The place Brother Philip called home was the only Christian monastery in Chiang Mai.
Callahan hadn’t spent a lot of time here and was frankly surprised that in a country that was overwhelmingly Buddhist, there were any Christian churches at all.
As usual, LaLaurie was all too happy to educate her.
“The Portuguese brought Christianity to Siam in the sixteenth century,” he said.
They were riding through town in back of a
“King Narai let the Roman Catholics in because he was curious about them and the world they’d come from. Unfortunately, that curiosity wasn’t shared by everyone in government and when Narai died, the Europeans were either killed or kicked out.”
“Isn’t that always the way?”
“Then around the late seventeen hundreds Taksin let some French missionaries come in, followed by the Baptists and the Presbyterians in the early part of the next century. They’ve never been more than a blip on the radar compared to the Buddhists, but they’ve made their mark.”
As he spoke, there was a bit of a twinkle in LaLaurie’s eyes, which annoyed Callahan no end. She knew what he was thinking whenever he looked at her now. She barely remembered anything that had happened on that plane, had just wanted to push past it and do her job. But she couldn’t.
When she’d come to, with LaLaurie straddling her-vague images of their encounter dancing through the cobwebs in her brain-the thought that she hadn’t been in complete control of her body had scared the crap out of her.
But that was something she could cope with. LaLaurie had assured her that even though she’d somehow given permission for that thing to use her, no permanent damage had been done. He’d managed to drive the invader away before it could get a lasting hold on her and suck out her soul.
Which was all well and good, she thought, but what bothered her most of all was one small, niggling detail-
– LaLaurie had seen her naked.
The feeling was irrational. Crazy. She knew that. She’d never been particularly modest. But the way LaLaurie kept looking at her now, she couldn’t help but feel violated.
“There are a lot of expats and tourists in Thailand,” he went on, “so you’ll still find a number of churches, and several Christian hospitals in the country that-”
“Eyes up here,” Callahan told him, touching her nose.
“What?”
“You’re talking to
LaLaurie gave her a slow smile. “Are you still stuck on that? Trust me, Callahan, I’m not fourteen anymore. Although I do have to admit-”
“Stop right there,” she said. “If you value your life, just stop.”
The monastery was not quite what Callahan had expected. It looked like any of the wood and terra-cotta structures you’d find in the neighborhoods of Chiang Mai, only on a larger scale, with multiple stories and a stone fence surrounding it.
When Callahan thought monastery, however, she imagined a massive compound with a church and housing for dozens of monks. But this place barely had room for a chapel and maybe twelve or so residences.
A bit of a letdown.
“Brother Philip is no longer here,” the monk at the front door told them. He was a Frenchman, and Callahan knew that most of the monks were not Thai natives. “He left two days ago.”
She had been expecting this. After that e-mail from Ozan, she wouldn’t be surprised if
“Is there any way we can contact him? He’s had a death in the family and we’re trying to locate him.”
Not strictly a lie.
The monk gave them a quizzical look. “Family? I was not aware he had any family.”
“His grandfather. He died suddenly and mentioned Brother Philip in his will. We know he won’t be interested in the money, so we need him to sign a document to that effect.”
“As I told you, he isn’t here.”
“Do you mind if we take a look at his sleeping quarters?”
“Why?”
“He may have left something behind that’ll lead us to him,” she said. “This really
The monk stared at them for a long time, and Callahan wondered if he saw straight through her. But a life devoted to Christ did not necessarily make you clairvoyant.
“We have nothing to hide,” he said and ushered them inside.
The good news: There were no scorch marks on the floor.
The bad news was that his room was not only small, it was also devoid of any personal belongings. Other than a chair and writing table, a neatly made twin bed, a sink and mirror and a mostly empty closet, there wasn’t anything of use here. Nothing that might tell Callahan where Brother Philip had gone.
The only glimmer of hope was the wastebasket under the sink, which had some trash in it. Callahan had done her share of basket diving in the past, to varied success-itineraries, ticket stubs, scribbled phone numbers, boxes of hair dye. They all told a story if you took a moment to work it through.
But all she found in the waste basket were a few used tissues-mmmm, lovely-and a discarded wrapper for a bar of Parrot Soap.
“So much for that idea,” she muttered as she turned to LaLaurie. “You want to do your thing?”
But LaLaurie was already at it, his palm pressed against the writing table, his eyes squeezed shut. He opened them and shook his head. “I’m not getting anything. This room is clear.”
Callahan sighed, ready to call it a bust, when she glanced at the sink. The usual toiletries were there, along with a cup and toothbrush. But what caught her eye was the soap.
It was a fresh bar, which wasn’t surprising, considering the wrapper in the waste can. But what she found unusual was that one corner was flattened, worn down, as if it had been rubbed against something solid.
But what?
She was about to dismiss it when LaLaurie pointed and said, “What’s that?”
There was only one window in the room, but the sunlight filtering in from outside shone directly across the mirror above the sink, which was what LaLaurie was pointing at. Callahan adjusted her angle, and that’s when she saw it.
Soap marks on the glass.
Moving in close, she took a deep breath and huffed warm air across the surface of mirror. It took several tries, but when she was done, the message was clear, written in English:
She turned to LaLaurie. “We’re too late. Brother Philip is angel food.”
LaLaurie moved over to the mirror and pressed his hand against the glass, closing his eyes again.
“I’m still not feeling anything. I’m guessing he’s alive.” He looked at Callahan. “But there’s only one reason to leave this message, and it’s the same reason he ran.”
“Which is?”
No smiles now, no drifting gaze. “He knows his time is short.”
35
