John Saul - The Devil's Labyrinth

As his words trailed off into helplessness, Father Sebastian remembered Anne and Gordy Adamson. She, he was certain, would be devastated at the news. But what about Kip’s father? Would he even feign sorrow at his loss? Probably. But even more probably, he would start looking around for someone to blame, and St. Isaac’s would undoubtedly be at the top of his list. “Has anyone spoken with Kip’s parents?”

“I called their parish priest,” Brother Francis said. “Kip’s mother called him an hour ago, and he was already there.”

Sebastian frowned. “Shouldn’t Father Laughlin or I go, too?”

“That’s what I thought,” Brother Francis interjected. “But Father Laughlin feels it’s best if their own priest handles it.”

“It’s just so hard to believe,” Sister Mary David said, her lips compressing into a thin line as if the boy’s death were a personal affront to her. “It’s not as if he was doing badly here. In fact, he was doing well — his grades were up and—”

“The police will be here today,” Father Laughlin cut in, garnering a dark look from Sister Mary David, who obviously had a lot more to say. “They will want to know if anyone has noticed anything about Kip. Anything unusual.” His eyes roved tiredly from one face to another. “Has anyone?”

Father Sebastian glanced at the other three, none of whom seemed certain of even how to respond to Father Laughlin, let alone the police. “Nothing that I have noticed. I agree with Sister Mary David — Kip was doing well. The usual sins of a boy his age, of course.” He suppressed a smile as Sister Margaret blushed and Sister Mary David scowled disapprovingly. “But I heard his confession and gave him a penance. Actually, I thought we were succeeding very well with him. At least up until yesterday.”

Father Laughlin took another deep breath, and seemed to pull himself together slightly. “Very well. If any of you should remember anything odd about Kip’s behavior, please bring it here first. At this point there’s nothing that can be done either for the Adamson boy or for the poor woman he attacked.” He paused, then spoke again, his voice taking on a slight edge. “I’m sure you all understand that we don’t need any publicity that will reflect badly either on the school or on the Church. I think the Church has had as much of that as it can stand for the foreseeable future.” His eyes moved from one face to the next. “Do I make myself clear?”

“It doesn’t matter what we say,” Sister Mary David said. “Some parents are likely to remove their children, and recruitment will be difficult for a year or so.” She turned to Sister Margaret. “We ought to have a statement ready for the press.”

Father Laughlin pressed his fingertips to his temples and rubbed them in small circles as if he could massage away the trouble that he was certain was about to rain down on his head.

“We’d better cancel classes for today,” Father Sebastian said as Father Laughlin’s silence stretched on. “We’ll hold a mass for Kip, and then arrange to be in our offices and available for any of the students who want to talk about it. As for the police, the best thing we can do is answer all their questions as completely and honestly as possible.”

As the two nuns nodded their agreement, Brother Francis raised his hand, and Father Sebastian was reminded of nothing so much as a worried schoolboy who is uncertain of his lessons.

“I feel like somehow it’s my fault,” he said. “Was there something I missed? Some sign? Did I do something wrong? I feel as if I should have seen this coming — maybe spent more time with him, or paid more attention.”

Sister Margaret peered at him over the rims of the half-glasses that were perpetually perched on her nose. “There are over two hundred students here,” she declared. “We can only do what we can do, and for the most part, we do a very good job. None of us saw this coming, and there’s no reason why we should have. We can’t know everything in each student’s heart at every moment.”

“I just feel as if I—” Brother Francis began again, but this time Sister Margaret didn’t even let him finish.

“Brother Francis, our job is to look after the children, not feel sorry for ourselves.” Her eyes fixed on Brother Francis, and he instantly felt as if he was back in parochial school and about to feel the rap of a ruler across his knuckles. “Can you put your own feelings aside long enough to talk to the rest of the boys about what’s happened?”

Brother Francis’s face burned. “Of course I can. I’ll just need a few moments to collect my thoughts.”

“Which is a very good idea for all of us,” Father Sebastian interjected before Sister Margaret could say anything else to Brother Francis. “And when we begin answering questions — not only from the police but from the students and their parents as well, I think we should keep in mind that this is not a time for trying to assign blame, either to Kip Adamson or to anyone else. Unfortunately, evil is insidious in the world we live in, and no one is immune. And often, it seems, the children are even less immune than anyone else.”

“Still, everyone makes their choices,” Sister Margaret sniffed, making no attempt to conceal her disdain for Father Sebastian’s words.

“Be that as it may,” Father Sebastian replied gently, “our job right now is to reassure our students and their parents that whatever caused Kip to attack that poor woman, it had nothing to do with St. Isaac’s. The boy had problems when he arrived — in fact, isn’t that exactly why he came here? It’s not that we failed him — we simply didn’t have enough time to succeed with him. Evil, unfortunately, cannot be overcome in an instant, and whatever evil inhabited Kip Adamson was obviously far stronger than any of us saw.”

Father Laughlin finally stirred in his chair, and looked up. “Father Sebastian is right,” he declared. “In the future, we shall all be far more vigilant.”

† † †

Patrick North and Kevin Peterson had been working together long enough that neither detective had to say a word before they entered Kip Adamson’s room at St. Isaac’s; North would do the searching while Peterson talked to the boy’s roommate. There was something about Peterson’s manner that made people want to talk to him, and North had given up trying to emulate it years ago, concentrating instead on honing his already sharp eyes and innate instinct for knowing where to look for what he was trying to find. Except, of course, for his keys, which somehow still managed to elude him at least twice a day. Now he handed them over to Peterson before he pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and began his search, which he would carry out as carefully as he did all his searches, even though the disinterest of Adamson’s friends had already told him the search was probably going to be futile. If there was anything to find, North figured Clay Matthews and Darren Bender would be a lot more nervous than they were.

“So you and Kip were roommates last year, too?” North heard Peterson ask Clay Matthews, scanning his notes as if he didn’t already have every word of them memorized.

“Yeah,” Clay said. “They stuck him with me when he first came here.”

“And you requested each other as roommates again this year?”

Clay nodded. “We got along great.”

Detective North pulled the sheets off Kip’s bed, shook them out, and then lifted up the mattress.

A copy of Playboy was stashed between the mattress and the springs, which North picked up, fanned through, then tossed onto Matthews’s bed.

“I’ll take that,” Brother Francis said, stepping forward quickly to seize the offending literature.

As Peterson shrugged sympathetically at Matthews, North turned his attention to Kip’s footlocker. It was unlocked and he flipped the top open. Inside were books and photographs, a pair of sandals, and a hockey jersey autographed on the shoulder by someone from the Chicago Blackhawks.