The Omega Factor(38)
And he’d be a part of that.
But first he had to twist the knife he’d inserted into Gerard Vilamur— One more time.
Chapter 24
Ghent
1:00 p.m.
Kelsey entered Saint Bavo’s Cathedral, Ghent’s largest and most monumental house of worship. A rugged, hulking structure. A blend of French and Gothic, its portrait gallery, bishop’s seat, mausoleums, side chapels, and tombs all reflective of its special role as an episcopal church. Ten centuries of precious art was displayed inside.
She marveled at its interior with single aisles and short transepts, striking for its simple dignity and high arches. A vertical grandeur unfolded in massive columns that stood on high plinths, as if reaching for heaven. The many sandstone ribs in the complex vaults stretched in stark contrast with the unadorned brick walls. Across the nave she admired the elegant black-and-white high choir near an opulent rococo pulpit, curiously topped with a golden serpent. The church seemed welcoming without trying too hard. Touristy, but not overly so. It had been a cathedral since the sixteenth century and had borne witness to a multitude of historic events. Most notable it served as home to The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb. The altarpiece occupied a former baptismal chamber, displayed in all its glory by special lighting behind bulletproof glass.
She entered the chamber.
The majesty of the restored panels immediately caught her eye. The colors so vibrant, so alive, as if just painted a few days ago. Her prioress waited, admiring the altarpiece. About half a dozen other people were inside too. An attendant stood off to the side and kept watch. Photography was strictly forbidden, and security cameras watched everything. The older woman greeted her with a smile. They both wore the green smocks and veil of Saint-Luke.
“Are you truly okay?” the prioress asked.
She nodded. “I took a kick to the chest. But I’ll survive.”
“I was so concerned when I received the call, for your safety. I’m relieved to know that you were not harmed.”
Kelsey carried the laptop, which she’d been instructed to bring. “We were able to retrieve this, though. Thankfully, my images survived.”
The others drifted out, the attendant following, and they were left before the altarpiece alone. Eleven panels stood open under the indirect light. The space for the twelfth marked by a placard that read “Being restored will return soon” in several different languages. But it wouldn’t return.
Not ever.
“Kelsey,” the prioress said, “I came here today first and foremost to make sure you were safe. I am grateful to God that is the case.”
She appreciated the concern, which seemed genuine.
“You are a lovely woman and a most talented restorer. Our convent is honored to have you.”
“Why do I hear a but in there?” She could see that the older woman was conflicted. “What is it?”
“Before I came to the Congregation of Saint-Luke, I served for many years with the Maidens of Saint-Michael.”
She connected the dots. “They have a convent here, in Ghent.”
The prioress nodded. “They do. It’s a retirement home. The motherhouse is in southern France. I served there for nearly ten years. I then moved to our order, a promotion of sorts, for my many years of loyal service.”
The chapel remained empty and they stood off to one side of the display. It was hard for her eyes not to focus on the magnificent painting, her mind drifting back to the conversation earlier with Nick. What she’d told him was true. Works of art like this were not produced solely for beauty. They were more like ancient billboards, serving God and church, educating and edifying. Designed to strengthen Christian ideals through majestic images, and to send subtle messages, the fabulous aesthetics more a means than an end.
What was this painting trying to say?
She desperately wanted to know.
Her prioress’ concern for her safety seemed more a lead-in for what she really wanted. Nick had told her to be patient and not press. Let it unfold at her pace. Her relationship with this woman up to now had been minimal and businesslike. Most sisters rarely spoke of their past or their families. Those thoughts were kept private. Some had a need to open up to anyone about anything, but most spoke little of their life before the convent. So the prioress’ admission about her own past was surprising.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“I want you to understand what I am about to ask of you.”
She braced herself.
“I require you to give me your computer and all of the images you have regarding the twelfth panel. Are they there, on the machine?”
She nodded.
“No copies?”
“None.”
“I understand that you participated last night in a police search of the maiden’s house here in Ghent.”
“How would you know that?”
“You did not inform me that such occurred.”
Not an answer. “One of those sisters, or a woman whom they offered sanctuary to, stole this computer. Another set fire to the Just Judges. We had every right to investigate.”
“There is never a good reason to violate the sanctity of a convent. Not ever. The Maidens of Saint-Michael deserve their privacy. Never would they harbor criminals.”
She was not comforted by the observation. “One of those women is dead.”