Page 63 of Secrets in the Dark
“Some things,” she assured him, “are better than sleep.”
And they were.
But that didn’t stop her from closing her eyes. And enjoying a deep and dream-free sleep until the sun had risen and it was time to begin the day again.
Another day...
One in which they needed to find a monster before he could strike again.
Eleven
“Professor Arnold Goodridge, Colorado State!”
The man who greeted them was lean, well muscled and bronzed from the sun, though Mason doubted he’d acquired his tan from working the Thames embankment near port—one that had been used since Roman times. He’d known they were coming, and he had made it easy for them to find him when they’d reached the center. It was, François Bisset had told them, a comparatively small dig, but it was already being touted in archeological circles.
Tents had been set up and boxes of supplies stood about in the roped off area while archeologist with small brushes and trowels were working in dug out areas.
Professor Goodridge shook hands with them both, intrigued that the FBI was in England and that they were interested in the multinational dig he was working.
“This has been quite a remarkable find. Not Roman, mind you, but medieval. You’ve heard of Thomas Becket, of course, St. Thomas à Becket?”
“Yes, of course. But wasn’t he killed in Canterbury Cathedral?” Della asked.
“Yes. He was archbishop of Canterbury from 1162 until his murder in 1170. Blamed on the king, of course, and I imagine that his followers were more than just trying to make him happy. No proof, and history has it that his men, acting on words that had been shouted out in anger, came to Canterbury Cathedral, argued with him over his fight for the Church against the king, tried to drag him out but wound up murdering him in cold blood right in the church.”
“We aren’t near Canterbury Cathedral here,” Della noted.
“And there’s the wonder of this find!” the professor said. “Of course, all of Christianity was enraged by what happened. Shrines were created, many destroyed during the Reformation when Cromwell took charge. But that’s another piece of history. Pilgrims wanted souvenirs from their journeys to pray at a shrine, do homage to a saint. They chipped away at tombs and just about anything, and to stop the loving vandalism, artists were commissioned to create badges—much like the souvenir pins we have today for various places and events. Trying to make a long story short—too late, I know!” he said, possibly afraid that they might not want to hear his academic speech and therefore threw some humor into their conversation. “A little boy playing along the embankment here found a badge. There had recently been dredging in areas of the river—time and weather shift the earth’s crust sometimes. Storms can come along and sink ships, earthquakes and volcanos can consume towns, and sometimes there are just more subtle changes due to time and the elements. It’s amazing what we’ve discovered on the banks of the Thames—including many Tudor theaters! Anyway, sorry. The kid’s parents brought his discovery to the museum, a crew came out and bones were discovered and... Well, so far, we’re seeing a picture of medieval robbery and murder. The relationship between Henry II and Becket has always intrigued me. Becket had been chancellor before he became archbishop—he didn’t want to be the archbishop of Canterbury because he knew he would honor the church before his old friend, the king. As the archbishop of Canterbury, Becket changed, living an austere life, truly embracing his position and the Church. The act of his murder even changed the king who finally did penance himself. I’m sure you know that pilgrimages were important to the faithful back in the day. Here, pilgrims who had been to Becket’s shrine were set upon by highwaymen. It’s been amazing to touch history this way. What we’ve learned! They fought... We’re finding a treasure trove of a microcosm of time, the bones of the dead, their relics, and those indications that the pilgrims fought back fiercely—and took down a few of their attackers in the process. But...”
He paused, wincing. “I’m sorry. I’m sure that you didn’t come for a lecture.”
“Fascinating, if we had time!” Della assured him.
“Right. Well, I don’t think that the American FBI can arrest any Englishmen for a crime that occurred hundreds of years ago, so?”
“We’re working with an international task force,” Mason told him. It was the way to start—it kept them from having to explain why Americans were investigating an English criminal. “We—”
“Oh, we all read about the vampire killings and the self-titled King of the Vampires,” Professor Goodridge said. “But he was caught in the States, right? The killer was an American.”
“The man was apprehended, yes, but he didn’t do the killing here. And now—”
“Oh! The Jack the Ripper murder!”
“We’re trying to find out if a man has worked here for you—is still working for you, perhaps—or if you might have ever seen him.”
“The people I work with are respectable professionals, highly regarded in the field!” the professor said, frowning.
“But you do hire people to do some of the heavy lifting—digging before you’re close to artifacts, carrying boxes and supplies, right?”
“Well, yes. And that may be just day labor. Or scattered labor—when researchers are coming in or going out with specialized supplies and tools or when an artifact is large, carefully boxed and ready to be sent off to an institution. But—”
“Professor, please, we need your help,” Della said pleasantly.
“For the living,” Mason said.
“Of course, of course!” Goodridge said.
Mason pulled out his phone, drawing up the images Maisie had created of Jesse Miller in his many guises.
