"Yeah, it has been a while, hasn't it?" I said. "Dave, I've got what is going to sound like a dumb question for you."
"I always tell my students that there's no such thing as a dumb question, Stan. What's really dumb is not asking what you need to know. Fire away."
"OK – what's the motto of the Jesuit order?"
There was a pause. He said, "Well, that's not what I'd expected, but the motto is 'For the greater glory of God'."
"And in Latin?" I asked.
"It's Ad majorem Dei gloriam. What's this about, Stan? You thinking about joining up?"
"No, not yet. I'm asking because in a case I'm working, I came across a phrase in Latin that sounded familiar."
"And that's what it was? The Jesuit motto?"
"Almost, but one word's different. It's ad verum Dei gloriam – for the true glory of God."
Another pause. "Really? Well, now, that's interesting."
"Interesting how?" I asked. "Have you heard it before?"
"Oh, yes – far too often. Don't you know what that is? It's the motto taken on by that bunch of heretics who call themselves the Church of the True Cross."
This time, the pause was mine. "No, I didn't know that. It is pretty interesting, now that you mention it."
"They haven't been trying to recruit you, have they?"
"Not exactly, no," I said. "I met a guy recently who, I guess, was one of their members."
"Give those people a wide berth if you can, Stanley. They've got some rather… disturbing ideas. And some of them, I think, may be flat-out crazy. The way fanatics are."
"Looks like I need to find out some more about these guys," I said. "All I know about them is what I've read in a couple of their flyers. They seem to hate practically everybody."
"Not a bad description, really. Listen, Stan – the guy you want to talk to about this so-called church is Pete Duvall. He's our comparative religion expert, and I believe he's written a book – or a series of articles, I forget which – about those people."
"Sounds like a man I ought to see," I said. "Where can I find him? Please tell me the order hasn't sent him to Peru, or someplace like that."
"No, he's a little closer than that," Garrett said. "When I said 'our expert', I meant here at the university. You can find him in St Thomas Hall, three doors down from my office."
"He teaches at the U? Well, that's good news. When's he likely to be around?"
"I can check his office hours for you on the university's webpage," Garrett said. "I know you could do that yourself, but I'm already online, so it's quicker for me. Hold on."
He wasn't away long. "Stan?"
"I'm here."
"Since you're a night owl by necessity, this should work to your advantage. Pete teaches an evening class that meets three nights a week from 7pm to 7.50pm. He's got an office hour posted for right after class, from eight to nine. You won't even have to stay up past your bedtime to see him. Feel free to use my name, although you shouldn't need to."
"That's great, Dave – thanks a million. Now I've got just one more dumb question."
"Only one? You're a lucky man. Go ahead."
"What day is it?" I said.
"Today's Wednesday, Stan. And I recommend you spend a good part of it getting some sleep. Sounds like you've been pushing too hard, as usual."
"Yeah, I know. I'm going home as soon as we finish here. No, wait – I think I have one more stop to make, first."
The Hilton has its own parking garage, but I prefer to park someplace I can get out of in a hurry. I was able to find a space on the street, not far from the hotel's main entrance. And the main entrance was what I sat there looking at, for several minutes.
I tried to remember the last time I'd gotten laid – not the day, but the year. I revisited my fantasies about Thorwald's naked body, and she looked fine indeed. I thought about my wife, dead these last six years, and found that didn't help at all. Finally, I let go a sigh and reached for the door handle.
And then "Tubular Bells" started playing in the car.
I got my phone out and looked at the caller ID. Lacey Brennan.
"Markowski."
"Hi, Stan – it's Lacey." No dumb supe joke this time, I noticed. Her voice had a raspy quality I hadn't heard before. A lot of crying will do that to you.
"Hi. How're you doing?"
"I'm assuming that's a rhetorical question." Her tone was about as light as mercury.
"Yeah, sorry."
"I want to talk," she said.
"I'm listening."
"No, I mean face-to-face. Can you meet me at the Skyliner on Route 315 outside Pittston? That's about halfway for each of us."
I hesitated, but only for a second. Maybe two. "Sure, no problem. When do you want me there?"
"Five minutes ago."
Morning rush was in progress, so it was about twenty minutes before I pulled into the parking lot of the diner/truck stop/motel/local landmark that is the Skyliner. It's the only eatery – if I can call it that – around that's open twenty-four hours. I used to go there when I was a teenager sometimes, and the place was an area fixture back then. The food's pretty good diner chow, but you'd be a fool to stay in one of the motel rooms, and an even bigger fool to patronize one of the hookers who sometimes worked out of the place. Both were known to have bugs.
It occurred to me that I didn't know what Lacey's personal car looked like, so I just went inside. A quick look around satisfied me that she hadn't arrived yet.
The place is self-seating, so I took a booth that gave me a clear view of the door. When a waitress, who looked like Regis Philbin, asked if I wanted coffee, I said, "Absolutely." I had the feeling I was going to need a lot of coffee today. The doctors say that caffeine's no substitute for sleep, and they're right. But sometimes in my job, sleep's a luxury – and I can't afford many luxuries on my salary.