serenely and folded his hands across his abdomen. "Perhaps I should first introduce myself."
"Of course. Please do." This was getting weirder by the minute.
"My name is Clinton Kenneally. I am a former Benedictine monk."
Whoa . "You read Latin."
"Indeed. I also spent years in the study of illuminated manuscripts." He gestured to the copy lying on the surface of my desk. "I believe I can be of assistance in the interpretation of...this."
I shook my head in wonder. "I would greatly appreciate any help you can give me."
Clinton smiled benevolently. "You are a bright spirit, Dr. Brodie. I come to the library at the time I do in order to visit you and Ms. Nguyen. It is often the highlight of my day."
I grinned. "It's often the highlight of ours, too. You've expanded our vocabularies greatly."
He tipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. "I am pleased to serve." He reached out to the copied page. "May I?"
"Of course."
Clinton picked up the page and examined it. "These words are from the Gospel of John. Chapter 19, to be specific. They speak of the burial of Jesus in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea."
"Chapter 19." I remembered that Kendall had said that he thought the torn section was from chapter 19. "So..."
"Yes." Clinton glanced up at me. "It is one of the same sections that is missing from the Book of Kells."
I was almost afraid to breathe. "Do you think...this could be one of the missing pages?"
He scrutinized the copy. "The script is in the insular majuscule style of the Book of Kells itself."
"I thought it looked similar, and so did our special collections librarian, but neither of us have training in that area. But it could be, say, an art student's project, or something along those lines."
"It could." Clinton laid the page back down. "Although, if that is the case, it is a very well done project." He looked at me intently. "Very close to what the original would have looked like."
I nodded. I had a decision to make, and I was going to make it right now. "We’ve found a second page like this one, intact this time, and put it into the vault in our special collections area. Would you like to see it?"
Clinton had been perfectly composed, but now he sucked in a breath. "I would. Very much."
“Okay. Let me call the special collections librarian and see if he’s available.”
He was. I guided Clinton down to the basement and introduced Clinton to Conrad; Clinton bowed over Conrad’s hand. Conrad was a little taken aback, but pleased by the formality.
Clinton expanded a bit on his background to Conrad. He’d joined the Benedictines as a young man, after graduating from St. Martin’s University in Washington State with a major in history and a minor in English. He had spent thirty years in the order, most of them at an abbey in Oregon, but he had traveled extensively in Europe, studying illuminated manuscripts. He had retired, appalled and disillusioned when the sex abuse scandals had started breaking in the Catholic Church, and moved to LA to live with his sister. He couldn’t afford to travel any more, but spent his days in various libraries around the city, reading to kids at the public libraries and studying subjects that interested him at the academic libraries.
And improving the vocabularies of two very lucky UCLA librarians.
Clinton and Conrad hit it off famously. I had to remind them what we were there for.
“Ah, yes.” Conrad led us back to the controlled area and let us in. We put on masks and gloves, and Conrad guided us to the drawer and opened it.
Clinton sucked in his breath. “Oh my.” He gently slid his gloved hand under the page and lifted it. “This is exquisite.” He studied the page. “This is a passage from the twentieth chapter of John. After Jesus’s resurrection, he appears to the disciples, and Thomas doubts.”
I said, “So it might be the page right after the fragment that the police found.”
“Yes.” Clinton’s face was glowing. “Do you know that the
"Of course. Please do." This was getting weirder by the minute.
"My name is Clinton Kenneally. I am a former Benedictine monk."
Whoa . "You read Latin."
"Indeed. I also spent years in the study of illuminated manuscripts." He gestured to the copy lying on the surface of my desk. "I believe I can be of assistance in the interpretation of...this."
I shook my head in wonder. "I would greatly appreciate any help you can give me."
Clinton smiled benevolently. "You are a bright spirit, Dr. Brodie. I come to the library at the time I do in order to visit you and Ms. Nguyen. It is often the highlight of my day."
I grinned. "It's often the highlight of ours, too. You've expanded our vocabularies greatly."
He tipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. "I am pleased to serve." He reached out to the copied page. "May I?"
"Of course."
Clinton picked up the page and examined it. "These words are from the Gospel of John. Chapter 19, to be specific. They speak of the burial of Jesus in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea."
"Chapter 19." I remembered that Kendall had said that he thought the torn section was from chapter 19. "So..."
"Yes." Clinton glanced up at me. "It is one of the same sections that is missing from the Book of Kells."
I was almost afraid to breathe. "Do you think...this could be one of the missing pages?"
He scrutinized the copy. "The script is in the insular majuscule style of the Book of Kells itself."
"I thought it looked similar, and so did our special collections librarian, but neither of us have training in that area. But it could be, say, an art student's project, or something along those lines."
"It could." Clinton laid the page back down. "Although, if that is the case, it is a very well done project." He looked at me intently. "Very close to what the original would have looked like."
I nodded. I had a decision to make, and I was going to make it right now. "We’ve found a second page like this one, intact this time, and put it into the vault in our special collections area. Would you like to see it?"
Clinton had been perfectly composed, but now he sucked in a breath. "I would. Very much."
“Okay. Let me call the special collections librarian and see if he’s available.”
He was. I guided Clinton down to the basement and introduced Clinton to Conrad; Clinton bowed over Conrad’s hand. Conrad was a little taken aback, but pleased by the formality.
Clinton expanded a bit on his background to Conrad. He’d joined the Benedictines as a young man, after graduating from St. Martin’s University in Washington State with a major in history and a minor in English. He had spent thirty years in the order, most of them at an abbey in Oregon, but he had traveled extensively in Europe, studying illuminated manuscripts. He had retired, appalled and disillusioned when the sex abuse scandals had started breaking in the Catholic Church, and moved to LA to live with his sister. He couldn’t afford to travel any more, but spent his days in various libraries around the city, reading to kids at the public libraries and studying subjects that interested him at the academic libraries.
And improving the vocabularies of two very lucky UCLA librarians.
Clinton and Conrad hit it off famously. I had to remind them what we were there for.
“Ah, yes.” Conrad led us back to the controlled area and let us in. We put on masks and gloves, and Conrad guided us to the drawer and opened it.
Clinton sucked in his breath. “Oh my.” He gently slid his gloved hand under the page and lifted it. “This is exquisite.” He studied the page. “This is a passage from the twentieth chapter of John. After Jesus’s resurrection, he appears to the disciples, and Thomas doubts.”
I said, “So it might be the page right after the fragment that the police found.”
“Yes.” Clinton’s face was glowing. “Do you know that the
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