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that room was so piled with papers and briefs that he had to clear a chair off
just so I had someplace to sit. At least now
I knew why he had no time to schlep through buggy boxes with me.
"You want to know more about Eddie," he said, a small smile playing around his
mouth.
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I shrugged. "What can I say? I'm persistent."
"One of your finest qualities," he said. "I told you he was infirm, but the
more I think about it, the more I
think you may as well talk to him. It certainly can't hurt, and you being a
Hunter might bring him out of his funk." He spread his hands. "Perhaps Eddie
will have insight, perhaps he won't. But it can't hurt to try, right?"
"Sure," I said. From the way he described the old man, I wasn't going to get
my hopes up.
Larson moved around his desk to lean against it in front of me, his forehead
creased. "By the way, how is
Stuart?"
"He's fine. Wasn't crazy about being nursemaided to death, but he'll survive.
Once I washed away all the dried blood, there really wasn't much under there
except a few nicks and scratches."
"When he drove up, you were on the verge of telling me what you'd discovered
in the archives."
I stifled a snort of derisive laughter. "You mean what I didn't find. There
are eighty million boxes down there, all crammed full of paper and uncataloged
gifts. There's a tiny bit of organization, but it's going to
take me a while to get my bearings." I gave him the rundown of what I'd done
so far, such that it was. I
almost told him I was going to let Laura help me out, too, but in the end I
held my tongue. I'd broken rules by dragging her in, and I didn't really want
to admit my guilt. If Laura discovered something amazing, then I'd tell him.
In the meantime, I figured ignorance was bliss.
Larson rubbed his chin, obviously processing the information. "I see your
problem. The IRS lists provide some help, but the playing field is still
large."
"And teeming with bugs," I added.
"I can't do anything about the vermin, but I've been doing some research on my
end, and I think I may be able to narrow your search."
"Great," I said. "How?"
"Apparently, the monk whose cell was the most destroyed was Brother Michael."
"Should that mean something to me?"
"No, but Brother Michael is the monk who committed suicide."
"That is interesting," I said. "I still can't figure out why a monk would
commit suicide." I was talking more to myself than Larson, and I answered
myself, too. "He wouldn't. Not unless he'd lost his faith or believed it was
for the greater glory of God. Or if the death was indirect and he wasn't
really looking to kill himself. Like someone running into a burning building
to save a baby, even though he knows he probably won't get out." I met
Larson's eyes. "Or someone running who leaps from a building to escape demons,
perhaps?"
"Most likely," he agreed.
"Or maybe it was more proactive," I said. "What if the thing Goramesh was
looking for wasn't in his cell?
And what if the monk was afraid he'd reveal the location if he were tortured?"
"And so he killed himself rather than reveal it?" Larson frowned thoughtfully.
"Possible. Definitely possible."
"Yeah," I said, warming to the idea. "The demon tortured him, and Brother
Michael broke, revealing San
Diablo. But rather than spill the rest of it, he threw himself from the
window."
"Very good," Larson said, nodding slowly. "Yes, yes, I believe you're on to
something."
I sighed, proud and frustrated all at the same time. "Not enough. We already
knew it was in San Diablo, and we're not any closer to knowing what is."
it
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"Patience, Kate. When you next review the archives, keep an eye out for
donations from Italy. Or anything that could have a connection to Brother
Michael."
"Right," I said, making a mental list. Benedictine, Florence, monasteries. I'd
try to find out the monk's family name, and Laura could try to track down
relatives in California, or see if Brother Michael had any connection to
Larnaca, or that cathedral in Mexico. You never knew. "At least we have a
little bit more of a plan." I still didn't relish the detective end, but at
least I could see some tiny bit of progress.
He glanced at his watch. "We should wrap this up. I have a status conference
in a criminal case schedule in fifteen minutes."
"Sure," I said. "No problem. But you haven't told me where Eddie is yet."
"Of course, of course," he said. "He's currently living out his days at the
Coastal Mists Nursing Home."
Something flashed across his face. Worry, perhaps? "I hope he'll be of some
help, but we shouldn't get our hopes up. My understanding is that on a bad day
he makes no sense, and on a good day he rattles on about decapitating demons
in his youth. The staff thinks he's crazy." Larson met my eyes. "I'm more
inclined to think he has Alzheimer's and is reliving his glory days."
I didn't say anything, but I felt oddly defeated. Larson had already told me
Eddie was feeble, so nothing had changed in that regard, but now another worry
nagged at me would that be me one day? Alone at the end of my days, senile and
yammering on about my escapades with Eric?
No
. I had a family. I had kids. I had a husband who loved me. Unlike Eddie
Lohmann, I wasn't alone. I
closed my eyes then and said a silent prayer for Eddie. I'd never met the man,
but still we shared a bond.
I'd pay him a visit. It was, after all, the least I could do.
Chapter Fourteen
I stopped by Laura's before heading to Coastal Mists and found her perched at
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