I decided in my infinite wisdom that in order to find out where Romek was I had to look more closely at where he had been. Looking for clues at the scene of the crime they call it in Detective School.
Standing outside the place looked a normal suburban house 3 stories, big garage, nice yard, marred only by the crime scene tape I was seeing so much of these days.
I started with the basement, the outlines in blood and chalk a mute testament to recent history. Other than the crime scene it was neat to an obsessive compulsive level, just like his office. The rest of the house had a homely feel to it, probably the wife's domain.
Then I found Beman's study. Firstly he had a lock on the door which had been locked when Swaggart's men arrived judging by the neat size ten boot print on the lock side. Who locks a door in his own house?
From the get go something was hinky about the study but I couldn’t quite place it. I turned the place pretty good but it was all honest to god work and home stuff, even his computer was clean. I was walking back to my Dodge when I turned for a last look when it hit me.
The window.
His study had one front facing window, not very unusual I admit but from the inside it was hard against the bookcase on the wall. From the outside however, it was a good 8 feet from the gable end. I trotted back inside and started looking for the trip that unlocked his real “study”. I was on the verge of enlisting the able help of an axe when I found it. A volume entitled “Family Memories”, even I didn't smile at that one. The bookcase swung out on a hinge to reveal a small cramped workspace, a fluorescent flickered on when the door swung out.
I stood dumbstruck at the images on the wall. I expected to find the blood spattered shrine to an ancient horror, that was a given for this guy. But what I didn't expect was photographs. Pinned to the wall in a collage were photographs from various sources, journals, newspapers, yearbooks dating back to the 20's. All of them of or containing one Professor Marcus Lockhart.
The earliest I could see was the Boston Medical Revue dated 1922, which showed the Doc beside an opened cadaver, scalpel in hand. Back in the day that kind of image was considered shocking, now you can see worse on the news in glorious colour. Stepping back I could see Beman had plotted a pretty comprehensive time-line for the Doc's regular stays in Arkham since the 20's. The Doc's scowling face cropped up in way too many newspaper and magazine articles to be discreet, I scanned across several pics taken in and around Arkham for the local rag. The Doc's dress sense was fairly static only his ties gave a clue to the decade. I leafed through various other documents hoping for a clue as to what the hell was going on. Beman had copies of Miskatonic records for the exhibits, even plans of the North Wing. I decided to take what I could and put the rest through Beman's shredder. No sense in everyone knowing how old the Doc really was, but we were really going to have to have a conversation about a change of identity very, very soon.
I filled a trash bag from the kitchen with Beman's prep work and headed back to the Miskatonic. When I got there the Doc was surrounded by open books of varying vintage munching absently on a pile of snack food.
“Ah! John the very man,” said the Doc looking up over his glasses. The good mood usually meant he was about to tell me very bad news that he hadn't figured out was very bad news yet.
“I've done some digging so to speak. When the Spanish first made war with the Maya, Romek was at the peak of his power. They imprisoned and murdered the Mayan God King Pakul. In revenge Romek laid waste to his enemies, and turned their dead against them. He was defeated by members of The Order of Santiago sent there by the Pope in secret to ensure victory against these Pagans. I have some contacts with the Vatican I think I can access their historical database.” His voice drifted off as his train of thought led him god only knows where.
“So he can be beaten Doc?” I said trying to ground him.
“Oh yes. In the meantime we have to stop him getting amongst a crowd. From what I've read he was guileful and manipulative. If needed he could easily drain the life from them and raise an army of the dead.”
On the plus side, football season was over.
I slumped in an armchair and poured a deep glass of bourbon trying to shake the image of a golden faced fiend pumped up like Popeye on spinach stamping across Arkham while an army of undead tore us all into chunky salsa.
If Beman had an Achilles heel it was his passion for order. His files were organized, clear and concise, or rather had been before I stuffed them into a trash bag. Leafing through his research was time consuming and it was getting dark by the time the Doc hit pay dirt.
I had been looking through a pile of receipts wondering if being a member of a secret cult gave you charity status with the IRS when I noticed an airline boarding pass for a trip to Port Au Prince, Haiti dated six months ago. What was this guy into?
My next find was a copy of the floor plans of the old university building. Beman had scribbled symbols and brief margin notes but I couldn't make them out. It looked like he was searching for something. What could be so damn important to him? I looked over at the Doc to see him holding a flyer for some kind of social event on campus.
“You skipping out to hit the town Doc,” I joked.
“Hardly, this was in the files John. I know nothing about it,” he passed the leaflet over.
Miskatonic Historical Society welcomes you to a preview of the Treasures of The Maya it read. Upton Hall Museum 8:30pm 03/21/09.
“John, if Archie organized a function he never mentioned it to me.”
“Doc this doesn't make sense. Why would he gather a bunch of people together in one place unless he...aww crap,” I sat back staring at the flyer. Marcus looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
“I'm gonna check this out, I got a bad feeling about this Doc.” I stood up reaching for my overcoat.