She said, “A monk may have just been killed.”
The voice did not pause. “Then take the lesson seriously. Stop digging or you’ll join the others in the ground.”
The call ended.
For three seconds Elena kept driving in silence. Then she exited at the next truck stop, went into the women’s restroom, locked herself into a stall, and opened the ledger on her knees.
On the inside cover, Father Jude had tucked one more page beneath the binding.
It was not a record.
It was a photograph.