Pane and Suffering

by Cheryl Hollon

Edward circled the table. “Well, if this is it, there must be a message at the edge.”

  Savannah looked over at Hugh’s workbench. “Maybe Dad wrote something on the metal frame that finishes the panel.”

  She found the metal pieces at the back of Hugh’s workbench and laid them in place around the edges next to the panel. “Everyone, take a framing piece and see if you can find anything.”

  They bent over them, ran fingers over all the edges looking for solder dots or hidden papers and Savannah shined a flashlight across all the surfaces in case a message could only be revealed that way.

  “Nothing.” Amanda looked at Savannah, “Now what?”

  Edward leaned over the nearly finished panel. “It is splendid, isn’t it?”

  Savannah stepped back and tilted her head. “Hey, there’s a technique I used in painting class to get a different perspective of my work. I need a mirror.” Without waiting to hear anything from the others, she went into the display room and returned holding a twelve-inch square of mirrored glass. Turning around, she stood with her back to the panel and held the mirror up high so that she could look at it in reverse. “Sometimes, what you need is a change in perspective to pick out the problems in your painting.”

  She angled the mirror to point at the bottom edge of the panel. “This lower border looks odd.” She put the mirror aside. “Hang on. I took a picture of this when I was in the church on Wednesday night.” She pulled out her phone, flipped through her photo gallery, and peered at the picture, trying to see details through the discoloration caused by the flash. “Look! This is slightly different from the one downtown.”

  “Let me see.” Amanda peered over Savannah’s shoulder to look at the photo on the phone. “Can you send that to your computer so that we can make it a lot bigger? Your phone screen is too tiny.”

  “Sure.” Savannah tapped a few buttons and they heard a small beep from the office computer. “Come on. Let’s take a closer look.”

  She sat in the creaky desk chair and Amanda pulled up the side chair. Edward huddled over the rolltop desk sheltering the display. The photo opened and they looked at the top and bottom edges.

  “It’s a little hard to see,” said Savannah, “but it does look different from the one in the workroom. I’ll print just the border out in color and let’s compare.” She clicked the PRINT icon and the printer fired up in a whir and ejected a piece of paper.

  Amanda snatched the print, dashed into the custom workshop, and walked around to the bottom of the panel. “Yes! You were right. It’s quite different in a subtle way. It’s a perfect duplication except for the last two rows of squares in the bottom edge.”

  “Yes, but what does this mean?” Edward asked.

  Savannah moved them over. “Let me see if it’s one of Dad’s codes.” She peered at the two squares that were different, then grabbed a pencil and drew them on a yellow sticky pad. “Let’s put this up on the whiteboard and see what’s what.”

  Back in the classroom, she drew the glass border and stepped back to look at the illustration. She studied the lines for a few long minutes. “This reminds me of something. It’s tickling the back of my mind, but I’m just not remembering it.”

  “Is there a record of the types of codes you and your dad used during the sessions?” Edward asked. “That would at least allow us to eliminate some codes.”

  Savannah thumped the front of her head. “No, there’s no record. As part of the game, he made me memorize them. A major element of his games involved not keeping written evidence of either the code used or the final solution.”

  Amanda squealed, “Oh, that’s so fantastic. He was training you in case he needed to leave this situation in your hands for solving. Yes, he was clever.”

  Paranoid is more like it. Savannah squeezed her eyes tight and rubbed her temples. “All I have to do is remember which code he is using.” She stood still. Her only movements were the fingers making small circles at the sides of her head. “I remember that we talked about the code games the last time I spoke to him on the phone. He mentioned them very casually. He didn’t ask if I remembered them or anything . . . just asked if I remembered when we played the code games.”

  “What about listing the ones you remember?” Edward prompted. “That might give us a start.”

  Savannah erased the board clean and held the marker poised over the surface. “Okay, here’s the names of ciphers that I remember.” She turned back to look at them over her shoulder. “I was quite young.

  “The Maritime Signal Flags. I loved this because we read them off the boats when we walked around the waterfront. Some of them were rude. Then the Semaphore Flag code which we played when we were at either end of Crescent Lake. That was fun.

  “It can’t be either of those. But there was one more that these symbols remind me of.” She paused for a few seconds. “Got it. It’s called the Pigpen Cipher. It reminded me of the comic strip character. Sometimes it’s called the Freemason’s Cipher. There are many ways to vary it, but this is the one we always used and how the letters are interpreted.” She wrote it on the whiteboard below.

  “This one works as a series of symbols within those four images. So for working out the code along the border, this is what we use. If I wanted to code the word MASON, you can see that it would look like this. Savannah wrote down the letters and their symbols beside them.

  “Good.” She stepped back. Now let’s put the border images up as well. She took pictures of the border with her phone, sent them to the shop computer and printed them out in color. As each image printed, Amanda brought them to Savannah and on the right side of the board, she taped them up in two rows—the top border over the bottom border.

  “Now we’re ready to solve this puppy.” Savannah stood in front of the whiteboard with her hands on her hips. “First, we transfer the symbols on the top border.” Turning to Edward and Amanda, she said, “Make sure I don’t copy a symbol wrong. We can drive ourselves crazy with just one small transposition error.”

  One by one, Savannah decoded the border symbols into a long string of characters below.

  “Okay, let’s transfer the symbols on the bottom border. These are so tiny, no one would ever think of this as a message.”

  “Now, let’s translate them into letters.” Savannah stepped back and looked at the scramble of letters. She looked back at Amanda and Edward who were staring holes into the whiteboard. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

  Edward stepped up to the whiteboard and took the marker from Savannah. “I think so. If you isolate the first five letters, I can get I C O N S. He wrote a slash after the S, separating the word from the other letters.

  ICONS / BEHINDALTAR

  BOOKSINTOWER

  “Oh! Oh! Oh! Let me do it. I see the words,” squealed Amanda. “I can do it.”

  ICONS / BEHIND / ALTAR

  BOOKS / IN/TOWER

  “What could that mean?” Edward squinted at the letters, turning his head one way and the other. He looked over to Savannah. “What was John trying to tell you with this?”

  Savannah dragged her hand through her hair. “Oh, no.” Her wavering voice was barely above a whisper. “It can’t be—it just can’t be.” She looked over at Edward who didn’t seem to get it. Clearing her suddenly scratchy throat, she explained. “Reverend Kline collects Russian icons for the church. Dad thinks it’s Reverend Kline.”

  Chapter 29

  Friday Evening

  “I can’t believe my dad thought that Reverend Kline was a threat.” Savannah rubbed absently at her arms. “No one else we know matches the words in this message, but how could it be him? How could it be him?”

  Edward glanced at Amanda who was still studying the lettering on the whiteboard. He motioned to the revealed words. “Who else is tied to icons and the church?”

  Savannah shook her head. “No one I know of, but I’ve been away for so long. He’s a reverend. I’ve known him all my life.”

  Amanda scowled. “He’s human
, right. Just because he’s a reverend doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of murder.”

  Savannah dealt with her shock by shaking her hands from the wrists. “I just don’t understand it. What is he doing that needs to be covered up?”

  “You’ve got to catch me up. I still don’t understand the message.” Edward stepped over to the whiteboard and underlined the first word. “What does icons mean to you and why does it point to the reverend?”

  Savannah relaxed her breathing and sat on one of the student stools. “The reverend has been collecting a category of religious artifacts called Russian icons. Icons. He’s talked about them to me several times in the space of a few days so he’s obviously very passionate about them. He says he had received the church council’s approval to seek them out and purchase them.”

  “What for?” Amanda scrunched her brow. “They’re paintings, right? Just paintings. What’s the big deal about religious paintings?”

  Savannah rubbed her temples again. “I’m trying to remember what he said about them.”

  Edward pointed to Amanda, then pressed his index finger up to his lips. “Let her think,” he mouthed without making a sound.

  There was a long pause for several minutes while Savannah stared at the whiteboard sitting absolutely motionless. “He said that his personal mission was to ensure that they don’t fall into the hands of private investors who”—she paused again—“will never let them fulfill their holy purpose as spiritual inspiration.”

  “How does he find the icons?” asked Edward. “I’ve never even seen one.”

  “They’re quite small—a bit larger than an eight-by-ten photograph. They are simple yet beautiful. By that, I mean the subject matter is uncomplicated—no background to speak of—and the painting is usually on hard wood with a gold leaf border. If Jesus or Mary is one of the subjects, a gold-leafed halo would be painted on it, as well.”

  Amanda shook her head. “I don’t get why icons are in the message.”

  “It’s not clear to me either, but Dad obviously felt it was important. This is the clearest message he coded. It refers to objects that could be examined or prove something. So, I think this is the last message and the key message.”

  “So we need to examine the icons and the books”—Edward pointed to the second message—“to find the proof we need.”

  “There is a rotating collection at the church just behind the altar underneath the Rose stained glass window. I wonder . . .” Again, Savannah stared at the whiteboard for a long minute. “The reverend must have a nearby source.”

  Edward sat on one of the student stools. “You know, he’s been showing up in the Grand Central District more frequently these past few weeks. Do you—”

  “Right!” Savannah snapped her fingers. “When he arrived early to pick up Jacob today, he said he would drop in at V and V Antiques.” She looked at her watch. “Are they still open?”

  “I’ll look. They’re just across the street, you know.” Amanda sprinted to the front door of the shop. She grabbed the doorknob, turned her head, and yelled back, “The lights are still on.”

  “Perfect,” said Savannah. “Let’s go talk to the owner. He must know something about the reverend’s collection.”

  Amanda opened the door and swooped across the street.

  “Wait, Amanda. Wait. I need to lock up. Catch her, Edward.”

  He sped out the door. Savannah grabbed her backpack, quickly locked the front door, and followed them. She barely caught sight of the back of Edward entering a small collectibles shop almost directly across from Webb’s.

  She was only a minute or so behind them, but Amanda and Edward already had the little old shop owner trapped behind his desk all the way to the back of the store.

  “. . . for the last several weeks?”

  Savannah heard the last part of Amanda’s question asked in a rush.

  The shop owner replied, “Sure, Reverend Kline is a regular customer. He’s here in the shop several times a week.”

  “Good afternoon.” Edward extended his hand, which the shop owner stood up and shook. “I’m Edward Morris, owner of The Queen’s Head Pub.” He motioned to Savannah. “This is Savannah Webb, new owner of Webb’s Glass Shop and our impulsive chatterbox here”—he lowered his chin to stare pointedly at Amanda—“is Amanda Blake, Assistant Office Manager at Webb’s Glass Shop.”

  “Very pleased to welcome you back to the Grand Central District, Miss Webb.” The old man held her hand in both of his when he leaned over the desk to shake hands with Savannah. “I’m Vincent Stannous the proprietor of V and V Antiques. My sincere condolences on the death of your father.”

  Amanda glared at them.

  “Thank you for your kind words.” Savannah liked the gentle old soul who looked as if he had been born in this shop and would simply fade away into its eclectic collection of old paintings, vintage suitcases, and the bric-a-brac popular more than fifty years ago. “My father and I have been working with Reverend Kline on the church’s stained glass for a long time and I was curious about what sort of objects he’s collecting.”

  “Oh yes. He’s coming up on a milestone anniversary with the church, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s it.” Savannah looked over to Edward and nodded. “His anniversary. We’d like to get something special in appreciation for sending so much work to Webb’s Glass Shop.”

  “That’s very easy. He has a standing order to get a first look at any religious artifacts that originated in the Cold War period. He’s especially fond of icons that can be traced to Communist Russia. I’ve also sent some families his way that want to deal with him and the church directly for their pieces.”

  Amanda piped up. “Is that legal?”

  “As is the case with most religious art, it depends. There’s a lucrative black market for relics stolen during the last days of World War II. Many rural villages were stripped of their religious icons and laws now help with their repatriation.”

  “How much are the lost icons worth?” asked Edward.

  “Again, it depends.” Vincent spread his hands out like a book. “If it’s an especially fine example or from a famous artist, it can run into the hundreds of thousands of dollars. The ones with a proper and legal provenance most typically sell in the neighborhood of five to ten thousand.”

  The three of them looked at each other.

  Savannah cleared her throat. “Thank you, Mr. Stannous. You have been very helpful. It’s clear that a Russian icon would be quite a bit out of our budget. But you’ve given us some ideas. I think I know what to get Reverend Kline for his anniversary. We’ll be back as soon as we collect a little more money.”

  They made their way back to the shop and resettled themselves on the classroom stools in front of the whiteboard.

  Amanda broke the silence. “I’m guessing that the icons the reverend is collecting would not be from the proper and legal provenance category.”

  Savannah lowered her head. “I’m guessing you’re absolutely right.”

  “What does this mean?” Amanda picked up a dry erase marker and underlined the word BOOKS in the message.

  “I’m not sure.” Savannah heaved a long deep sigh. “Given what we know about how important provenance is to a collector, it could mean documentation about the icons. But I’m really just guessing.”

  Edward perked up. “It could be the actual proof we need.”

  “Exactly. Dad was one of the deacons of the church and would have had access to financial statements and accounting data. He complained at one point that it seemed he was the only one interested in the numbers.”

  “As a cipher specialist, he might have detected a pattern of expense that no one else would have the skills to notice.” Edward looked at Savannah, “Right?”

  Savannah nodded. “The reverend would have known that any patterns would catch Dad’s curiosity. In fact, he might have awarded the big duplication project to Webb’s just to keep a close eye on Dad.”

  “I ag
ree,” said Edward. “Your dad did seem a little puzzled about that because Frank’s bid was lower than Webb’s.”

  “And that would have turned on the paranoia,” said Savannah. “I think if we can find these illegal icons as well as the books, we could hand them over to the police. It should be enough to implicate the reverend. Both are apparently in the church.”

  Amanda tossed the dry erase marker onto the whiteboard shelf. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  “We have no choice.” Edward handed Savannah her backpack.

  “If it is real,” said Savannah, “it will clear Jacob, but at the same time, be enough to arrest the reverend.”

  Chapter 30

  Friday Evening

  They piled into Savannah’s van and drove downtown to the church. Savannah parked about a block away and turned off the engine.

  Edward asked. “Now what, guys?”

  Savannah opened her door. “Let’s see if we can get inside first.”

  They got out of the van and stood on the sidewalk.

  Edward winked at Savannah, then looked at Amanda. “Be absolutely silent. Absolutely.”

  “Hey, you talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me?” Amanda poked him in the arm. “Goof! I know how to be quiet. I just don’t particularly like being quiet.”

  They walked across the street to stand on the west side of the church.

  Savannah whispered, “Let’s stick together and check the side and back doors. They may be open. We don’t want the reverend to see us.”

  Having no luck with the west side door, they tried the back door only to find that it was locked, as well. They followed the circumference of the church and came around to the front and stood on the entrance steps.

  “I see lights on, but it doesn’t sound as if anything is going on inside,” said Edward.

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Savannah walked up the front steps and pulled on the heavy entrance door. The left one didn’t budge, but the right side door cracked open. “Shhhh.” She put her finger on her lips.