Sign Of The Cross by Chris Kuzneski Page B

corner of campus, fairly isolated from the sprawling lawn that connected all the schools. Boyd’s office was on the second floor of a building that was designed by England’s greatest architect, Sir Christopher Wren, one filled with arches, flying buttresses, and the biggest doors Payne had ever seen. Thankfully, the massive slabs of oak were outfitted with modern locks that Jones could crack in thirty seconds.
    Pushing the door open, he said, ‘After you.’
    There was no need to turn on any lights, since sunlight streamed through a series of recessed windows that ran the length of the wall. Boyd’s desk sat on the opposite side, next to three filing cabinets and a series of bookshelves. Payne hoped to find a computer filled with Boyd’s records and schedules, yet Boyd seemed to be a product of a different generation, for nothing in the room was modern. Even the clock looked like it was built by Galileo.
    The filing cabinets were locked, so Payne let Jones work his magic while he dug through Boyd’s desk. Payne found the usual assortment of office supplies and knickknacks but nothing that helped their search. Next he turned his attention to the bookshelves. They were filled with books on the Roman Empire, archaeological digs in Italy, and early Latin.
    ‘The first one’s done,’ Jones bragged. ‘Feel free to take a look when you get a chance.’
    ‘That would be now. There’s nothing over here but books on Italy. Let’s see: we got Rome, Venice, Naples, and Milan.’
    Jones focused his attention on the second lock. ‘Not exactly a shocker. I mean, his interview on the History Channel was on the Roman Empire. I’m guessing that was his specialty.’
    ‘It was,’ said a voice from the doorway. ‘That and privacy, which is the reason his chests are locked. Or should I say
were
locked.’
    Payne looked at Jones, and he looked back, the color draining from both their faces. Suddenly they felt like Winona Ryder getting busted for shoplifting.
    ‘Listen,’ Payne said, ‘we weren’t -‘
    ‘No need,’ said the gentleman in an aristocratic accent. He was in his early twenties and wearing a red soccer outfit complete with shin guards and grass stains. A Dover emblem covered his left breast. ‘It’s none of my business, really. I just came to ring some of my chums. Do you mind?’
    ‘No, go ahead,’ Payne said, half stunned. They had just been busted in someone else’s office, yet he was being asked permission to make a call. God, the English were polite.
    ‘By the way,’ the guy reasoned, ‘I’m assuming you’re the chaps who rang me last night for an appointment. If I knew what you were after, perhaps I could expedite things?’
    Payne glanced at Jones and noticed his grin. The detective gods were looking out for them.
    ‘Actually,’ Payne said, ‘we have some urgent business to discuss with Dr Boyd, and time is of the essence. Any idea where we might find him?’
    ‘Well, I can assure you he’s not in that chest.’ Payne waited for the kid to smile, but somehow he managed to keep a straight face. ‘For the last few weeks he’s been in the Umbria region of Italy, specifically the town of Orvieto. I was planning on spending my summer there until Charles told me that I’d be more helpful at home. Not exactly a vote of confidence, would you say?’ The bitter tone in the kid’s voice told them everything they needed to know. He was pissed at Dr Boyd, so he decided to get revenge by using Boyd’s phone and helping them out.
    ‘Do you know where he’s staying?’ Jones wondered.
    He shook his head. ‘Orvieto is pretty small. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding him.’ He retrieved a book written by Boyd from the closest shelf. ‘Do you know what he looks like?’
    Payne nodded. ‘We have one picture from when Winston Churchill was still alive.’
    ‘Most likely his annual from Oxford. It amazes me that he was willing to sit still for it. He’s something of a recluse when it comes to