Excerpt - Chapter Five

The phone was ringing. Half asleep, I groped in its general direction. I wondered who would be calling so early on a Sunday.

Recalling events of the previous night, I ignored the ringing and reached over in bed. No one there. Somehow I couldn't picture Zelda rising early to surprise me with breakfast in bed. The ringing stopped. I called her name. No response. The phone started up again. This time I picked it up.

"Zelda?"

"Uh, no. This is Miriam Towson," said a timid voice. "Is this Mister Gabriel?"

"Sorry," I stammered. "Yes it is."

"I'm calling from the University Cathedral. I'm in charge of the restoration work on the building. I'm sorry to be calling you so early. I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, no, it's fine," I struggled to stifle a yawn.

"Father Aquilino suggested I call you. He said you might be able to help us with a problem."

"What sort of problem?"

"It has… something to do with my work here at the cathedral. I'd rather not discuss it over the phone. Will you be going to Mass this morning?"

The question caught me by surprise. Today was Sunday, after all, but I hadn't equated Sunday with Mass in a long, long time.

"No," I told her, "I'm not religious. I mean, I haven't set foot inside of a church in, well, other than last Sunday…"

"Can you meet me at the entrance to the cathedral, after the eight o'clock Mass?"

I checked my alarm clock - seven-thirty. "Well I guess so. But I still don't understand."

She had hung up. "Damn it!" I said to the phone, willing the dead connection back to life. With no resurrection forthcoming, I set it down. What sort of problem did Aquilino think I could help with? I didn't have time for another project beyond Sherlock-in-a-Box.

The night spent with Zelda seemed like a dream. Probably because it had begun with a dream. But no, her scent was still on the pillow. I inhaled it one last time before leaving the bed. On my desk was further evidence of Zelda's visit: the picture of Regina had been set face down yet again. I deliberated for a few moments before placing it upright.

I dressed quickly and arrived at the cathedral a little early. Entering through the center portal, I heard Father Aquilino in mid-sermon. I passed an urn of holy water without wetting my fingers, then strode down the side aisle until I came to the large aisle that bisected the nave.

Several hundred people sat in the pews on the other side of this wide aisle, though the church could easily accommodate a thousand. I stayed in the rear section, and took a seat.

Aquilino's strong, vibrant voice communicated the ritual of the Mass, guiding people to stand, sit and kneel. I looked around at the place. A partition in one of the small inset chapels to my left displayed a sign that read "Pardon Our Dust During Renovation." Miriam Towson's handiwork, no doubt.

I looked at the altar as an older priest entered from a side door on the altar and approached Aquilino. The old man whispered in Aquilino's ear. Father Aquilino closed his eyes and bowed his head. Turning toward the congregation, he spoke into the microphone.

"I have just received sad news from Father Zebediah," he said. "Father Peter, who has served this parish faithfully for the last fifteen years, has just passed away. As most of you know, he has been in a coma since falling from the cathedral roof one week ago. Let us pray for him now."

The silence that ensued was interrupted here and there with soft weeping. Aquilino raised his head and extended his arms. "The Mass is ended. Go in peace."

"Thanks be to God," the people responded.

Aquilino and the altar servers paraded down the aisle and out the door where I had entered. I kept my seat, watching the churchgoers as they followed in unhurried steps. I turned back and was startled by an attractive woman standing directly in front of me. Her dark green eyes wet from tears, she held out her hand. "Ray? Hi, I'm Miriam. Thank you for coming."

She averted her head shyly. She had a delicate neck and red hair cut short, as though to tame its fire.

"How did you know me?" I asked.

"Vincent - Father Aquilino - described you."

"Oh? How…?" I stopped when she gestured to the laptop case slung over my shoulder.

"I talked with Vincent after he returned from the party last night. He told Father Zebediah and me about your work."

"He did?"

"Yes." She nodded and reached out, gently tapping my shoulder as if to share a secret. "Vincent was quite excited about the potential of Sherlock-in-a-Box. He thinks it may help solve our problem."

"What problem is that?"

We had started down the aisle and now exited the large central portal. Outside, two elderly women had cornered Father Aquilino. He inclined his head toward us, but the women forced his attention back to them.

"I'm a structural engineer by profession," Miriam explained. "I've been contracted by the university to help supervise renovations of the cathedral. Not just structural damage to the walls, but many of the sculptures are aging and losing their structural integrity."

"Does that include the gargoyles?"

We both looked up at the gargoyle from which Father Peter had fallen. After a beat of silence, I asked, "What was he doing up there?"

"His meditations," she said. "I saw him there one morning. I couldn't sleep and decided to inspect some work being done on the belfry. There he was, before dawn, sitting on that gargoyle. It's the only one you can reach from the walkway. I warned him that it wasn't structurally safe. Obviously, he didn't listen."

Miriam flinched and looked away. She tugged at the sleeves of her jacket. "It must have been a terrible experience for you," she said. "I understand you were questioned by Detective Badgett. What did you think of him?"

"Intense. Erratic." I paused to collect my thoughts. Following Father Peter's fall, I had just sat on the gargoyle in the rain, afraid to move. The detective was the first one to reach me. "He jumped around a lot. First he pumped me for information. I told him what I knew, that Father Peter had argued with someone. Then Badgett seemed to suspect me of pushing the priest. Then he seemed to suggest suicide. Finally he just sort of ran out of questions and told me I could leave."

"Why did he suspect suicide?"

"I'm sure I painted a strange picture. Father Peter seemed to accept his fate. Here he was dangling in midair and talking about roses."

"Roses? Badgett didn't mention anything to Vincent or me about roses."

"Yes, roses," I repeated. "He told me he witnessed the 'ruin of the rose.' He said it so calmly. And he mentioned something about his death atoning for what he had done. No fear, no panic. As though he almost welcomed death."

She grabbed my arm and yelled to Aquilino, "Father, come here. Please."

Aquilino took his leave of his admirers. As he approached us, I looked up at the cathedral's façade. "I see you've removed some of the scaffolding, Miriam," I said. "But the hole is still there in the window."

With the scaffolding gone, the circular stained-glass window now displayed the full splendor of its stonework. I continued, "I mentioned to Badgett that when I was inside the cathedral, I thought I saw someone. They were standing up there on the plank outside of the stained-glass window."

Aquilino joined us in time to catch my last comment. "You mean the rose window?"

"The rose window...?" I looked again at the window. I studied its delicate, simple design, the center a perfect circle surrounded by a dozen oval petals of colored glass, each with a smaller circle at its terminus. Of course. It represented a rose. "The ruin of the rose," I murmured.

"I knew it," said Miriam. "It's our Satanist."

"Your Satanist?" I asked.

"Yes, Ray. I'm sure you've read about the two separate incidents of black masses held outside the church."

"Of course. But don't the police think those were student pranks?"

"We have proof that they aren't," said Miriam. "My guess is that Father Peter caught someone in the act of breaking the rose window. This has gone way past pranks and blasphemy. You have to help us, Ray."

"What do you mean?"

She again started brushing her hands against her skirt, and then, as though trying to restrain them, folded them tightly against her chest.

"Miriam's right, Ray," said Aquilino. "Something terrible is happening here. And our Archbishop is less than pleased with the progress being made by the police."

"Father Aquilino thinks Sherlock-in-a-Box can help," Miriam continued.

I was startled. "Sherlock-in-a-Box?"

"It's supposed to solve mysteries," said Aquilino.

"But not in real life," I told him. "Just in books. Novels and short stories."

"You can expand it. It'll work," he said.

"Expand it? I have to put all of Sherlock Holmes' thumbrules into it. And I still have two weeks of classes to attend this quarter. This could take weeks, maybe months."

"We don't have that long," said Miriam.

I was intrigued by the idea. It would be something to pull it off. It was true that I still had classes, but I was auditing them. Most of my work was on my thumbrule research anyway. I might have to forget about adding the belief system module, there wasn't enough time. Unless by some miracle I could get Dexter to cooperate.

"I don't know," I told them. "I don't think…"

Just then a low, gravelly voice called Miriam's name. A tall, emaciated man strode toward us. His hair hung to his bare, tattooed shoulders. He didn't look happy.

He stopped before us and stared at me. The light that reflected through his thick glasses magnified his eyes, giving them a crazed look. He reeked of stale smoke. He shifted his focus to Miriam. "First you beg to see me. Then suddenly I don't exist. Why haven't you returned my calls?"

The voice was controlled, taunting. Miriam flushed and stepped back. Trying to recover, she stammered, "Ray Gabriel, let me introduce Gerard Rollins. Gerard is a poet."

"Look, Miriam," he said. "I didn't come here to meet your latest boyfriend. I came to talk."

In a thin voice, Miriam said, "I don't have anything to say to you, Gerard. Please leave."

"It's not that easy." Poised on the balls of his feet, he seemed ready to pounce. "You were gone for six years. And not back here a week before you come to me, all smiles. You got to ask your questions. It's my turn now."

Miriam shot a glance at Aquilino and me, a blend of embarrassment and entreaty. Aquilino looked rattled. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Rollins turned his back on us and faced Miriam. I tapped his shoulder. "Look, pal," I said, "why don't you just…"

Gerard spun around, swung his fist, and caught me in the stomach. My laptop flew from my shoulder. I doubled over, struggling to breathe. Aquilino rushed to my side and helped lower me onto the square stones of the plaza.

Gerard continued his tirade. "You still feel my power, Miriam."

"Gerard, please…"

"I drew you back here, not this musty old building."

When I was able to breathe again, Aquilino helped me up and retrieved my laptop. I removed it from the case and stuffed it under my shirt.

"I want answers, too," said Gerard. "You can't have it both ways, Miriam. Saying no when you mean yes. You were always full of contradiction, weren't you?"

I approached Gerard's back, catching Miriam's eye. Her face had drained of color, freckles in bas-relief against her pale skin. Once again, I tapped Gerard on the shoulder. "Look, buddy," I said firmly, "calm down." As before, he turned and swung into my midsection.

"Ow!" he cried, pulling his hand back in pain. He supported his wrist, holding his hand like a claw. I couldn't tell if he had broken any fingers.

"Sorry, Rollins," I said, pulling my laptop out of my shirt. "Looks like you'll have to recite your next sonnet into a tape recorder. Come on, Miriam."

Gerard glared and stuck his chin out belligerently. "Fine," he said, "I'll leave. But we've got plenty of unfinished business, Miriam. I'll be back after your new sweetheart goes home."

He glared at me one last time, and then turned on his heel and huffed off.

I released a breath and said, "What the hell is his problem?"

"It's nothing," said Miriam. "At least nothing that I really want to talk about. I knew Gerard a long time ago." Her features had closed down into professionalism and competence but her dark green eyes signaled an urgency.

"We've got more important things to discuss than Gerard Rollins," she continued. "Ray, early Sunday morning three weeks ago a black mass ritual was held outside the church. Two weeks ago on Sunday, a second one was held. The hole in the rose window and Father Peter's fall from the gargoyle took place last Sunday. They're all connected. Can we rely on your help to find the Satanists who murdered Father Peter?"

"Wait a minute, Miriam. You said earlier you have proof. What's the connection between the broken rose window and the black masses?"

Miriam exchanged a glance with Aquilino. "Ray," he said, "I think Miriam should give you a tour of the cathedral."