasn’t willing to be any less angry than he was right now.
And right now, the primary cause of his anger was sitting in his bench on his side of his booth in his diner.
There is a sense a prey animal gets just before it becomes a predator’s next meal. If it’s lucky, it comes with just enough time to zig when it’s expected to zag and it lives another day. If it’s not, it’s the last sense it registers before it enters the long sleep. Gilbert was getting that sense now as he watched his partner stomp across the diner in his direction, with the Cardinal, who know appeared much shorter than he had the night before, trailing in his wake like the tail of a kite.
Gilbert started to stand up but realized that he wouldn’t make it to his feet before his partner go to him and probably shot him. Suddenly, Pat was standing between them. Parme came to a stop just in time, his shirt brushing once against her chest just below the old “Barb” tag she wore on her blouse.
“Hi!” she said brightly. “Coffee?”
By the time Parme had growled a reply that only she seemed capable of translating, Gilbert has slid out of the booth and was standing next to Fr. Miller. He took a small amount of comfort in the idea that at least he would get last rights.
“Grab your gear,” Parme told Gilbert. “We’re taking the Cardinal and his associate out to the crime scene, at the Captain’s request.” He looked down at Pat for a moment but didn’t smile. She did and then returned to her work.
Parme led them outside and across the street to his car. Gilbert rode shotgun, while the priests filled the back seat. They barely had their doors closed before Parme took off. Gilbert snapped his seat belt, noticing with a sidelong glance that Parme wasn’t buckled in.
“Where are we going?” Gilbert asked.
Parme looked over at him, not with malice but with something that made Gilbert uncomfortable. “We’re taking them to see the basement, where the book was found. Then they’ll look at the book. Then, that’s it.”
The priests didn’t argue. Fr. Miller looked ahead and seemed quite pleased and comfortable with this turn of events. Cardinal Mara was directly behind Gilbert and so he couldn’t get a read on him. Now that he thought about it, the cardinal hadn’t said a word since he had entered the diner.
Gilbert turned around in his seat to get a look at the Cardinal, then asked him, “Did the Captain release the book to you?”
“Not yet,” he replied and Gilbert heard the Italian lilt in the older man’s voice, not that he could tell exactly how old he was.
“I expect that we’ll have the chance to examine it upon our return.” Parme neither confirmed nor denied the cardinal’s expectations. They made the rest of the ride in silence.
Gilbert felt relieved that his friend would finally have an opportunity to review the notebook. He felt certain that most of what it contained would be revealed as gibberish, but it would good to knock one more theory off their list. Not that demonic possession had ever been one of their theories. In hindsight, he felt stupid for ever sending Marty the material in the first place.
As they neared the apartment building, previously occupied by one Arlington C. Eagen, now deceased, they could see that Wayne Singlton and one of his techs were already on the scene.
“How did Wayne know…” Gilbert began.
“I called him,” Parme growled. “We’re not going to go stomping around a crime scene without him.”
“I thought you said the basement wasn’t a crime scene, detective,” Cardinal Mara said.
Parme turned around and shot him a look that said many things, none of them good. Gilbert couldn’t see what effect this had on the clergyman, but he hoped his partner never looked at him that way.
“Let’s go,” Parme said and exited the vehicle.
As Gilbert and Parme approached Singleton, he slid off the back of his cruiser and met them at the walk leading up to the building. “What are we doing, boys?” he asked.
Parme’s frown deepened and Gilbert answered. “These two are from the Catholic Church. They may have a line on translating the book we found and they want to see where we found it.”
“Not much to see down there, but okay.” Singleton ordered his associate to grab a set of lights out of the trunk and follow them down. He then turned to the priests. “I’m Wayne Singleton, I run the crime scene team. You guys know the basement isn’t a crime scene, right?”
“We were informed,” Cardinal Mara replied. He introduced himself and Fr. Miller and then the six of them headed into the building. They followed Parme down the hall to the basement steps and then own the stairs into the basement. At the bottom, Parme clicked the switch to turn on the string of lights down the center of the building and lead them down the concrete walkway.
When they got to the division that held the desk, Parme stopped. Singleton’s technician had unrolled an extension cord and was setting up a work light. Gilbert recognized him as Ronnie Smith, the tech he had met the night Eagan’s body had been found. Smith clicked on the work light and the “room” came out of the shadows, exactly as they had left it. The desk and two chairs against the right hand wall and the pile of used and broken furniture covering much of the rest of the space.
“Here we are,” Parme said to the priests. “Knock yourselves out.”
Read Part 22
Thursday, February 8, 2018
20. A Tense Conversation
Read from the beginning
Read Part 19
Twenty minutes earlier, Parme had just released Cardinal Mara’s hand after shaking it for the second time in less than 12 hours. He hadn’t initiated it and he was’t smiling.
Captain Allen wasn’t smiling either. This was exactly the kind of thing that could focus a lot of unwanted attention on his department. This was supposed to be a routine case, open and shut. Parme had picked it and he had a way of knowing which cases the rookies could handle. It was a gift, really. Allen had often marveled at the impact a solved case could have on a new detective. By giving them a taste of success early on, Parme was doing a great service to the department. He was getting good men and women off to a good start. Allen appreciated it.
What he had a harder time appreciating was Parme’s near constant surliness. He knew the old detective was getting close to retirement. Hell, he was, too. But that didn’t mean that he had to go around growling and grumbling all of the time like an old bear pulled out of hibernation too soon. Parme had an attitude problem, but then he had been sporting it for a long, long time. Ever since his partner was killed. Allen knew that many officers never got over that kind of a loss. It was why he cut Parme so much slack. But this was different.
First, the kid had alerted the Catholic Church to the existence of what might be but probably wasn’t a religious artifact. Somehow he had convinced the Church to send a Cardinal all the way from the Vatican to investigate. The chances of Allen keeping this under wraps were very slim. Almost as slim as the chances that Cardinal Mara could provide any information that would help Parme and Gilbert solve their case.
The best thing he could do would be to grant the Cardinal a chance to look over the evidence. Singleton’s team had already been all over it and there was no DNA on the book that didn’t belong to Eagan, who was now deceased. It appeared that Eagan had created the book and that it shed no light on the current investigation. Unless the pages weren’t filled with gibberish as it appeared that they were. It shouldn’t take long for the priest, who said he was an expert in these matters, to discern the truth.
Allen pointed to the chair he expected Parme to occupy and sat down. Cardinal Mara perched on the edge of the third wooden chair.
“I’m granting Cardinal Mara access to the evidence you found at Egan’s apartment,” Allen told Parme in the tone he used to indicate that it wasn’t up for discussion.
“I would also like to see the crime scene,” Cardinal Mara said.
Both officers responded exactly the same, turning to face him abruptly and asking him to repeat it by barking, “What?”
“I need to see where the book was found,” he replied.
“Why,” Parme growled. “It was a basement. Nothing was down there by a table and chair.”
“Just one chair?” Mara asked in a tone that said he found that hard to believe.
The captain looked at his detective and raised an eyebrow. Parme’s frown deepened. “What does it matter?” he asked.
“I can’t be sure until I see the crime scene,” Mara replied. “But trust me, it could matter.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t trust anyone to investigate my cases but me,” Parme started to rise out of his chair. Allen stopped him with a look.
“We really just want to know if the writing is a religious code or ancient language that will give us the information we need to find our killer and prosecute this case,” the captain told the cardinal.
“I will help you with that, I assure you, but I need to see where it was found.”
Parme looked at Allen and very slowly shook his head. Allen looked back, blinked and said, “Fine. Give him a look around and the book.” To Mara he asked, “How long will you need to tell us what it says.”
“If it says anything, I’ll know within 24 hours,” Cardinal Mara replied.
Captain Allen stood. “Good luck then.” He shook hands with the cardinal. Parme was already out the door.
As he passed her desk, he heard Harriet whisper just loud enough for him to hear, “You’d better cool it, Parme.”
He didn’t slow down or look back.
Read Part 21
Read Part 19
Twenty minutes earlier, Parme had just released Cardinal Mara’s hand after shaking it for the second time in less than 12 hours. He hadn’t initiated it and he was’t smiling.
Captain Allen wasn’t smiling either. This was exactly the kind of thing that could focus a lot of unwanted attention on his department. This was supposed to be a routine case, open and shut. Parme had picked it and he had a way of knowing which cases the rookies could handle. It was a gift, really. Allen had often marveled at the impact a solved case could have on a new detective. By giving them a taste of success early on, Parme was doing a great service to the department. He was getting good men and women off to a good start. Allen appreciated it.
What he had a harder time appreciating was Parme’s near constant surliness. He knew the old detective was getting close to retirement. Hell, he was, too. But that didn’t mean that he had to go around growling and grumbling all of the time like an old bear pulled out of hibernation too soon. Parme had an attitude problem, but then he had been sporting it for a long, long time. Ever since his partner was killed. Allen knew that many officers never got over that kind of a loss. It was why he cut Parme so much slack. But this was different.
First, the kid had alerted the Catholic Church to the existence of what might be but probably wasn’t a religious artifact. Somehow he had convinced the Church to send a Cardinal all the way from the Vatican to investigate. The chances of Allen keeping this under wraps were very slim. Almost as slim as the chances that Cardinal Mara could provide any information that would help Parme and Gilbert solve their case.
The best thing he could do would be to grant the Cardinal a chance to look over the evidence. Singleton’s team had already been all over it and there was no DNA on the book that didn’t belong to Eagan, who was now deceased. It appeared that Eagan had created the book and that it shed no light on the current investigation. Unless the pages weren’t filled with gibberish as it appeared that they were. It shouldn’t take long for the priest, who said he was an expert in these matters, to discern the truth.
Allen pointed to the chair he expected Parme to occupy and sat down. Cardinal Mara perched on the edge of the third wooden chair.
“I’m granting Cardinal Mara access to the evidence you found at Egan’s apartment,” Allen told Parme in the tone he used to indicate that it wasn’t up for discussion.
“I would also like to see the crime scene,” Cardinal Mara said.
Both officers responded exactly the same, turning to face him abruptly and asking him to repeat it by barking, “What?”
“I need to see where the book was found,” he replied.
“Why,” Parme growled. “It was a basement. Nothing was down there by a table and chair.”
“Just one chair?” Mara asked in a tone that said he found that hard to believe.
The captain looked at his detective and raised an eyebrow. Parme’s frown deepened. “What does it matter?” he asked.
“I can’t be sure until I see the crime scene,” Mara replied. “But trust me, it could matter.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t trust anyone to investigate my cases but me,” Parme started to rise out of his chair. Allen stopped him with a look.
“We really just want to know if the writing is a religious code or ancient language that will give us the information we need to find our killer and prosecute this case,” the captain told the cardinal.
“I will help you with that, I assure you, but I need to see where it was found.”
Parme looked at Allen and very slowly shook his head. Allen looked back, blinked and said, “Fine. Give him a look around and the book.” To Mara he asked, “How long will you need to tell us what it says.”
“If it says anything, I’ll know within 24 hours,” Cardinal Mara replied.
Captain Allen stood. “Good luck then.” He shook hands with the cardinal. Parme was already out the door.
As he passed her desk, he heard Harriet whisper just loud enough for him to hear, “You’d better cool it, Parme.”
He didn’t slow down or look back.
Read Part 21
Saturday, February 3, 2018
19. Coffee and Crazy Old Friends
Read from the beginning
Read Part 18
Seeing his old friend Martin Miller walk through the diner door stopped Gilbert in his tracks. Dressed all in black as he was, save for his Roman collar, he reminded Gilbert of the way he had looked the last time they had spoken in college. Once he had made the decision to leave the university for the seminary, Martin Miller immediately began wearing all black.
Seeing him again now reminded Gilbert how it felt to hear that his friend would be leaving school. At the time, he had been surprised that it hurt. It caught him by surprise that he remembered it so clearly now. They had only known each other for a couple of semesters, but in that short period of time Martin Miller had become a close friend. More than that, he had become an important part of Gilbert’s therapy.
Gilbert had told Miller what had happened to his sister. He even shared some of the information he had shared with his therapist, Dr. Willenshow. Miller had a way of knowing when Gilbert needed to talk and could quickly put him at ease. Miller was the only person who had seen Gilbert cry, as far as he knew. He had, in a very short period of time, become like a brother to him.
And then he had left for the seminary and Gilbert was left to bumble his way through school on his own, finally achieving his undergraduate degree and moving on to law school. That hadn’t lasted long. He hit a wall in therapy and found himself unable to concentrate on a field of study that he had begun to see as more effective at obstructing justice than delivering it. He left the university after only one semester of law school.
He hadn’t seen Miller again in person since they left each other at college until the night before at the airport. Seeing him again now brought back so many conflicting feelings that he locked up completely.
Fr. Miller did not. He entered the diner and crossed the distance to embrace his friend as he had the night before. Pulling back, he seemed to see something in Gilbert’s eyes and held on to his friend’s shoulders.
“I thought we were on for lunch. I need to see my partner,” Gilbert stammered.
“He’s in a meeting with your Captain and Cardinal Mara,” Fr. Miller said, turning his friend gently back toward the table. Pat was already putting down a second coffee cup. “Let’s have a chat.”
Gilbert’s attention snapped back to the priest’s face. Those were the exact words he had used whenever he found Gilbert curled up in a ball on his dorm room bed. It was the lifeline he had thrown out on so many occasions during his first year at school. Gilbert realized that his friend had made it possible for him to advance through school as far as he had. He had never thought to thank him.
By the time the second cup of coffee was gone, Gilbert had forgotten about his partner and the fact that his was the first time he had ever missed his breakfast meeting. The friends had briefed each other on their experiences at the police academy and the seminary. To their surprise, they found many similarities. Both felt as though they had found their way into a position from which they could serve their communities. Neither found it to be quite as fulfilling as they had hoped.
For his part, Gilbert admitted that he had expected modern crime scene techniques to be more effective at gathering evidence that could be used to convict wrongdoers. Instead, he found it used more often to disqualify suspects, which he found frustrating.
Fr. Miller admitted that he had been quite fulfilled at his small Texas parish, until he was called to serve the Archdiocese of Boston. He had thought that was fantastic until he had received Gilbert’s message and discussed it with Cardinal Mara. Then, Fr. Miller said with a strange gleam in his eye, everything changed.
“I think you’ve opened a door for me, my friend,” he told Gilbert. “You’ve stumbled across something that will change my life.”
“What makes you think this isn’t just something Eagan looked up on the Internet,” Gilbert asked.
“Well, it may be. We’ll have to examine it first, which is why Cardinal Mara is visiting with your captain now. But whatever it is, it came to light when I was working with Cardinal Mara. Now, it appears that he will recruit me into his work.”
“Which is ancient church artifacts?” Gilbert asked.
“Not exactly,” Fr. Miller replied. He smiled then, very much like he had when he had first told Gilbert that he would leave school. At once it was like he could barely contain his excitement and also like he knew Gilbert could not possibly understand. "Cardinal Mara hunts demons."
Gilbert was quiet for a moment. He realized after a moment that he was waiting for his old friend to laugh at his own joke, but the earnestness in his eyes told him that wasn't going to happen. He struggled to find an appropriate response.
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure a demon didn’t perpetrate the crime I’m investigating. All of the DNA we recovered from the scene was human, so…”
“That’s not how it works and I don’t expect you to believe me. I understand it’s quite a ways out there, but believe me, there is more to this world than what we can see.”
Gilbert didn’t know what to feel at that moment. When Martin first told him that he was going to go into the priesthood it had made a great deal of sense. While his friend was never one to go around proselytizing, he was a great listener, a wise counselor despite his youth and a good friend. He knew at the time that Martin Miller would make a great priest.
Suddenly, Gilbert felt a great sadness descend upon him as he realized the Church had taken such a good man and rendered him insane.
“Marty,” Gilbert started carefully. “I don’t think…”
His thought was cut short when Parme kicked open the diner’s front door. He stomped in with Cardinal Mara following him closer than his own shadow.
Read Part 20
Read Part 18
Seeing his old friend Martin Miller walk through the diner door stopped Gilbert in his tracks. Dressed all in black as he was, save for his Roman collar, he reminded Gilbert of the way he had looked the last time they had spoken in college. Once he had made the decision to leave the university for the seminary, Martin Miller immediately began wearing all black.
Seeing him again now reminded Gilbert how it felt to hear that his friend would be leaving school. At the time, he had been surprised that it hurt. It caught him by surprise that he remembered it so clearly now. They had only known each other for a couple of semesters, but in that short period of time Martin Miller had become a close friend. More than that, he had become an important part of Gilbert’s therapy.
Gilbert had told Miller what had happened to his sister. He even shared some of the information he had shared with his therapist, Dr. Willenshow. Miller had a way of knowing when Gilbert needed to talk and could quickly put him at ease. Miller was the only person who had seen Gilbert cry, as far as he knew. He had, in a very short period of time, become like a brother to him.
And then he had left for the seminary and Gilbert was left to bumble his way through school on his own, finally achieving his undergraduate degree and moving on to law school. That hadn’t lasted long. He hit a wall in therapy and found himself unable to concentrate on a field of study that he had begun to see as more effective at obstructing justice than delivering it. He left the university after only one semester of law school.
He hadn’t seen Miller again in person since they left each other at college until the night before at the airport. Seeing him again now brought back so many conflicting feelings that he locked up completely.
Fr. Miller did not. He entered the diner and crossed the distance to embrace his friend as he had the night before. Pulling back, he seemed to see something in Gilbert’s eyes and held on to his friend’s shoulders.
“I thought we were on for lunch. I need to see my partner,” Gilbert stammered.
“He’s in a meeting with your Captain and Cardinal Mara,” Fr. Miller said, turning his friend gently back toward the table. Pat was already putting down a second coffee cup. “Let’s have a chat.”
Gilbert’s attention snapped back to the priest’s face. Those were the exact words he had used whenever he found Gilbert curled up in a ball on his dorm room bed. It was the lifeline he had thrown out on so many occasions during his first year at school. Gilbert realized that his friend had made it possible for him to advance through school as far as he had. He had never thought to thank him.
By the time the second cup of coffee was gone, Gilbert had forgotten about his partner and the fact that his was the first time he had ever missed his breakfast meeting. The friends had briefed each other on their experiences at the police academy and the seminary. To their surprise, they found many similarities. Both felt as though they had found their way into a position from which they could serve their communities. Neither found it to be quite as fulfilling as they had hoped.
For his part, Gilbert admitted that he had expected modern crime scene techniques to be more effective at gathering evidence that could be used to convict wrongdoers. Instead, he found it used more often to disqualify suspects, which he found frustrating.
Fr. Miller admitted that he had been quite fulfilled at his small Texas parish, until he was called to serve the Archdiocese of Boston. He had thought that was fantastic until he had received Gilbert’s message and discussed it with Cardinal Mara. Then, Fr. Miller said with a strange gleam in his eye, everything changed.
“I think you’ve opened a door for me, my friend,” he told Gilbert. “You’ve stumbled across something that will change my life.”
“What makes you think this isn’t just something Eagan looked up on the Internet,” Gilbert asked.
“Well, it may be. We’ll have to examine it first, which is why Cardinal Mara is visiting with your captain now. But whatever it is, it came to light when I was working with Cardinal Mara. Now, it appears that he will recruit me into his work.”
“Which is ancient church artifacts?” Gilbert asked.
“Not exactly,” Fr. Miller replied. He smiled then, very much like he had when he had first told Gilbert that he would leave school. At once it was like he could barely contain his excitement and also like he knew Gilbert could not possibly understand. "Cardinal Mara hunts demons."
Gilbert was quiet for a moment. He realized after a moment that he was waiting for his old friend to laugh at his own joke, but the earnestness in his eyes told him that wasn't going to happen. He struggled to find an appropriate response.
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure a demon didn’t perpetrate the crime I’m investigating. All of the DNA we recovered from the scene was human, so…”
“That’s not how it works and I don’t expect you to believe me. I understand it’s quite a ways out there, but believe me, there is more to this world than what we can see.”
Gilbert didn’t know what to feel at that moment. When Martin first told him that he was going to go into the priesthood it had made a great deal of sense. While his friend was never one to go around proselytizing, he was a great listener, a wise counselor despite his youth and a good friend. He knew at the time that Martin Miller would make a great priest.
Suddenly, Gilbert felt a great sadness descend upon him as he realized the Church had taken such a good man and rendered him insane.
“Marty,” Gilbert started carefully. “I don’t think…”
His thought was cut short when Parme kicked open the diner’s front door. He stomped in with Cardinal Mara following him closer than his own shadow.
Read Part 20
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