the question.” He banged his cane down and it sounded like a gunshot.
This was met with murmurs, a general disquiet, some snickers. Jessica tried to imagine what a police precinct in Chicago, L.A., New York, or Miami would do with such “news” from this expert.
Luc Sante judged the level of suspicion and disbelief, and then he added, “Belief in a millennial experience that will bring Christ to reign again on Earth, ladies and gentlemen, is based on the Resurrection story and the Bible's own Book of Revelation, and this belief recurs throughout the history of Christianity. Hedging their bets, the Catholic Church has made the year 2001 a jubilee year, as they had 2000, and the Adventists and several other conservative, evangelical groups take it even more seriously.”
“Pardon, Dr. Luc Sante,” interrupted Boulte. “Father, are you saying what I think you're saying?”
Luc Sante pushed on, adding, “Christ's Second Coming has always been just over the next horizon. Well, the actual date of the millennium is one hell of a horizon, my friends.”
At eleven in the morning, Boulte called a halt to the meeting, encouraging everyone with a quip, “Do keep a sharp lookout for anyone impersonating Jesus H. Christ, lads.”
The assembled investigators, some 160 of them, filed out of the largest room in the Yard's facility, in abject silence or confused murmurs.
Boulte took Luc Sante's hand, shook it vigorously, and turned to Jessica and Sharpe, while Copperwaite stood a bit off to one side. Boulte said simply, “I've put all my trust in you people. Dr. Coran, Dr. Luc Sante, Sharpe. Get me some results and quickly.”
Sharpe simply nodded. Luc Sante simply smiled. Jessica said, “We'll end the career of the Crucifier soon, Chief Inspector. He will make a mistake. He will slip up sometime, somewhere.”
“Soon, I pray.” And Boulte was gone in search of his office.“I have paperwork to my eyeballs,” Sharpe said, “and Stuart has some phone calls to make, and we have some interrogations to take. Getting some anonymous dps, mostly bogus, but we have to follow through.”
“Dr. Coran is in good hands, Inspector,” Luc Sante assured Richard. “We have much to discuss, don't we, Dr. Coran?”
“About our year 2001 theories? Yes, we do.”
“Good, then share a cab with me back to my humble cathedral. I must get back to my office on time or my secretary, Eeadna, will have my head.”
Before she could answer Luc Sante, Richard interrupted, extending his good-bye, which Jessica thought sweet. Then the somewhat subdued Copperwaite followed Sharpe out the door. Copperwaite's body language told Jessica that somehow he knew about Richard and her. It might account for his awkward standoffishness.
“I want you to come back to St. Albans with me, Dr. Coran,” requested Father Jerrard Luc Sante again as they climbed aboard the elevator and pushed for the main floor.
“I really can't, not just now. I have far too much awaiting my attention in the lab this morning,” she countered, “but I do wish to pursue this cult notion and the millennium question with you. Perhaps later?”
He smiled and nodded. “I certainly understand how very busy you must be, Dr. Coran. Forgive me my persistence, and yes, perhaps later. Call me, but for now, do walk with me out to the cab stand. I must share my views with you.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed as the elevator doors opened. Jessica walked him past security and through the glass doors.
Outside, the stark sun burned their eyes. Luc Sante hailed a cab with his black walking stick. He opened the cab door but hesitated getting in. “I do wish to consult with you on this madman you and Sharpe are pursuing.”
“Your input is much appreciated, sir, really.”
“Oh, you needn't stroke me, my dear. I'm beyond having any ego whatsoever when it comes to needing a compliment fix. No, what I need from you is a sounding wall, a confidant. You see, I've been having these hellish, nightmarish dreams of late, all having to do with this maniac. I see him as a shadow, quite vague, but quite clearly intent on a mission, a religious test or quest if you will, to please God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost and the Virgin Mary, all of it. To set right what is wrong in the world. Does that sound foolish?”
“Not at all, Dr. Sante.”
“Luc Sante,” he corrected her. “It is said as one name.”
Jessica felt agreement between them on the killer's motives and fantasy, but when she brought up the notion that there might be two killers rather than one, Luc Sante quickly shook his head and said, “No, not two. But perhaps an entire congregation, a cult following, along the order of any church, you see… There is always a congregation.”
“Yes, that would make sense, but convincing that many people that crucifying innocent people is a good approach to… to-”
“To inspire the Second Coming, yes. There is literally no limit to the numbers on this planet who would gladly involve themselves in a ritual designed to reanimate Christ, my dear. My God, look at what else people involved themselves with during the year 2000. When December 31, 1999, gave way to midnight, Iceland lit bonfires, England gave a nationwide pealing of bells, and your New York turned Times Square into a circus; an extravaganza of TV screens and lights, showing festivals and feasts in all twenty-four time zones, but the suicides and the cult ritual deaths followed in the news as did the orgies.”
“It stands to reason that, thanks to the X-Filing of America, most Americans will be expecting Christ to descend over the New Jersey Meadowlands in the mothership again come this January 1, 2001.”
“Right you are. The psychological countdown began long ago, and the psychological fallout from the enormity of the disappointment-should Christ not show up, should the world not end or be punished… Well, imagine it. All those religious leaders marching their followers off to seaside shores, mountaintops, holy lands, and valleys. All those survivalists in your Utah and Idaho mountains for the Day of Judgment. It may well be devastating to us all, I fear. My French grandmother had a term fitting such extravagances, fin de siecle, now a synonym for the 2000 bridge to the 2001 disillusionment.”
“Fin de siecle? End of a cycle?” she guessed.
“Quite.”
The cab stood idling, the driver growing anxious to move on, anxious for the next fare, “Father, I'm dyin' here,” he called out, sounding more like a Brooklyn cabdriver than a British one.
Father Luc Sante ignored the rude ruffian, gently reached into his inside pocket, and from deep within the folds of the cloth, he brought forth his business card, extending it toward Jessica. “Do ring me up when you can, dear. We have much to discuss.” Jessica nodded and tucked the card away in her own pocket. She shook his hand again and felt the warmth and energy coursing through his hand to hers.
She waved to the old man as he ambled into the cab, fighting with his knobby black walking stick. She wondered at the dedication of such a man, after so many years, that he should still enjoy his work, after seeing so much of the dark underbelly of humankind. This gave way to the fleeting thought that the old man himself must hold enormous fears for his clients and congregation both in the church and in his psychiatric practice. The old priest must also behold the turn of the true millennium with great trepidation, as did Jessica.
ELEVEN
If evil is an illness, then why fear approaching it as an object of scientific study, as with any mental illness?
After a long, disappointing day in the laboratory in which she found herself in a holding pattern-waiting for the results of tests from experts on matters such as the DNA findings- Jessica felt bored and anxious. She kept returning to Father Luc Sante's words both at the meeting earlier today and from his findings in his book, which she had as yet to finish reading. Richard and Shakespeare had taken up all of her time the night before. She gathered an
