at his computer. “We’re looking for a single group, with a single bishop in charge. They must have either a school or a monastery, or both, since both Whitehead and the victim ran off to join them. I mean, there must have been somewhere to go, a physical place. And since the victim found them over the Internet two years ago, they must have an Internet presence. So, how do you search for that?”
He got his computer up and running and started a search, trying a variety of keywords, restricting his search to Missouri.
After about twenty minutes, a web page for “St. Konrad’s” appeared on his terminal. St. Konrad’s was a traditional Catholic monastery and boarding school located in Chillicothe, Missouri, about ninety minutes away. They were run by His Excellency The Most Reverend Bishop James, who was, as we discovered while digging further into the site, the “last valid Catholic bishop left on the face of the earth.” Traditional Catholics were invited to join St. Konrad’s and submit to the authority of the “last valid Catholic bishop left” in the “real” Catholic Church or risk “eternal damnation.”
St. Konrad’s was home to about one hundred priests and brothers and a boys’ school, both grade school and high school levels. St. Konrad’s also housed a seminary for young men wanting to become priests. Another property, located down the road from St. Konrad’s, housed about one hundred nuns and a school for girls. Children at these schools received a “proper Catholic education” away from the influences of “godless secular education.” Catholic parents were obligated to give their child a “proper” education or risk that child’s eternal damnation.
“What do you think?” Daniel asked, looking up at me.
“Definitely one to check out,” I replied.
He kept searching. We came across another group with similar facilities right in Kansas City itself under the auspices of Archbishop Lefebvre. It included the convent we’d visited yesterday, a church down on 48 th and Main Street, and schools in St. Mary’s, Kansas.
“This is the group that nun belongs to, right?” Daniel said.
I nodded.
“Should we check it out?”
“Put it on the list, but it’s not a priority. They don’t fit our profile. They don’t go around calling themselves true Catholics and all that, and they don’t have facilities for religious brothers, so that counts out Earl Whitehead. Keep looking. But it’s a possibility.”
Despite his best efforts, he could not turn up any other group aside from St. Konrad’s, at least not in the state of Missouri. There were all sorts of “mass centers,” places where Mass was celebrated on Sunday mornings—bank basements, hotel rooms, even individual homes. But there were no other groups with the sort of facilities that could accommodate Whitehead and our victim—a monastery and a school or seminary program for a young person.
“I think we need to pay a visit to Chillicothe,” I said to Daniel, “if only to cross it off the list. It’s the closest candidate, and we might get lucky. If not, we may have to call in the Feds since they can go across state lines. Anyway, we’ll check them out. If we don’t get no joy, we’ll drive over to St. Mary’s and see what’s going on over there. It’s a place to start.”
“If there’s driving involved, I think I should be the one to do it,” Daniel said.
“Knock yourself out.”
IV
I T was a pleasant drive. We saw many of the famed hills of Missouri, their trees heavy with brilliant reds and oranges. Fields stood empty now, the season’s corn plowed under, the ground ready for winter. The sky was streaked with clouds.
Chillicothe was way out of my jurisdiction. As a homicide detective, I had the right to track a suspected killer anywhere I pleased. It was good form, though, to coordinate with local authorities so people wouldn’t feel their toes were being stepped on. So our first stop was at
He got his computer up and running and started a search, trying a variety of keywords, restricting his search to Missouri.
After about twenty minutes, a web page for “St. Konrad’s” appeared on his terminal. St. Konrad’s was a traditional Catholic monastery and boarding school located in Chillicothe, Missouri, about ninety minutes away. They were run by His Excellency The Most Reverend Bishop James, who was, as we discovered while digging further into the site, the “last valid Catholic bishop left on the face of the earth.” Traditional Catholics were invited to join St. Konrad’s and submit to the authority of the “last valid Catholic bishop left” in the “real” Catholic Church or risk “eternal damnation.”
St. Konrad’s was home to about one hundred priests and brothers and a boys’ school, both grade school and high school levels. St. Konrad’s also housed a seminary for young men wanting to become priests. Another property, located down the road from St. Konrad’s, housed about one hundred nuns and a school for girls. Children at these schools received a “proper Catholic education” away from the influences of “godless secular education.” Catholic parents were obligated to give their child a “proper” education or risk that child’s eternal damnation.
“What do you think?” Daniel asked, looking up at me.
“Definitely one to check out,” I replied.
He kept searching. We came across another group with similar facilities right in Kansas City itself under the auspices of Archbishop Lefebvre. It included the convent we’d visited yesterday, a church down on 48 th and Main Street, and schools in St. Mary’s, Kansas.
“This is the group that nun belongs to, right?” Daniel said.
I nodded.
“Should we check it out?”
“Put it on the list, but it’s not a priority. They don’t fit our profile. They don’t go around calling themselves true Catholics and all that, and they don’t have facilities for religious brothers, so that counts out Earl Whitehead. Keep looking. But it’s a possibility.”
Despite his best efforts, he could not turn up any other group aside from St. Konrad’s, at least not in the state of Missouri. There were all sorts of “mass centers,” places where Mass was celebrated on Sunday mornings—bank basements, hotel rooms, even individual homes. But there were no other groups with the sort of facilities that could accommodate Whitehead and our victim—a monastery and a school or seminary program for a young person.
“I think we need to pay a visit to Chillicothe,” I said to Daniel, “if only to cross it off the list. It’s the closest candidate, and we might get lucky. If not, we may have to call in the Feds since they can go across state lines. Anyway, we’ll check them out. If we don’t get no joy, we’ll drive over to St. Mary’s and see what’s going on over there. It’s a place to start.”
“If there’s driving involved, I think I should be the one to do it,” Daniel said.
“Knock yourself out.”
IV
I T was a pleasant drive. We saw many of the famed hills of Missouri, their trees heavy with brilliant reds and oranges. Fields stood empty now, the season’s corn plowed under, the ground ready for winter. The sky was streaked with clouds.
Chillicothe was way out of my jurisdiction. As a homicide detective, I had the right to track a suspected killer anywhere I pleased. It was good form, though, to coordinate with local authorities so people wouldn’t feel their toes were being stepped on. So our first stop was at
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