everything. Surely he couldn't want his son dead. He funded this facility for the care of children like Jacob. And for Jacob himself.'
Leaving the mother superior's argument unaddressed, Romanovich said, 'Twenty-seven months ago, Heineman came out of seclusion and began to discuss his current research with former colleagues, by phone and in E-mails. He had always been fascinated by the strange order that underlies every apparent chaos in nature, and during his years of seclusion, using computer models of his design, processed on twenty linked Cray supercomputers, he had made breakthroughs that would enable him, as he put it, 'to prove the existence of God.''
Sister Angela didn't need to mull that over to find the flaw in it. 'We can approach belief from an intellectual path, but in the end, God must be taken on faith. Proofs are for things of this world, things in time and of time, not beyond time.'
Romanovich continued: 'Because some of the scientists with whom Heineman spoke were on the national- security payroll, and because they recognized risks related to his research and certain defense applications as well, they reported him to us. Since then, we have had one of ours in the abbey guesthouse. I am only the latest.'
'For some reason,' I said, 'you were alarmed enough to introduce another agent as a postulant, now a novice, Brother Leopold.'
Sister Angela's wimple seemed to stiffen with her disapproval. 'You had a man falsely profess vows to God?'
'We did not intend for him to go beyond simple postulancy, Sister. We wanted him to spend a few weeks deeper in the community than a guest might ever get. As it turned out, he was a man searching for a new life, and he found it. We lost him to you-though we feel he still owes us some assistance, as his vows allow.'
Her scowl was more imposing than any of his had been. 'More than ever, Mr. Romanovich, I think you are a dubious piece of work.'
'You are undoubtedly correct. Anyway, we became alarmed when Brother Constantine committed suicide- because thereafter, Heineman at once stopped calling and E-mailing his old colleagues, and has not since communicated with anyone outside St. Bartholomew's.'
'Perhaps,' said Sister Angela, 'the suicide moved him to trade his research for prayer and reflection.'
'We think not,' Romanovich said drily.
'And Brother Timothy has been murdered, ma'am. There is no doubt of it now. I found the body.'
Although she had already accepted the fact of his murder, this hard confirmation left her stricken.
'If it helps you come to terms with the situation,' Romanovich said to her, 'we believe that Heineman may not be fully aware of the violence he has unleashed.'
'But, Mr. Romanovich, if two are dead and others threatened, how could he not be aware?'
'As I recall, poor Dr. Jekyll did not at first realize that his quest to rid himself of all evil impulses had in the process created Mr. Hyde, whose nature was pure evil unleavened by the goodness of the doctor.'
Seeing in my mind's eye the uberskeleton assaulting the SUV, I said, 'That thing in the snow wasn't merely the dark side of a human personality. There was nothing human about it.'
'Not his dark side,' Romanovich agreed. 'But perhaps created by his dark side.'
'What does that mean, sir?'
'We aren't sure, Mr. Thomas. But I think now it is incumbent upon us to find out-quickly. You have been given a universal key.'
'Yes.'
'Why, Mr. Thomas?'
'Brother Constantine is one of the lingering dead. I was given a key so I could let myself into anyplace on the property where he went poltergeist. I've been trying to… counsel him to move on.'
'You lead an interesting life, Mr. Thomas.'
'You're no slouch yourself, sir.'
'You are even allowed access to John's Mew.'
'We connected, sir. He makes good cookies.'
'You have a culinary bond.'
'Seems like we all do, sir.'
Sister Angela shook her head. 'I can't cook water.'
Romanovich threw the switch that beetled his hydraulic brow over his eyes. 'Does he know of your gift?'
'No, sir.'
'I think you are his Mary Reilly.'
'I hope you aren't becoming enigmatic again, sir.'
'Mary Reilly was Dr. Jekyll's housekeeper. For all that he concealed from her, he subconsciously hoped that she would find him out and stop him.'
'Did this Mary Reilly end up killed, sir?'
'I do not recall. But if you have not actually done any dusting for Heineman, you may be safe.'
'What now?' asked Sister Angela.
'Mr. Thomas and I must make it alive into John's Mew.'
'And out again alive,' I said.
Romanovich nodded. 'We can certainly try.'
CHAPTER 47
THE STORM-SUITED MONKS NUMBERED TEN more than seven. Only two or three whistled while they worked. None was unusually short. As they secured the southeast and the northwest stairwells, however, I half expected Snow White to stop by with bottled water and words of encouragement.
In the interest of safety, the stairwell doors could not be locked. At each floor, the landing was a generous space, so the door opened into the stairwell instead of outward.
At the basement level, ground floor, and third floor, the monks drilled four holes in each door frame-two on the left, two right-and fitted them with steel sleeves. Into each sleeve, they inserted a half-inch-diameter bolt.
The bolts protruded an inch from the sleeves, preventing the door from opening. This scheme engaged not merely the strength of the frame but also of the entire wall in support of the door.
Because the sleeves were not threaded and were wider than the shafts inserted into them, the bolts could be plucked out in seconds to facilitate a hasty exit from the stairwell.
At the second floor, the children's dormitory, the trick was to devise a way to prevent the doors from being pulled open in the unlikely event that something broke into the stairwell, through a bolt-reinforced door, at another level. Already the brothers were debating the merits of three security options.
From the southeast stairs, Romanovich and I enlisted Brother Knuckles, and from the northwest stairs, Brother Maxwell, for the defense of Jacob Calvino. Each of them brought two baseball bats in case the first was cracked in battle.
If the Mr. Hyde part of Brother John Heineman's personality had an animus against all mentally and physically disabled people, then no child in the school was safe. Every one of them might be slated for destruction.
Common sense suggested, nonetheless, that Jacob-Let him die-remained the primary target. He would most likely either be the only victim or the first of many.
When we returned to Jacob's room, he was for once not drawing. He sat in a straight-backed chair, and a pillow on his lap served as a hand rest when he needed it. Head bowed, intently focused, he was embroidering flowers with peach-colored thread on white fabric, perhaps a handkerchief.
At first, embroidery seemed to be an unlikely pursuit for him, but his workmanship proved to be exquisite. As I watched him finesse intricate patterns from needle and thread, I realized that this was no more remarkable-and no less-than his ability to summon detailed drawings from pencil lead with these same short broad hands and stubby fingers.
Leaving Jacob to his embroidery, I gathered with Romanovich, Knuckles, and Brother Maxwell at the only window.
Brother Maxwell had graduated from the University of Missouri School of Journalism. For seven years, he
