Sanctus

Chapter 87

Dr Miriam Anata was standing by a drinks machine in the hallway of a local news station when the tinny strains of ‘Ode to Joy’ sounded inside her jacket — charcoal grey today, but still a pin-stripe; she liked to think of it as her trademark.

She was supposed to have turned off her phone, but too many people were ringing her for interviews and she was damned if she’d give them the excuse to call someone else. She reached in to answer it, but accidentally disconnected the call in the process. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed.

Turning her attention back to the drinks machine, she fed in enough coins to bail out a bottle of iced tea and send it thumping down into the tray. She popped the lid and drank thirstily. She’d been under hot studio lights almost constantly since the monk had fallen to his death the previous day. Not that she minded. It was a heaven-sent opportunity to boost her book sales. The key, she’d learned early on, was to frame all her answers in reference to one of her titles. That way the producer couldn’t edit them out.

‘Ode to Joy’ piped up again and she pounced on the answer button before it had finished the opening bar.

‘Hi, Dr Anata?’ The voice belonged to a woman. American, she thought, or possibly Canadian — she could never really tell the difference; either way it was a big market for books.

‘This is she.’

‘Great,’ the woman continued. ‘Listen, I know you’re busy, but I could really use your help right now on some background information.’

‘Is this an interview request?’

‘Erm. . I suppose it is, yes.’

‘And what channel did you say you were with?’

The line went silent for a moment.

‘Dr Anata, I’m not calling from a news channel. . I’m part of the story,’ Liv said, before she had a chance to cut her off. ‘I’m. . I’m the monk’s sister.’

Miriam paused, not sure if she’d heard right — not sure if she believed her.

‘I’ve seen his body,’ Liv continued, ‘or photos at least. He disappeared before I got to see him in person. There were some markings on him, some kind of ritual scars. I wonder if you could take a look at them and give me your expert opinion on what you think they might mean.’

Miriam felt light-headed at the mention of scars. ‘You have these photos?’ she whispered.

‘No,’ Liv said. ‘But I can show you what they look like. And there’s some other stuff as well. Stuff that might have something to do with the Sacrament.’

Miriam leaned heavily against the vending machine. ‘What stuff?’ she asked.

‘It’s probably easier if I show you.’

‘Of course.’

‘When are you free?’

‘I’m free right now. I’m in a TV studio, close to the city centre. Where are you?’

Liv paused, cautious of revealing her location to anyone. A cop friend had once told her the best place to hide was in a crowd. She needed somewhere public and busy and close by. She looked at the newspaper with the picture of Samuel standing on top of the most visited ancient attraction in the world. ‘I’ll meet you at the Citadel,’ she said.