“I’m sorry. We’re lost. We were looking for the reference desk,” Elizabeth answered meekly, avoiding eye contact as though addressing the alpha of the pack.
“It’s by the front door,” the woman said sharply. “Follow me.” She clearly had no issue with disciplining a priest.
Once at the desk, Elizabeth looked to her right and saw the front door. They had walked right past the reference desk when they entered, and she wondered how she could lead them out of a forest at night but get them lost in a fully lit library.
The stern woman broke Elizabeth from her musing. “State your business.”
Elizabeth looked to Father Parker, who stood next to her mutely, clearly willing to let her handle the woman, and then she pulled out one of the articles and pointed to the highlighted citation to the unpublished paper. “We’re looking for this paper.”
The woman took the paper from her none too gently and pulled on her glasses that were hanging on a chain around her neck. After reviewing the citation, she removed her glasses and squinted at Elizabeth.
“Why, may I ask, do you need to see this document?”
“Well, uh, Father here has sort of a bucket list. Viewing this document is next in line. Can’t say it would be on my list, but then again he has a fetish for flare guns,” she rambled.
The woman cut her off. “Enough. The document is in the archive. It cannot be removed from the room. I will take you to it.” Elizabeth didn’t doubt that the woman would stay and watch as well.
After being led to a cramped room with a wooden table in the center and filing cabinets lining the circumference of the room, Elizabeth and Father Parker stood in the corner, motionless and afraid to move and offend the temperamental librarian. As the woman searched through a filing cabinet on the opposite side of the room, her movements became more frantic.
“It’s not here.”
Elizabeth just stared at her. The woman opened additional drawers, riffling through them, until she resigned herself to the absence of the document.
“It’s gone. It never should have left this room. None of these documents should ever leave this room.”
Unsure of how to console the woman in her time of grief and afraid that the woman’s head might start to spin around, Elizabeth slowly backed out of the room and thanked the woman for her time.
“That was creepy. At least now I can cross off getting lost in the library from my bucket list,” Father Parker said once they cleared the library.
“Oh, he speaks.”
“What?”
“You were no help in there.”
“I’m not afraid to admit it. She scared me.”
“So now you’re afraid of rats and librarians.” Elizabeth shook her head and started walking in search of the campus directory.
“So what’s the plan now?” he asked, walking beside her.
“The librarian isn’t very trusting of strangers. Only someone she knew would have been left alone and could have taken the paper out of there.”
“You have an idea who?”
She stopped and pulled out the same research article that she showed the librarian. “Him,” she said, pointing to one of the names credited for the research. “Horace Pratt. He was a graduate student and is now a professor at this very university. Me thinks he had motive. He used the unpublished paper in his article, and he had opportunity.”
“Very wise deduction.”
As they found their way to Professor Pratt’s office, Father Parker only offered one quip on the route, which Elizabeth chose to ignore. “Do you think we should mark the trees to help find our way back?”
Elizabeth approached the professor’s door, and a corkboard on the wall provided a list of assignment due dates and office hours.
“I guess we’ll have to come back,” the father said.
“Why?”
“We missed his office hours.”
“Right,” she drew out.
Father Parker started to walk away, but she stayed put and firmly knocked on the door. The father quickly turned and threw his arms in the air in resignation.
“Come in.”
She opened the door and entered with Father Parker right behind her. Professor Pratt was lounging back in his chair, his short-sleeved shirt half unbuttoned, exposing a stark white undershirt, and he sat upright when he saw them. The professor had a thin, wiry frame with dark hair carefully slicked back, and prominently displayed on his chest was the proverbial plastic pocket protector.
“I thought you were someone else. Who are you?” the professor asked in an annoyed tone.
“I’m Elizabeth Campbell. This is Father Parker. We were hoping to talk to you about an article you helped write.”
The professor then registered the father’s presence and quickly began buttoning his shirt, but stopped midway to grasp the article that Elizabeth was holding out. “Yes, well, I don’t have much time. I have an early lunch engagement.”
“We won’t take much of your time. What we’re interested in is this citation.” She came around the desk, flipped through the pages, and pointed to the highlighted section.
The professor gestured for her and the father to have a seat as he looked at the page.
After taking a seat, she resumed. “You see, we just came from the library, and it seems that the paper is missing. The librarian was quite upset, as you can imagine.”
The professor’s pronounced Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. “Ms. Hatchet?” he asked.
She wondered if that was the librarian’s real name or one he bestowed upon her; either way, it fit. “Yes, Ms. Hatchet was terribly upset.” She fought the urge to speak with a British accent.
“Does she know who took it?” he stuttered. Elizabeth didn’t blame him for stuttering. She wouldn’t want to face the wrath of Ms. Hatchet coming down on her.
“No, she doesn’t know…yet.” She smiled.
The professor cradled his head in his hands. “I knew it was only a matter of time. I’ve had it for nearly a year. I needed it for my newest research project, but she was so…” He searched for a word.
“Dominating. Scary,” Elizabeth and Father Parker offered respectively.
“Well, I was looking for ‘protective.’ Anyway, I never got the opportunity to put it back.” Professor Pratt focused back in on them. “What do you want?”
“Just some information. The citation, all the citations to this paper, in fact, do not include the author’s name. Who wrote it?”
“Heinrich Geizler,” the professor answered and stood to retrieve the German research paper, which he placed in front of her.
Elizabeth flipped through the paper, but it was meaningless to her in German. “I don’t read German.”
The professor removed the paper from her hands and laid it on the desk in front of him, smoothing the pages down with his hands as though she had offended the document. “I’m fluent in German. My mother is German,” the professor boasted. “Heinrich Geizler’s work was quite impressive.”
Elizabeth noted the similarities of the names, Heinrich Geizler and Henry Gesler. “What can you tell me about Heinrich Geizler?”
Professor Pratt released a breath and started in on a lengthy and technical explanation beyond Elizabeth’s and Father Parker’s understanding, and after several moments, the professor looked at them and realized that he had lost them. “In simple terms, Geizler’s theory was that the body could be trained to fight and destroy malformed or defective cells at their inception before the cells developed and multiplied, thereby eradicating diseases before they start.”
“How would this work?” Elizabeth asked.
“Through a series of inoculations, something like a smallpox or measles vaccination. Geizler’s theory was that a synthetic gene code or DNA for an antigen of a harmful substance could be introduced into the body and some of the cells would take up this DNA. The synthetic DNA in turn would instruct those cells to make antigen molecules. Essentially, the body would be creating it
s own vaccine by creating its own antigens in response.”
“So basically it’s a vaccination?” she said, unimpressed.
“In oversimplified terms, yes.”
“Maybe I’m missing it, but what’s so special about that?”
“With traditional vaccines, the actual virus is introduced into the body, although the virus has been weakened or killed. However, there is a risk of infecting the body with the disease. When you’re talking about diseases such as HIV or cancer, introducing the virus or cancerous cells into the body can be very dangerous, thus making vaccinations very difficult.”
She nodded in understanding, and the professor continued. “With a synthetic vaccine, there is no danger of causing the disease because there is no microbe of the cell, only synthetic copies of the genes, but it’s enough for the body to recognize it when it sees the real thing and create an immune response. This whole theory of synthetic vaccines was revolutionary. At that time, there was no talk of stem cells, and even vaccinations were at the early stage.”
“So why wasn’t his work published?”
“His work was never completed.”
“Why not?” Elizabeth asked.
“Geizler crossed the boundaries of ethics. It was discovered that he was testing on human subjects, children.”
Elizabeth shook her head in disapproval.
“You see, this was Germany in the early fifties. The physical scars of World War Two were still very evident; diseases were common. Many people were destitute and struggling. Medical care was out of reach for many in the poorer class. Medical testing without knowledge or consent on the poor, incarcerated, and mentally disabled was not an uncommon thing. Even here, the polio vaccine was being tested on mentally disabled children in New York in the early fifties. Geizler offered poor families what they believed to be medical care and vaccinations.”
“But he wasn’t,” Father Parker stated bitterly, which surprised Elizabeth.
“No, he wasn’t,” the professor responded. “He was inoculating the children with his serum. They were his test subjects.”
“Why children?” she asked.
“According to Geizler’s theory, these synthetic vaccinations were most effective in the young before the immune system became more developed. A strong immune system could reject or fight the synthetically created DNA as it would any foreign bacteria, and not allow the body’s cells to take up the DNA.”
“So what became of Geizler’s work?” she asked.
“The children began to get sick and eventually died. Geizler was once a renowned medical researcher credited with identifying and isolating bacteria in the bloodstream of animals in Europe. However, when the word spread that Dr. Geizler’s test subjects were no longer animals, but children, and these children became ill and died, the scientific community turned its back on him. He was ostracized from the European medical community. This forced him to leave Germany, and he went to El Salvador.”
“El Salvador?” she asked.
“Yes, San Salvador, the capital city, I believe. He continued his work there. There was less scrutiny. He believed if he could finish his work, prove his theory, he would be vindicated. This paper,” the professor pointed to the document in front of him, “was a culmination of his work in Germany and El Salvador.”
“The children in El Salvador? How did he get the children?” Father Parker asked, clearly concerned.
“I don’t know,” Professor Pratt answered.
“I think I do,” Elizabeth responded, but offered no more explanation. “He didn’t finish his work in El Salvador, did he?”
“No. As in Germany, the children started to die. The government finally caught on and put a stop to it.”
“Why didn’t anyone put a stop to him, not just his work?” Father Parker barked.
“I don’t know,” the professor responded meekly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I just find this upsetting.”
Professor Pratt offered an uncomfortable smile.
“So what happened after El Salvador?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He seemed to have dropped out. I assume he went back to Europe.”
“Just curious, how did the school get Dr. Geizler’s paper, if it wasn’t published?” Elizabeth asked.
“No reputable journal would publish his work, but not for the lack of trying. Geizler sent out copies of the paper to several medical and scientific journals in Europe, North America, and Asia. Not one was interested. He had crossed the line. The university landed a copy from a former professor. He wasn’t a scientist, but he collected rare and unusual manuscripts and other documents. When he passed, he bequeathed his entire collection to the school, and this was in it.”
Before Elizabeth could ask her next question, the office door was pushed ajar, and a bare leg was extended through the opening. She and the father froze as the rest of the woman’s body came through the door with cleavage spilling out of the open blouse. When the woman registered the presence of Elizabeth and Father Parker, she pulled her shirt closed and began stuttering nonsensical words before bounding out the door.
Elizabeth turned to the professor, who had his face buried in his hands. “Your early lunch engagement?”
“Not anymore,” responded the professor.
Elizabeth quickly packed her belongings, expressed her gratitude, and exited. The father was one step ahead of her and was already out the door. Through their expedient departure, the professor remained mute and kept his eyes trained on the desk in front of him.
“Well, that was, um, different,” she said as they walked down the hall.
The father didn’t respond, and she assumed he was hoping to burn it from his brain.
“So what do you think?”
“It’s not my place to judge. They’re consenting adults.”
“Not that!” she said. “About Heinrich Geizler?”
“Oh yes, of course.”
“It’s obvious that Geizler and Gesler are the same person. Geizler got booted out of El Salvador and set up shop here. I think I know why.”
As they passed a bench in the courtyard, Father Parker took a seat and asked absently, “Why?”
“When I was visiting Father Samuel Rossi’s church, in the office, there were photos on the wall. That’s where I saw him posed in front of the school gate.”
The father stared at her, providing his undivided attention.
“There was also an earlier photo of Father Rossi in front of an orphanage in San Salvador.”
The connection visibly clicked on Father Parker’s face. “So Father Rossi and Gesler or Geizler knew each other. Geizler followed Rossi here, and Father Rossi let him use the school. But why?”
“That I don’t know.”
*
Elizabeth sat in her car and pulled her phone from her bag and realized that she had forgotten to take it off silence mode when she visited the university library, and her phone urgently announced that she had several missed calls, all from Grace. Instead of listening to her voice mails, she opted to call and speak to her.
“Where the hell have you been?” Grace asked as soon as she answered the phone.
Elizabeth considered hanging up just to piss her off even more, but decided it was too juvenile. “I was at the university library, but hell is a close second.”
“The bishop is dead. His body was left hanging on the metal grate outside the back door of city hall. It’s the same as the others. He had the three triangles, just like the rest.”
Elizabeth digested the information. “Where can we meet? We need to compare notes.”
After agreeing to meet at a diner near the police station, Elizabeth sat thoughtfully, processing the wealth of information she had received that morning. Father Parker sat quietly in the passenger seat, and she momentarily forgot he was there. Finally registering his presence, she filled him in on the few details she learned and offered to bring him along.
“I’m sorry. I have
to get back. I have a Mass to prepare for this evening.”
“Oh that’s right, you have a job.”
She couldn’t imagine Father Parker in a sermon or preaching. Although he wore the clothes, she had long stopped seeing him as a priest.
“Maybe I’ll catch one of your shows sometime,” she said.
“Maybe you should.”
*
Grace sat impatiently in the booth and stared down Elizabeth as she approached. “You’re late.”
“Sorry,” was all Elizabeth offered. She decided not to tell her about Father Parker when the father declined to be a part of the meeting.
Grace wasn’t able to provide much more detail than what she had already given on the phone. “So how does this fit?”
“The archdiocese owned the school, and there might be a deeper link between the bishop and the school, but I think there’s something else.”
Grace raised her hands in a questioning gesture. “What?”
“Sullivan’s body was left in the cathedral garden. Then the bishop is dead.”
Grace leaned her head on her closed fist. “Yeah, so?”
“It’s a pattern. The killer is telling us who is next. He left Sullivan’s body at the bishop’s doorstep, and the next victim was the bishop. Now he leaves the bishop’s body on the city hall doorstep.”
Grace cocked her head. “So you think the next victim is who?”
“The mayor,” Elizabeth responded without missing a beat.
“The mayor? How could that—” She cut herself off before she dismissed Elizabeth’s theory as absurd and pushed herself back against the seat.
“What is it?”
“Father Samuel Rossi’s body was in the garden.”
“Right, I remember,” Elizabeth said. “What’s the connection?”
“Sullivan lived in the building next to the garden.”
Elizabeth blew out a breath. “So, the killer has been leading us all along. I think going back to the first killing. He led us to the school. Now he’s leading us to the players. He wants us to put it together.”
Sins of Our Fathers Page 22