with 200-year-old handmade bricks coated with multiple layers of whitewash. The sloped ceiling and back wall were covered in murals, many of which showcased the subtle humour that Sweden was known for. A fresco depicted the Three Wise Men, dressed as cavaliers, riding to Bethlehem in opposite directions. In another image, Lady Justice used her blindfold to hold a scale that appeared to be balanced but actually had an off-centre fulcrum.
Ignoring the scenery, Payne focused on the people. A quick scan of the room proved that the mystery woman was not there.
A few seconds later he stepped next door and visited China. Inspired by a reception hall in the Forbidden City, the Chinese Room was dedicated to the memory of Confucius and his democratic model of education. Teachers and students sat at the same level around a moon-shaped teak-wood table. Above it, the ceiling contained a golden five-clawed imperial dragon, the symbol of nature’s energy. Surrounding squares portrayed
Thankfully, the room was small and practically empty, allowing him to move onward.
The Greek Room represented classical architecture from the fifth century BC. The marble columns and pilasters had been made at a stone quarry near Mount Penteli, the same quarry used to build the Parthenon. They had been transported on the last ship to sail to America prior to the occupation of Greece in World War Two. Two Greek artists came from Athens to paint the marble, the doorway, and the coffered ceiling. Instead of using stencils, they drew each line by hand. To highlight the colours, they applied beeswax and twenty-four-carat gold leaf, rubbing it in with a polishing bone. The entire process took them over seven months to complete.
A half-dozen people sat in the white oak chairs
During the anecdote, Payne walked round the perimeter of the room, casually studying the faces that surrounded the table. The windows were flanked with gold-coloured curtains that hung from sturdy wooden rods. He ran his hand over the coarse material, making sure no one was hidden behind them, before heading back to the door.
Jones was having similar luck on his side of the Cathedral. He walked the entire length of the hallway, then turned and started searching rooms. The Russian Classroom was first, followed by the Norwegian. Although both were impressive in
Getting more frustrated by the minute, Jones ducked into the final room in his corner of the building. The French Classroom, which sat next to the English Classroom, was designed in French Empire style, inspired by the ancient worlds that had been rediscovered during the Napoleonic campaigns in Egypt, Greece, and Italy. The walls were lined with classic wood panelling. Carved ornaments of Egyptian griffins and rosettes accentuated the panel divisions. Crystal and metal chandeliers, simplified versions of those found in the Palace of Versailles, hung from a grey plaster ceiling. A mahogany professor’s chair and table included bronze ornaments that were replicas of the originals from the Louvre, and the student armchairs were mahogany and upholstered in royal blue.
Nearly all the chairs were empty, as was most of the room. A few people were hanging out by the chalkboard, discussing an upcoming trip to France, but all of them were older men, including a French tour guide who blabbed on and on about wine and cheese. Jones did his best to ignore the rambling as he searched for his prey in the back of the room.
As snow continued to fall, coating the chapel’s facade in the steady glow of its spotlights, Jones shifted his gaze to a solitary figure who was trudging across the slush-covered sidewalk. At first he thought he was imagining things, his mind playing tricks on him, but after wiping the frost from the classroom window and taking a closer look, he smiled in victory.
Only one person was out there, braving the ice and cold.
And she was wearing a green coat.
7
Jones rushed into the hallway, where he spotted Payne leaving the Scottish Classroom.
‘Jon,’ he called as he jogged towards him, ‘she’s outside.’
‘Where?’
‘Heading towards Heinz Chapel.’
Payne paused in thought. ‘What do you think?’
‘I say we go after her.’
‘Are you gonna bitch about the cold?’
Jones grinned. ‘Not if you don’t.’
‘Then let’s go.’
Ignoring the nearest exit, they hustled to the back of the Cathedral where a pair of revolving doors opened onto a large stone patio. They pushed their way outside and instantly felt the sting of the arctic air on their hands and faces. Rock salt, recently scattered to melt the ice, crunched under their dress shoes and provided them with enough traction to quicken their pace.
Jones motioned towards the ground where a single set of footprints could be seen in the freshly fallen snow. It led them down two steps and onto a long path known as the Varsity Walk, a place where the names of former Pitt athletes, like Mike Ditka and Tony Dorsett, had been carved in stone. Trees and benches lined the path, as did a series of black lamp posts that gave them just enough light to follow her tracks to the other side of the spacious east lawn, one of the largest patches of grass on a mostly urban campus.
Payne led the way, walking briskly despite the unsteady footing. Never slipping nor sliding, he continued until he reached a fork in the sidewalk. Heinz Chapel sat off to the left, but the footprints continued straight ahead towards Bellefield Avenue.
He glanced back at Jones. ‘Are you sure it was her?’
‘Positive.’
Payne nodded. That was good enough for him. Without saying another word, he started walking again through the swirling wind. Although it hindered his vision and coated his clothes with snow,
One hundred feet ahead, the stone path ended in a set of icy steps that led down to the road. Payne grasped the handrail for support but didn’t slow his pace until he reached the bottom. Suddenly the footprints he had been following were no longer distinct, thanks to a group of Pitt students who had recently trudged by. Payne looked to his left and studied the sidewalks that lined both sides of the street. No people, no movement, no signs of life — except for the occasional car that trickled past on Fifth Avenue, about half a block away.
‘Over there,’ Jones said from his perch on the steps.
Payne glanced in that direction and smiled at the sight. Across the slush-filled street, roughly fifty feet to their right, the woman in
‘Stay here,’ Payne ordered, realizing she would feel less threatened if only one of them ap proached, and since she had listened to his speech, he knew he was the best candidate.
Before Jones could argue, he made his way carefully across Bellefield Avenue. Even though it was a one-way road, he had learned long ago to always look both ways when crossing streets on the Pitt campus. For some strange reason, the city of Pittsburgh had designed its busonly lanes to go in the opposite direction to the car traffic on a few of its streets. Vehicles rarely collided with buses — all they had to do was stay out of each other’s designated lanes — but pedestrians weren’t always as fortunate. Nearly every year some visitor or clueless freshman who wasn’t familiar with the setup stepped off the sidewalk and got flattened by a bus heading in the ‘wrong’ direction. It happened so often that local police called it death-by-bus.
‘Can I give you a hand?’ Payne called from a distance.
The woman stopped scraping her passenger-side
‘I’m sorry,’ she yelled to him while hustling around the front of her Ford Taurus. Her headlights were off, but her car’s engine and heater were running.
‘For what?’
