The Lost Throne - By Chris Kuzneski Page 0,36

abstract painting.”

“We have a library at Great Metéoron. It is filled with hundreds of manuscripts, including a history of our monasteries. Not only the six survivors, but the earlier ones as well. I have read these records myself, and no answers were given. It remains a mystery to this day.”

Dial searched the room for other anomalies but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The floor was made of large gray stones that were held together by some kind of mortar. Two small cots sat against the near wall, separated by a nightstand and a lamp. The only other furniture was a rickety table and four wooden chairs under the chandelier. Dial put Theodore’s box on the table and instantly regretted it. A thick cloud of dust floated into the air, making him sneeze.

He nearly made a smart-ass comment about the previous tenant being lax in his cleaning duties, but he bit his tongue when he remembered that the previous monk was now dead.

Looking to change the subject, Dial focused on the only splash of color in the dreary room. An enormous blue tapestry hung across the back wall. It was fringed with golden tassels around the edges and had a large gold cross in the center. It looked like a Christian cross, except it had an extra bar above the horizontal beam and a slanted bar—that looked like a forward slash—underneath it. Dial had seen the same symbol inside the church.

“Is this your cross?” Dial asked. He had learned a lot about crosses when he worked his crucifixion case a few years back, so he was interested in the subject.

“Yes. The Crux Orthodoxa. The Eastern Orthodox cross. It is the cross of my faith.”

“What do the beams represent?”

Theodore pointed toward the tapestry. “The top beam represents the sign that hung above Christ. It said, ‘Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.’”

“And the slanted beam at the bottom? Is that a footrest?”

“Some scholars believe so, but many of my faith disagree. To us, it represents the two thieves who were crucified next to Christ. The criminal on the left was repentant and accepted Christ as his savior, so his side points toward Heaven. The thief on the right rejected Him, so his side points toward Hell.”

“Really?” As someone who dealt with people of all religions and beliefs, Dial was surprised he didn’t know that. “I learn something new every day.”

“I’m glad I could enlighten you,” Theodore said. “If you have any other questions, I’d be happy to answer them. Otherwise, I’d like to make myself available to the other officers.”

“Please, help them out. They need it more than I do.”

Dial glanced around the room again. But this time he had a strange feeling that he was overlooking something. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he sensed it was something important. “If it’s okay with you, can I stay in here and look around some more? We already missed the blood on the door. I’d hate to think we missed something inside.”

Theodore frowned as he considered the request.

Hoping to charm him, Dial put his hand on one of the rickety chairs. “Don’t worry, I promise I won’t steal the furniture.”

The monk cracked a smile, then scurried out of the room.

21

Dial had been in the room for less than two minutes when Andropoulos knocked on the door.

D “Sir?” he said. “May I come in?”

“Of course you can come in. This isn’t my apartment. It’s a crime scene.”

Andropoulos blushed and stepped inside. He was carrying a folder filled with information about the victims. “I have the background that you asked for.”

But Dial ignored him, focusing on the nightstand instead. It sat between the two cots and was the only furniture in the monk’s room where something could be stored. He opened the drawer, hoping to find something important, but it was empty. Just like the rest of the room.

“Speaking of crime scenes,” Dial said as he glanced back at the young cop, “who’s in charge of the perimeter?”

“The perimeter?”

“You know, the imaginary line that encircles a crime scene. Who’s in charge of it?”

“We are, sir.”

“Who’s we? Because I know I’m not in charge of it.”

“Us, sir. The local police department.”

Dial nodded. He had known the answer. He just wanted Andropoulos to take ownership of the problem. “And what’s your policy for letting people into the crime scene?”

“Sir?”

“I mean, do you let anyone enter the crime scene?”

“Of course not, sir. Only authorized personnel.”

“Authorized personnel.” Dial practically spat when he said it. “Does that include

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