Cecilian Vespers Read Online Free PDF

brought the … the Blessed Sacrament and placed it in the tabernacle. The place was bathed in light, and there was nothing amiss.”
    “The church is not used, am I correct?”
    “That’s right. It’s going to be knocked down next week. Young people, homeless people, sleep in here sometimes. But the place was empty when I was here yesterday. I looked around and I locked up.”
    “Would there be tools in the basement, I’m wondering, Brennan?”
    “Don’t know, Michael. I’d say not. I imagine everything’s been removed.”
    The local police arrived then and took charge, securing the scene, examining the body and surroundings, and taking our statements. Colonel Bleier and a tall, balding man I had not met watched the police activity with interest. Monsignor O’Flaherty tended to the flock of schola students, reassuring them that the killer would be brought to justice and that counsellors would be available for anyone who would like to use their services. The schola’s director, Father Burke, was too shell-shocked to respond. Even if he were his usual self, he would not have thought of counselling. And he would undoubtedly have sworn to bring the killer to justice himself. For everyone on the scene, it was a long night.
    I went to the rectory with Burke and O’Flaherty after the police were finished with us. We stood together in the parking lot of St. Bernadette’s before I headed home.
    “Let us hope and pray this slaughter had nothing to do with our work here,” O’Flaherty pleaded. “Some other motive was in play, surely —”
    “It happened on the feast of Saint Cecilia, Michael. Patron saint of church musicians.”
    “That could be coincidence, Brennan. The killer knew we would be going to Stella Maris and so —”
    “Nothing about this looks like coincidence to me, as much as I would like to go along with you, Mike.”
    “How did Saint Cecilia die?” I asked. “Was she a martyr?”
    “She was indeed,” O’Flaherty replied. “She didn’t die a happy death, God rest her soul. Now, as for details … Let me do some quick research. I have a number of works on the saints’ lives. Are you coming in, Monty?”
    “No, it’s long past my bedtime.”
    “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
    O’Flaherty’s face told half the tale when he returned. “Not a happy death, indeed not. Saint Cecilia’s killers —”
    “Who were they?” I interrupted.
    “The Roman authorities of the second or third century. The true date is unknown. They tried to suffocate her in her bath. But she survived that attempt. They then sent a soldier to cut off her head! Three times he hacked at her neck, yet he couldn’t separate her head fromher body. They left her like that, the poor young girl. She lived for three days before she finally succumbed!”
    “Nearly, but not quite, decapitated. Just like Reinhold Schellenberg.”

Part Two

Chapter 2
    Liber scriptus proferetur
In quo totum continetur,
Unde mundus judicetur .
A book, written in, will be brought forth
In which is contained everything that is,
Out of which the world shall be judged.
— “Dies Irae,” Requiem Mass
    Michael O’Flaherty had friends in the police department and, the Monday after vespers, one of his cronies gave him a call. Michael phoned me that morning to fill me in. The autopsy had provided no surprises. The priest bled to death as the result of a massive wound to his throat. The murderer’s weapon had nearly severed Father Schellenberg’s spinal column. Blood and tissue samples did not show any alcohol, drugs, or toxins. He had been vested as if for Mass at the time, and wore his black clerical suit underneath. He had a wallet containing a few dollars in cash, and some identifying information. There was loose change in his pants pocket. The report described the odd collection of items I had seen: a swizzle stick from a local bar and a bunch of crumpled valentine cards. There were no names on the cards and no printed greetings, just the