The Voynich Cypher by Russell Blake Page A

analyze this Holy Scroll?” Steven asked quietly.
    “No, but…” Natalie hesitated for a moment.
    “No, but what?” Steven persisted.
    Natalie opened the satchel, removed a piece of paper and handed it to Steven. Steven took it and opened it.
    The paper was the letter that Steven had sent to Winston Twain a year before, articulating his theory on the origin of the Voynich Manuscript.
    Steven perused the document and a chill ran down his spine.
    The letter was partially smeared with blood.
    The blood of the late Professor Winston Twain.
     

     
    Steven studied the letter in silence, and then squinted as he tried to make out a handwritten note that the Professor had scribbled on the left hand side of the letter. He read it aloud: “Theory wrong, but close. Call Cross, have a chat.”
    Steven looked up at Natalie. “Then he hadn’t ignored my letter after all.”
    “No,” Natalie said. “He didn’t. I found the letter under his head. When he died…” Natalie paused, and swallowed hard. “When he died, his head collapsed on the desk, and your letter was under it. The coroner said he died of a massive aortic aneurism, and that he probably broke his nose when it hit the desk. That’s why–”
    “Yes, I understand,” Steven said and looked at the bloodstained letter again. “But now I’m really puzzled. You keep saying your father was murdered by Frank, and yet you just described a congenital defect as the cause of death. Those don’t add up. Either he was killed, or he died of natural causes. Which is it?”
    “I believe that he was being tortured when the aneurism ruptured. The coroner also found some unexplained abrasions on his hands, but ultimately said they were inconclusive. I don’t think they were. I believe Frank lost patience and came for the Scroll,” Natalie insisted.
    Steven sighed. “You realize that’s completely impossible to prove, right? I mean, you could also theorize that the devil was having a drink with him when his aorta burst. It doesn’t make it so. I’m not trying to be difficult…”
    “I can appreciate your skepticism. But it doesn’t change my opinion.” She gestured to the letter in Steven’s hands. “I wanted you to see this first because you need to know that my father respected your skills,” she said.
    “I’ll take that as a high compliment. But none of this really sheds any light on whether your father was able to study the Scroll and make heads or tails of it,” Steven said matter-of-factly.
    “I’m sure he didn’t. My father and I were close, and he hadn’t called to tell me of any significant discovery. If he found something new about any of his projects, he would call me immediately. He was like a child. Always excited, always wanting to share with me first.”
    Steven offered a sympathetic smile. “I can understand that.”
    She gave an almost imperceptible nod of thanks.
    “How did you come by the Scroll?” Steven asked.
    “He gave it to me before he died,” Natalie said. “He insisted that I safeguard it as soon as he had it in his possession.” She stared at the Picasso lithograph on the wall behind Steven’s head. “It’s almost as if he knew someone would be coming after him sooner or later.”
    Steven frowned.
    “What?” Natalie asked, noticing the change in his expression.
    “If your father and Frank had an agreement to share the Scroll, why would he kill him? Assuming your torture theory is right.”
    “Because my father, for all of his failings, was in the end a religious man. He was torn – his academic side wanted to decrypt it, but he didn’t want to do anything overtly sacrilegious or damaging to those who shared his faith. I know it caused him a great deal of anxiety. Once he’d seen the Scroll I think his conscience got the better of him, and he told Frank that the information contained in the Scroll was best left undiscovered,” Natalie said. “My father told me that he was going to sell his entire retirement