Larkwood Priory, Suffolk, 1995: Following his afternoon confessions, Father Anselm is stopped by an old man. What, he is asked, should a man do when the world has turned against him? Anselm’s response—claim sanctuary—is to have greater resonance than he could ever have imagined, for the man returns demanding the protection of the Church. He is Eduard Schwermann, a suspected Nazi war criminal. Meanwhile, with her life running out, Agnes Aubret unburdens a secret to her granddaughter Lucy. Fifty years earlier Agnes lived in occupied Paris and risked her life to smuggle Jewish children to safety until her group was exposed by an SS officer: Eduard Schwermann.   As Father Anselm struggles to discover the truth about Schwermann’s history and Lucy delves ever deeper into her grandmother’s past, their investigations dovetail to reveal a remarkable story, in which two seemingly unconnected lives shockingly converge. William Brodrick is a master of crisp historical re-creation, precision plotting, and morally complex characterization. *Starred Review* This first-time novelist was an Augustinian friar before becoming a barrister; his chief protagonist, Father Anselm, was a barrister before becoming a monk. The two vocations offer fitting keys--logic and compassion--to unlock the doors of this labyrinthine tale. A suspected Nazi war criminal, Eduard Schwermann, asks for sanctuary at Anselm's home, Larkwood Priory. When the Vatican asks Anselm to investigate on its behalf, Anselm finds reason to suspect the church itself may have been complicit in Schwermann's long-ago escape to England. In nearby London, dying Holocaust survivor Agnes Aubret shares a secret with her granddaughter, Lucy: Agnes was part of a French Resistance ring broken by Schwermann. Schwermann's trial begins with both Anselm and Lucy still hurrying to make sense of the past. Sticky strands of deceit, loss, and betrayal bind together a large cast of characters, and untangling them is both difficult and painful. Though Brodrick builds tension slowly (he's better at foreshadowing than planting clues), he's mapped his plot masterfully, and his approach to the thorny issues of justice and punishment is thoughtful and complex. Keir Graff Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved "Rich with medieval and biblical allusion, The 6th Lamentation is an intricate mystery of both the mind and soul.... [Brodrick] has written an engrossing novel in which appearances are disastrously deceptive and the sins of the father painfully come to bear on the sons (and daughters)." — USA Today "A John le Carré in the making." — The Daily Telegraph , London "A cat’s cradle of a mystery with the interwoven stories pulled as taut as a piano wire." — Martha Grimes "A masterful blending of sharp suspense and literary resonance... truly compelling." — Jeffery Deaver   William Brodrick was a Franciscan friar before leaving the order to become a practicing barrister. CHAPTER ONE "Sanctuary." "My bottom!" "Honestly." The Prior, Father Andrew, was fond of diluting harsher well-known expressions for monastic use, but the sentiment remained largely the same. He was an unconverted Glaswegian tamed by excessive education, but shades of the street fighter were apt to break out when grappling with the more unusual community problems. "It was abolished ages ago. He can't be serious." "Well, he is," said Anselm. "When did he come out with that one?" "This morning, when Wilf asked him to leave." The Prior scowled. "I suppose he declined to oblige?" "Yes. And he told Wilf there's nowhere he can go." The two monks were sitting on a wooden bench on the south transept lawn of the Old Abbey ruin. It was Anselm's favourite spot at Larkwood. Facing them, on the South Walk cloister wall, were the remnants of the night stairs from the now vanished dorter. He liked to sit here and muse upon his thirteenth-century ancestors, cowled and silent, making their way down for the night hours. The lawn, eaten by moss, spread away, undulating towards the enclosure fencing and, beyond that, to the bluebell path which led to the convent. It was a sharp morning. The Prior had just come back from a trip to London, having managed to miss the main item on all news bulletins. He'd returned home to find a gaggle of reporters and television crews camped on his doorstep. "Give it to me again, in order," said the Prior. He always insisted upon accurate chronologies. "The story broke in a local newspaper of all places. By the time the nationals had got to his home he was here, claiming the protection of the Church." "What did Wilf say?" "Words to the effect that the police wouldn't pay any heed to Clement III." "Who was Clement III?" "The Pope who granted the Order the right of sanctuary." "Trust Wilf to know that." Disconcerted, he added, "How did you know?" "I had to ask as well." "That's all right then." He returned to his mental listing. "Go on, then what?" "Wilf rang the police. The first I knew