Fox’s Game Ch. 12: The Chemist Changes His Mind and a Note on the Nature of Hindsight

Williamson County, Thompson Station

Williamson County is one of the ten richest counties in the nation, a haven for the homes of business people, athletes, musicians, and actors. Some of the homes are barely lived in, claimed as the primary residence for A-listers looking to get a break from California taxes. When most people, even Nashvillians, think of Williamson County, they think of Franklin, the historical Civil War town that houses expensive business and gated subdivisions.

But like New York city, Franklin is a small but loud part of a much bigger territory. Most of Williamson County is rural and quiet. And that peace—that remoteness—is what drew Kristoff Tulowitzki to the county. He is able to be isolated both physically and financially, which allows him to disappear amid the green trees of the county’s landscape and the green backs of the county’s economy.

His home looked the way one who has money but values privacy would look. The backyard led to several acres of wooded land, the front yard, nicely manicured, and the house itself a combination of rustic taste and modern style.

Robert and Julian sat at Kristoff’s dining room table waiting for their host to finish making crêpes. Robert flipped through a thick book on the coffee table titled Underground Organizations. His right hand moved rapidly left to right in a wide zig zag pattern. He spent only 10 seconds on a page before going to the next one. Julian stared at his cell phone, swiping his thumb upward, scrolling through his reading as quickly as Robert.

“Sorry to keep you waiting my good men, but no serious meeting can take place after dinner time without light snacks and a good drink.” Kristoff set his tray at the center of the table, the only spot not occupied by books and notebooks. “We are almost ready to start.”

Kristoff left the dining area and returned balancing three glasses between his palms and finger tips. He set a glass of water next to Robert and handed Julian one of the glasses of stout. He neatly stacked some of the books in order to clear room for his guests’ saucers. “There. Now we can properly talk. The right food and the right drink can comfort the body and stimulate the mind.”

He took a sip and continued. “First of all, I am glad to join your team.” Robert and Julian exchanged a look, unaware that they were any sort of team. “Second, you are free to borrow any books or materials of mine.”

“What changed your mind, Kristoff?” Julian asked.

“I realized that this was more than just a time-wasting game. Also, I concluded that I’ve spent my adult life studying these odd cases from the comfort of my home, and if I ever expected to turn my thought into action, I would have to do more than simply study. I was suspicious at the cookout, but I decided that suspicious was good. It meant that I may be involved in something real, something that could make a difference.”

“Well, we are glad to have your help,” Julian said.

Robert reached for a pastry. “So what’d you come up with regarding the tattoo?”

“The fact that I’d never seen the image distracted me. I finished my equations for the day. But I couldn’t quite shake the idea that I couldn’t recall coming across that figure. So once I got home, I called a friend in Washington, DC who could help me identify any meaning it might have. He said he’d call back. Two hours later he had a name: Knights of the Shadow. Apparently, they were an organization that formed during the late 16th century and were dedicated to the arts of memory, alchemy, and meditation.

“They believed they could train their memories to such an extent that they could pass knowledge between themselves without writing books and thus risk exposure to outsiders. Alchemy was emphasized, of course, so they could fund their plans, and meditation was so that they could utilize mind control.”

“Mind control?” Julian knew that the late Medieval period was a superstitious time. But studying to control people’s minds seemed outlandish even for that time.

Kristoff anticipated the objection. “It was to be a primitive form of hypnotism. You know how you can drive home and not really remember the drive? Well, driving is a dangerous and difficult activity. And they wanted to understand the mind state that could allow you to do dangerous and difficult activities without thinking. How could you get people to go on auto pilot and act without any conscious thought?”

Julian laughed, “Just come up with a pop dance song. People will stop what they’re doing and start doing the steps to the dance without thought of how to do the moves or how silly they look.”

“Dr. Daniels you joke, but that’s exactly what they were looking for. They were obsessed with harnessing the mind’s potential. They were aware of the subconscious centuries before Freud introduced it. They understood that if you could consciously control the subconscious of a person, then that person could be your slave and more importantly, they wouldn’t know it.”

Robert sat silently slowly sipping on his water. “So was Giordano Bruno the leader of this organization?”

“Yes. One of them,” Kristoff said. “He was the intellectual force behind it. But the leader was another man, Giuseppe Laurencio. He could more easily get others behind his causes, he was more of a natural leader whereas Bruno was more of an individual artist. He’s the one who chose the symbol and wrote many of the ideas. There were two other men involved, Francisco Costino and Raphael Renetti, minor players compared to Bruno and Laurencio but worth mentioning.”

“Fascinating but how does all this tie into Harvel?” Robert asked.

“Here’s how: the organization never really went anywhere. No one wants to join a start up that has a high chance of failure, especially one that’s essentially talking about undermining the Church. It’s one thing if you already have the tools, but if you’re talking about developing the tools over time, who wants to sign up for that?

“Anyway, the four men essentially wrote elaborate letters to each other using their books. But it never got out of the planning stages. Eventually, Bruno, like Jesus’s apostles, decided to write down his ideas after realizing that his plans might not materialize in his lifetime. That’s where we get The Book of Shadows. It’s a culmination of their research. And the memory wheel was a way to decode and learn their teachings.

“Over the centuries, the book pops up, going in and out of fashion. And like followers of a religious sect, some would take it as a life treatise meant to be followed literally, while others saw it as a helpful life guide, in this case a memory text. The more serious Knights of the Shadow would wear a wheel as a symbol of their loyalty.

“Anyway, the organization has changed over time. It’s less about memory, alchemy, and mind control. Yet it still possesses the initial spirit of wanting to control information, control minds, and control its funding. It’s possible Harvel was a member. Now, was he acting on his own or as part of the organization? That’s what we need to figure out.”

“If he acted alone, then the implications aren’t nearly as serious. What do you think it means if he’s part of a larger group?” Julian asked.

“It could mean that AquaCorp is some sort of target. Or maybe it’s a warm up for something larger like how terrorist cells will set off a car bomb almost as a practice run for a larger act. Or it could be a distraction from what they really want. Acts like this have several moving variables that can’t be understood until we’re studying them.”

Robert stroked his beard as Kristoff spoke. “You mean we can’t understand anything until we’re looking at it in hindsight?”

“Exactly.”

The three men sat in silence at the implications that their meeting tonight could, at the least prevent another death.

Robert sipped his water and cleared his throat. “So Kristoff, how can we learn more about these variables?”

“Well, we can develop an algorithm for several different scenarios. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s a start. And by tracing the movement of the Knights of the Shadow, we can maybe find out where Harvel would have likely come into contact with them.”

Julian took one last gulp of his porter and set it down. “And the missing pieces start to fall into place.”

Kristoff finished his as well. “This is fun. Dr. Daniels, Dr. McDonough and I will research the Knights. If there’s evidence of their actions over the past few centuries, we can dig it up. It’s your job to get us the algorithms.”

“First off, if we’re gonna be a team, just call me Julian. Second, I know how to spell algorithm. That’s just about it.”

“I know. This means we need someone who knows math. Robert successfully recruited me. You’re a rhetorician. If I’m not mistaken, good rhetoric can influence the mind as much as anything the Knights of the Shadow or anyone else has thought up. Let’s see if you can persuade Dr. Morell to join our team. She understands algorithms as well as anyone we know.”

Julian picked up his glass hoping to get one last drop out of it. He knew it’d be difficult to convince her to hear him out for a conversation let alone join their team. He also knew that you don’t become part of the faculty at one of the country’s elite universities if you shied away from challenges. He smiled at his friends and said, “let’s see what I can do.”

Fox’s Game Ch. 10: The Journalist and the English Prof. Discuss Coffee & Conspiracies

Vanderbilt University
School of Journalism
8:30am

Debbie Hudson smiled as Robert walked into the office. She was glad to see someone who made her job easier. As secretary for the Dean of Liberal Arts, Hudson fielded a litany of phone calls and visits that could make her days as hectic and unpredictable.

An angry student looking for someone to blame because her 4.0 was ruined was likely to storm into her office and complain about an American Lit class before realizing that Hudson was merely the go-between. Situations like that made the day adventurous but exhausting. She enjoyed seeing faculty members like Robert who showed her respect. They knew that for every one emergency Dr. Ben Hoek had to solve, she stopped 10 from even going that far.

“He’s in his office, Robert. Just go in.”

“Thank you.”

Ben stood up. “Thanks for coming in. Did you and Julian find anything?”

“We think we have a lead, but we need more information. I want to know how you decided to put the folders together.”

“The folders from the cookout? Let’s see, I just printed off news articles that I found and typed up a brief page on what Tiffany had told me. Jonathan made copies of what the police had, so I added those. Why?”

“Well, we found a tattoo that could indicate Harvel was more than a mentally unstable loner. Again, it could mean nothing. I want more than a brief bio. Is there any way to find out his hobbies or what organizations he was in?”

Ben pressed the tips of his fingers. “There is a way to find out.” He paused for dramatic effect. Robert leaned forward.

“Kristoff.”

“You mean Kristoff Tulowitzki?”

“Of course.”

“I have no problem asking him, but what makes him so qualified?”

“He’s a conspiracy theorist, but he’s such an organized thinker, he can explain his theories without sounding like a crackpot. I’ve heard he can make you think that Lee Harvey Oswald, the CIA, the Cubans, or the Russians assassinated Kennedy.”

“Interesting. Well, if this is his wheelhouse, he probably won’t mind sitting down answering a few questions.”

“I don’t think you have to settle for a few questions. I think you could get him all the way on board. Let me ask you, what answer did you come up with for my turntable question?”

“Turn–oh yeah. It’s unsolvable. You didn’t give us enough information.”

“Go on.” Now Ben was the one leaning forward.

“It’s a variation of a logic puzzle the Romans developed. How fast would a chariot wheel have to spin before it begins to break apart? It’s about order versus chaos. The Romans were obsessed with unification. They wondered how much unifying they could one do before things would unravel. The answer was…it depends. It depends on the size of the chariot wheel and the strength of the tools that forged it. That’s the point. How much order can you bring to the world? It depends on how big the world is that you want to conquer and how strong the tools are that you’re using?

“So back to your question, it depends on what kind of glass you want to use and how much water is in it.”

Ben made a mental note to use that example in the future. “Great answer, Robert. That question is your opening. I feel like each of you will come to the same conclusion but with different types of reasoning. That question was my way of giving you all something to think about even if you said no. Maybe it’d stick with you enough that my request wouldn’t quite leave your mind.

“Call Kristoff. Begin by asking him what answer he got. Then tell him your answer. He’ll appreciate it. From there, ask him about the case. The idea that a small piece of evidence could link to something bigger will more than likely draw him in. At the very least, he can give you a few leads.”

“Thanks, Ben. I’ll call him when I get to my office.”

“Don’t call him. Go see him like you came to see me. He’ll appreciate the effort. Plus the face-to-face contact will make your point more forceful. It’s Monday. He’ll probably be working in his office with the door closed. At first he’ll be grumpy that you interrupted him, but once you get talking, he’ll be fine.”

The two shook hands. “Thanks again, Ben. Talk to you soon.”

On his way out he waved to Debbie Hudson. She smiled, nodded and turned her back to her computer.

***********

 

Tiffany sat at the coffee table on her living room floor. A whole wheat turkey and cheese sandwich lay on a plate, half-eaten beside a bowl of Cheerios next to her computer, a bottle of water next to that.

She wanted to write an article about the need to understand Harvel without sounding too sympathetic. She knew what she wanted to say but not quite how. She took a bite of her sandwich, chewing while her fingers hovered aboard the keyboard. Her phone buzzed and she jumped nervously. She moved the papers that buried it and answered on the second ring.

“Hello, is this Tiffany Saunders?”

“Yes?”

“Hi Tiffany, I’m sure you’re busy, so I won’t take up your time. I’m Dr. Julian Daniels, associate English professor at Vanderbilt. I’m a good friend of Ben Hoek.”

“He’s doing well. I was calling because he asked me to look into the Christopher Harvel story you were working on.”

Julian looked phone to see if he hadn’t dropped the call. Tiffany’s silence meant something but he couldn’t tell what.

“Hello? Ms Saunders?”

“Sorry, yes I’m still here. What specifically did you need to know?”

“Well, long story short, a few professors here are very interested in the details of the case. I was wondering if it’d be possible to meet up with you to discuss it.”

“Sure. I’ve been trying to approach it from some fresh angle, but I can’t find anything worth pursuing.”

“Dr. McDonough from the Classics Department and I would like to meet with you because we may have something. Do you know where Fido’s on 21st is?”

“I do. Will Dr. Hoek be there?”

“No, but if you have any questions, feel free to call his office.”

“Should I bring anything?”

“Bring everything you can. What day and time works for you?”

“Well, since I’m suspended from work, I can meet whenever. How about this evening after dinner around 8:00?”

“If you get there before me, just know that Dr. McDonough has a large beard, and I guarantee you he’ll be wearing a white shirt. You’ll know him when you see him, even if there’re 10 guys who fit that description, you’ll just know. He looks like he spends his days in a library. I mean that in the best possible way.”

Tiffany laughed. Maybe meeting with two crusty professors wouldn’t be so bad. “Sounds good. See you then.” She hung up the phone and looked up the professors on the Vanderbilt website. Robert matched the description given to her, but she was surprised by how young Julian looked. She wondered if he was married but pushed the thought from her mind. She ignored the urge to do any further research, tied her shoes, and went for her run.

 

**********

Tiffany pulled her car into the cramped parking lot behind Fido’s. She stepped inside and scanned the area. She recognized Julian from his faculty picture and walked to where he sat.

“Dr. Daniels, nice to meet you in person.”

“Likewise. And call me Julian.”

“Sounds good. Where’s Dr. McDonough?”

“He couldn’t make it, but he did give me a few questions to ask.”

Tiffany felt a twinge of excitement at the news that it’d just be them. She enjoyed being out with an attractive member of the opposite sex, even if it were strictly professional.

“Well, ask me whatever you want. I brought my laptop. It has my notes as well as everything I collected.” She sat it on the table. “Before we get started, I’m gonna get something. What are you drinking, Dr. Daniels?”

“The Simple Summer. It’s got cucumber syrup, milk, & espresso. Here, try some.”

“Thanks but no thanks. I think I’ll try something sweeter.”

He chuckled, “More for me. Choose wisely.”

She returned holding a mug.

“What’d you get?”

“The Local Latte.”

“Good choice. Honey & cinnamon in a latte, right?”

“Local honey. Makes all the difference.”

“Of course.”

The two laughed and a moment of silence passed as the mood shifted from casual to business. “So is there anything specific you need me to clarify?” she asked.

She glanced at his ringless left hand in spite of herself. She enjoyed meetings like this because she didn’t have to impress him, and everything was about the work. Any romantic energy they felt was muted by the work that they were here to discuss.

Julian set his phone on the table and pressed the record feature. “We’re really interested in Harvel. What’s his background?”

Tiffany pulled up her notes on him. “Let’s see, born 1970 in Muncie, Indiana. Graduated from Muncie High in ’88. Went to Purdue University, dropped out after three years and joins the Marines. While there, he was a sniper who fought in Operation Desert Storm. Spent some time in Kosovo in the mid 90s. Was honorably discharged in ’97. Awarded the Purple Heart.

After leaving the military, he worked in Arizona as a border patrol agent. He also took evening classes at Arizona State, got his degree but continued working his day job. He earned his Masters in History. Then all of a sudden, he just quits. Calls his boss says he’s not coming in.”

“Did he give a reason?”

“No. His boss just said that he called and matter-of-factly told him he was quitting. No yelling or any sort of emotion. This was in November. Apparently, after 9/11 he’d begun to behave erratically. Some of his co-workers believe he was experiencing some PTSD symptoms.”

“PTSD? Four years after being honorably discharged?”

“Yes, from what I gathered, we’re still learning about it. The illness affects people in different ways. Some control it better than others. Some experience it after certain events or hearing certain noises,” Tiffany said.

“Fair enough. So what next?”

“Well, he then showed up in Texas in ’04 where he leased an apartment for 6 months and paid some bills. He got a job adjuncting and working maintenance for Alamo Community College in San Antonio. No abrupt departures this time. He returned his apartment keys, he re-painted his apartment as stipulated by the lease, he even gave the college his 2 weeks notice…Does any of this help?”

Julian finished his drink and signaled to the barista that he wanted another. “Actually yes, we’d gotten some basic information about where he lived and what he did. But it’s sometimes hard to believe what you read online. Hearing it from you makes it much more credible. Also, you’ve been much more detailed about his behavior and the reaction by others to his behavior.”

“Okay good, I just don’t want to be repetitive.”

“No, you’re doing great,” he said.

Tiffany smiled, the two made eye contact.

“He left Texas and disappeared again. Showed up in Woodbury, Tennessee in ’08. He lived there until a week before Bissette got to town. That’s all the factual information I have on him.”

Julian nodded. He pauses a moment before speaking. “Debussy once said that music is in the silence between the notes. The same is true about stories. The brilliance is in what’s unsaid.”

“You’re interested in the years where he’s off the grid.”

“What do you think happened when he left in ’01?” he asked.

“I think he went to Mexico. I don’t think he went deep into the country, I think he traveled just far enough to disappear. If anyone were looking for him, they could’ve found him. You know what I mean?”

“I understand,” he said.

“I think he was following the War on Terror. He knew going back to the military wasn’t really an option, but he wanted to help. And so he stayed close, maybe doing some illegal things to make money but also observing and getting information.”

“Do you think he may’ve been working for our government?”

“I have that feeling. But if he was, the work he was doing wasn’t official.”

“So we have a smart, educated, dedicated, skillful guy possibly working off the grid in Mexico for the United States during a time of heightened suspicion about terrorism.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he echoed.

“So he resurfaced in Texas and took a reputable job in ‘04. Maybe he’s running from someone? If you’re on the grid, you’re easier to keep track of. But also, it’s harder for someone who’s after you to just run up and kill you.”

“I agree. He’s a veteran, so he has some credibility. He uses that to get another state job, one that allows him to lay low. But not too low because if he doesn’t show up for work one day, the police are going to look for him.”

“Okay, so he stays there until ’08. Then for the next three years he’s gone again, only to show up in Tennessee in 2011. You wanna hear my theory about ‘08 to ‘11?” she asked.

He sipped his drink. “Yes.”

“I think he was in Tennessee the whole time.” Tiffany waited the way you do when making a contrarian statement.

Julian took the bait. “Why?”

“I think he was on the run again. Maybe not for the same reasons or even from the same people. But he was definitely trying to keep himself safe. I think he saw that it’s better to get out of Texas but live somewhere rural enough to sustain himself.”

“So where in Tennessee was he at?”

“I think all over. The state’s not huge, but it’s big enough to hide in. I’m from Knoxville. That’s East Tennessee, all kinds of mountains there. And then West Tennessee is flat with plenty of farmland. And Middle Tennessee has a little bit of both. He could travel through the state for years and make no indelible marks and keep himself alive.”

“Fair enough. We’re filling in the gaps, the silent parts. But we have to make it fit with what we do know, the noisy parts. How do you think that works?”

The server returned to their table. As she removed their glasses, she casually asked, “we’re doing last call. Would you like anything else? Also, how do you want me to split the check?”

“Just one,” Julian said.

“It’s okay, make it two,” Tiffany said.

“You came out of your way to talk to me about the work you’ve done,” he said.

“No, it’s great to have someone listen to me about this stuff for once. I probably owe you. Let’s just call it even.” Tiffany wouldn’t have minded him paying had it not been for the eye contact earlier in their conversation. She wanted to avoid any sort of semblance of a date, especially since they clearly would have to meet again.

“One last thing,” Julian said. “Can you pull up a couple pictures of Harvel?”

She showed a headshot as well as the full body surveillance image of him getting into his car.

“That’s the one, the picture that was on the news,” he said. “What do you know about his tattoos?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. There were a few common military style tats, and a few that seemed weird but nothing that would draw red flags, no gang tats or anything like that.”

“Someone like him wouldn’t have gang tats, but could he have tats that could give clues to the unknown parts of his story?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe. Is there something specific you’re wondering about?”

“Yes, look here.” He angled her computer so she could see what he was pointing to. “Dr. McDonough identifies this as a Renaissance Era memory wheel.”

“Memory wheel?”

“A circular object where you would store images, mental images. These mental images acted as pegs upon which you could place things that you wanted to remember. It was a loci or location.”

She nodded. “I think I get it,” she said.

“Here’s what people did before post it notes and cell phone reminders. They thought of a place they were familiar with like their homes. And they attached what they wanted to remember to the furniture in their homes. For example, if they wanted to remember that Harvel was from Indiana, they’d picture their living room and place something associated with Indiana, a basketball or an Indian, something that would help them think of Indiana. And if they wanted to remember that he was in the military, maybe a gun on their favorite table, et cetera, et cetera until they had everything they wanted to know.

“Speakers would use this technique to remember the order of their speeches, which is where we get the term ‘in the first place.’ Well, as you can see, it’d be easy to run out of places. How many buildings could you really be familiar with?”

“Right, so they invented the memory wheel to give them more places,” she said.

“Yeah, you just place things that you’re familiar with on the wheel. You and I might make a wheel that had the 26 letters of the alphabet. That creates 26 extra spots.”

“So he has a Renaissance memory wheel tattooed on his forearm. And you think this is some sort of clue as to what he was doing in Mexico or wherever he was when we couldn’t track him?”

“Yeah, it’s just not something you get a tattoo of unless you’re really interested in that time period. Dr. McDonough said it’s rare and specific, not the type of picture to circulate in tattoo parlors. One’s not likely to see it on a poster, point to it and say, ‘that looks good. Give me that.’ And it’s not something you would just stumble across haphazardly.”

“So you think it’s something you’d get a tattoo of if you were really into studying that kind of stuff?”

“Exactly,” he said.

“I’ll look into it. I have some friends in Metro I could ask,” she said.

“Good. McDonough seems to think that if others have the tat, that it’s rare. It may not turn up in any initial searches.”

“If nothing comes up, I’ll see if they could call in a favor with the TBI or FBI.”

“Thanks, Tiffany.”

They signed their checks and left. As he drove home, Julian thought about how difficult it’d be for him to disappear in the 21st Century. If he wanted to leave tomorrow, how long before he would leave a trace of his whereabouts? And could he just reappear in another state and get a job without arousing questions about his past?

One thing he knew: despite the erratic behavior, Harvel was not crazy. The apparent chaos of his life was not because of an unstable mind. Julian wondered if Harvel’s actions were rooted more in logic than instinct. If so, then what he did—both on the day of the shooting and the years leading up to it—could be understood.

Fox’s Game Ch. 9: A Classicist and a Music Critic Debate Renaissance Symbols in a Nashville Coffee Shop

May 20^th

“So Julian, you read the folder. Anything stand out to you?”

Robert sat across from his friend in a dimly lit corner of Fido’s. A concert had just ended, so it was more crowded than normal.

“You know, the only thing I saw that seemed a little weird was that this guy Christopher J. Harvel seemed so guilty. Know what I mean? It’s like he did everything wrong that you could possibly do. It’s a little too neat,” Julian said.

“Hmmmm…” Robert hadn’t considered that.

“What do you think?” Julian asked.

“No, go on.”

“Well, if you try to kill someone in pure emotion, it’s usually in the moment. You don’t really have time to think, right? I feel like a crime like that wouldn’t be purely emotional. I’m reminded of Crime and Punishment. Raskolnikov kills Lizaveta with an ax. It’s a violent murder, but there’s no passion. It was part of an odd social experiment on his part. Lizaveta’s sister witnesses it, so then Raskolnikov has to kill her, too. That murder was unplanned and sloppy. That’s one reason why the Inspector Porfiry catches him.”

Robert nodded.

“That’s what I can’t understand. You plan to meet someone on their travel route, you’ve obviously planned some things. You can’t anticipate everything, so maybe you still get caught. But why even risk it in front of all those people unless you want to get caught.”

“Perhaps he wants to be a martyr?”

“Maybe. That’s the only way it makes sense. But if that’s the case, why risk it by weaving through traffic? Why even worry with a getaway?” Julian asked.

“I don’t know. We humans are capable of both great rationality and great irrationality at the same time. Perhaps he’s both Raskolnikov and Lizaveta’s sister,” Robert said.

“It’s certainly possible. What’d you notice?”

He pulled out a black and white image from his folder. “This seems like a little thing, but I noticed this picture of him as he’s running to his car. He seemed to have lots of tattoos. So I pulled out my microfiche lens in order to get a closer glimpse.”

“Hoping that his body would reveal something about his mind?”

“Exactly. I wondered if there was some sort of outer manifestation of an inner condition.”

Julian reached across his body, grabbed his coffee mug with his left and sipped. His right hand fidgeted with his napkin. “And? What’d you find?”

“Well, it’s probably nothing.”

Julian fidgeted faster. “You found something everyone else overlooked, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know if anyone overlooked it or not. We’d have to ask Captain McRay. But I noticed an interesting tattoo. Here.” He slid the picture across the table to Daniels who stared like he were watching a magician’s hands during a coin trick.

“Look through this,” Robert handed the microfiche lens.

“Sorry, but he has a whole sleeve of tattoos. They all run together. They seem weird, a little gothic, but nothing you can’t find at a biker bar on a Saturday night.”

Robert smiled. “Keep looking.”

Julian stared for 10 minutes. “Again, sorry. I have no idea what you saw.”

“How familiar with you are Renaissance imagery?”

Daniels sipped his coffee and laughed, “now you wanna give me a hint? Look, I’m familiar with Renaissance images—Hamlet gazing at Yorick’s skull, Di Vinci’s Vetruvian Man, God touching Adam’s finger in the Sistine Chapel—but I’m not seeing a connection. He has a skeleton tat on his bicep, but it looks more like an ode to Salvador Dali than a Shakespearean play.”

“You’re thinking too general, too…too obvious. This is a very esoteric symbol. Look one more time, this time at the forearm. Right above Harvel’s left hand is a circle. It’s partly obstructed, but it’s a picture of a Renaissance Memory Wheel, not to be confused with the Medieval Memory Wheel.”

“Of course, it’s like confusing ‘your’ and ‘you’re.’ People do it all the time, but they really shouldn’t.”

“Exactly.” Robert miss the sarcasm, he’d already switched to lecture mode.

“Well, as a Classicist, my eye was immediately drawn to the image. It’s not something that most people would be familiar with let alone get a tattoo of. That got me thinking. So I visited the library to see if this was a particular wheel or just something he thought may have looked cool.

“I looked at several types of memory wheels, Medieval, Renaissance, modern, just to cover my bases. But it wasn’t until I opened De Umbris Idearum that I found a match. It’s a book by Giordano Bruno written in the late 16th century. In it he discusses his version of the art of memory. He has different types of memory wheels meant to remember different things—the signs of the Zodiac, the different angels—almost any list of things could be plugged in.

“Well Bruno has this one wheel that’s not quite Renaissance and not quite Medieval. Seems like a mixture of the two. It has Hebrew, Greek, and Latin lettering. It encompasses the Greek origins, the Christian tradition, and the Cabalistic influence that have shaped the discipline of memory.”

Julian fidgeted again. “Okay, so what does all this mean?”

“Well, it might not mean anything. We’d have to know where he got it from and when. That might lead us to something else. Here’s the thing: it’s not a trendy image that you get in order to seem smart,” Robert said.

“I follow you now. People like talking about their tattoos, but they don’t always want to explain them. It can get tiring, and people lose interest quickly. If you want a tat that reflects your affinity for that time period, you get one of the images I mentioned because people have heard of Di Vinci and Shakespeare and Michelangelo. If you have to provide too much backstory, it’s almost not worth explaining. You need a neat, quick story.”

Robert smiled.

“But Robert he knew about a rare image and got it put on his body. How does that point to anything?” Julian asked.

“Here’s where it gets interesting. Giordano Bruno was a Dominican cleric. But like many people in Europe during that time, or anytime for that matter, his faith was mixed with the pagan influences that were part of his culture. So he was a bit of an occultist. Nothing unusual there, but De Umbris Idearum translates to Book of Shadows. He’s essentially writing about things that are meant to be secret.

“So he was trying to expose these secrets?”

“Not exactly. Remember, this is during a time where few people read and even fewer people read Latin. He wrote to other educated people whom he could hopefully influence. He might as well have been writing in code,” Robert said.

“Makes sense. He wants to see how many out there are like him. Maybe form a subset of a subset of the Catholic faith?”

“Yes, kind of. And this is where I need to catch up on my research. But I think he was reaching out to people who were capable of retaining a great deal of information. He saw how much power the Church had. Church leaders and the rich were the only ones who, for all intents and purposes, could read. But when you get to those who could read Latin, the number gets smaller. And when you think of those who could memorize books, that number gets much, much smaller.”

“So you think he was looking for a way to get an even smaller group to control information?”

“Yes. The fewer, the better. No one can achieve large scale power alone, but the fewer people who help you, the less power there is to go around. He wanted a group of people with whom he could share his memory systems. That way, they could control information more tightly than his superiors in the Church.”

Julian nodded. “It’d be like if only a few people around the world had access to the internet and those few people weren’t academics in universities but midlevel politicians wanting more power.”

For the first time during their meeting, Robert sipped his drink. “Yes, that tattoo could mean all of that…or none of it. We have to go further in order to find out.”

“Fair enough, how do we do that?”

“Here’s what I was thinking: we both went through the information in our folders, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, there’s little else they can tell us. We should go to our direct sources. I’ll talk to Ben and see what he knows. Like, how did he decide what to put in our folders and what to leave out? I think you should contact the news producer.”

“You think so?” Julian asked.

“Yes. Her job’s on the line, and she worked hard on this. She’ll enjoy talking about it, and she’ll be glad to know she’s not alone. And even if she wants nothing to do with our leads, we haven’t lost anything.”

Julian paused. “You’re right. I’ll call the station and see what I come up with.”

“Let’s meet here same time tomorrow.”