Last Breath Page 7

  “Father? Lucy said it was okay if I talked to you.”

  Brendan shook himself out of his dangerous lethargy and managed a faint smile. “Sure, Merv. Come on in. Help yourself to the coffee and biscuits. Biscotti, I guess they are.”

  “Thanks, Father.” Merv filled a mug and joined him. A retired parishioner with enough energy for a thirty-year-old, Merv was a popular man in the parish. He was also, to Brendan's way of thinking, an extremely useful brake on priests like himself, who weren't always the most practical of men.

  “Father,” Merv said after a delicate moment, “we can't find the corpus.”

  In the haze of grief, anger, despair, and, frankly, self-pity that had been filling him since Saturday, Brendan hadn't even thought of that. Now the back of his neck prickled. “Anywhere?” he asked, knowing it was pointless, but needing to say something.

  “It's not on church grounds. Sister Phil and I spent all afternoon yesterday looking for it. I thought maybe it would turn up in the school or hall. I mean, that thing was heavy. Who'd want to take it away?”

  “Someone who didn't want his crime to be discovered too quickly.”

  “True.” Merv nodded, passing a hand over his bald head. It was a characteristic gesture, that smoothing of hair long gone, and evinced his discomfort. “The thing is, we have to have a corpus. That new directive …”

  Brendan rose from the table, clasped his hands behind his back, and paced to the window. The day outside was insultingly beautiful. “Ah, yes. The return of Christ to the church.”

  “Father?”

  “You know, Merv, I’m a post-Vatican II Catholic.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “I’m too young to really remember the Mass in Latin. But I’m not so young I don't remember a time when all Catholic churches had a crucifix on the altar. Don't you find it a little bit strange that we now have to be told we must have a corpus?” In the burst of ecumenism, many Catholic churches had abandoned statues of any kind.

  “Well, yes,” Merv admitted. “We're Catholics.”

  “Exactly. And while many non-Catholics may be deluded enough to think we actually worship those statues, the fact remains, we know better, don't we, Merv?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “So we never should have bowed to that pressure.”

  Merv was silent, apparently wondering where this was going.

  “I love the fact that St. Simeon's is old enough to still have statuary. I loved that beautiful crucifix behind the altar.”

  “So did I, Father.”

  “But you know what, Merv? We are never going to have another like it, not while I am pastor here. I couldn't bear it. In fact, I don't want that cross to go back up, even when or if we get it back.”

  The old pendulum clock on the wall ticked away the silent seconds. Finally, Merv said, “I understand, Father.”

  “Thank you. But you're right, we need to have the corpus. So do me a favor, Merv, whatever you decide to do about it, please ensure that it's … different.”

  “Yes, Father.” Merv left, taking his coffee with him. Moments later, the phone rang and Brendan answered automatically. “Father Brendan.”

  A whispery voice came across the line, pouring into his ear like corrosive acid.

  “You're next, Father.”

  Chapter 7

  The meeting held that evening in the rectory parlor wasn't convened for spiritual purposes. Brendan was there, of course, but so were Sister Phil, Chloe, and Matt Diel.

  Brendan had been troubled by the call that morning. Initially he'd been inclined to dismiss it as a crank call, but as the day had worn on, it had niggled at him more until he finally mentioned it to Phil, who had stopped by after school let out for the day. It was she who had sent up the flares, calling Chloe at once. Chloe had then called Matt. Dominic had wanted to be there, but he was needed at the hall for a meeting of a grief support group.

  “I’m probably making too much out of a crank call,” Brendan said, giving a half smile. “I’m just jumpy.”

  Matt spoke. “I’d agree with you except for what's happened here. Yes, it may just be a sick twist, taking advantage of the situation to scare you. Then again …” He didn't need to complete the sentence. “There's been a possibility from the outset that this was a message crime, which makes it possible that you were the intended recipient.”

  “A message saying what?”

  Matt shrugged.

  Brendan studied him for a moment. “You also think there's a possibility I’m making up the phone call.”

  Matt merely looked at him.

  Brendan sighed. “I’m glad I don't live in your world.”

  Chloe smiled faintly as she watched Matt bristle.

  “Somebody's got to live in my world, Father,” he said simply. “Because not everyone out here believes in yours.”

  “I wasn't putting you down, Detective,” Brendan said kindly. “I’m just remarking that I’m glad I don't have to live in a world where I have to question everything and everyone. Where I have to suspect every statement may be a lie.”

  Matt leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “You'd better listen to me, Father. Because right now you are living in my world. You need to be suspicious of everyone. Everyone. Because if that phone call wasn't a prank, if it was from the killer, then you've got somebody after you. A very vicious somebody with one hell of a grudge.”

  Brendan drew back slightly, as if in distaste over what Matt was saying, but he never wavered. “I’m not sure I know how to be so suspicious.”

  “Then you'd better start learning.”

  “He's right, Father,” Chloe said.

  “I’m not saying he isn't. It's just that I don't … think that way.”

  Matt straightened. “Then we'll do it for you. From this moment forward, you don't go anywhere alone. Not anywhere.”

  “Now wait. I can't possibly perform my duties that way.”

  “You're going to have to. I can't assign a cop to guard you, not based on that one call. But you can find someone else to be with you. Night and day.”

  “I’ll help,” Chloe volunteered.

  Phil immediately chimed in. “So will I.”

  But Brendan was shaking his head. “I need to make visits to the sick. People need to make confessions in private. There's no way I can function if I’m never alone.”

  “Sick calls?” Matt said. “You mean go to people's houses because they claim to be sick?”

  “Yes.”

  Matt shook his head. “No way. The killer could call and set up a meeting that way.”

  Brendan's jaw set in the firmest line Chloe could ever remember seeing. “I will continue to function as a priest. These people's souls are more important than my life.”

  Matt looked at Chloe. “You talk some sense into him.”

  “He's talking perfect sense.”

  “Yeah, right.” Matt returned his attention to the priest. “The next thing you have to do is put your thinking cap on. I want you to think over your entire life and see if you can't figure out why someone would hate you so much. Somebody, anybody, who might have a grudge.”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of those,” Brendan said, almost smiling. “I’m a priest, after all.”

  “Yeah, well, then I want a list.”

  “I can't do that.”

  “Oh, for pity's sake!” Rising from his chair, Matt threw up a hand. “If that call was for real, then you're in deep shit, Father. And all I’m trying to do is save your life.”

  “I understand that, Detective,” Brendan said firmly. “I do. But I can't betray confidences. I am a priest … first, last, and always.”

  Outside the rectory, Matt drew Chloe down the street until they stood in a puddle of light from a streetlamp, well away from prying ears.

  “That man is crazy,” Matt said flatly.

  “No, he's not,” she answered, her voice tight with irritation. “He doesn't live in your world, Matt.”

 
“That's hogwash, and you know it. We all live in the same world. The exact same world where kids get nailed to crosses, and people carry out vendettas, and men beat their wives —” He broke off abruptly, realizing that was somewhere he shouldn't go.

  Chloe appeared to ignore his last statement. She was focused, with the intensity that was always daunting, on the current problem. “Listen to me, Matt. Just listen. You're dealing with a priest.”

  “He's just a man.”

  “Shut up,” Chloe said bluntly. “Shut up, and for once in your life, just listen. He's a priest. A truly dedicated priest. He's not just any ordinary man. Priests hold some things far higher than life. Priests have died rather than break the seal of confessional, and if you think I’m kidding, read some of the lives of Catholic saints. And most of the good priests I know-consider any confidence offered to them to be equally sacred. Even if he knew who did this, he couldn't tell you, not if he came across the knowledge through a confidence shared with him.”

  “That is so much crap.”

  Chloe looked away from him, compressing her lips and staring off into the distance. “It's that attitude, Matt, that makes it impossible for me to deal with you.”

  He drew a sharp breath, realizing she was talking about him now. About them, and what once he had hoped would be. And he didn't like what he was hearing.

  “We're talking about the spiritual here,” Chloe said after a moment, her tone quieting and even softening a bit. “We're talking about a man who considers his pledge to God, his immortal soul, and the immortal souls of everyone else to be more important than his own life. More important, even, than catching a murderer. We're talking about a man who is willing to die for his beliefs. A man who is willing to follow Christ through Gethsemane and onto the cross.”

  “I’m willing to die for what I believe in,” he said, almost harshly.

  She astonished him then, reaching up to touch the scar on his cheek with gentle fingertips. “I know you are.” She dropped her hand. “But you see this as a war between the good guys and the bad guys. Father doesn't.”

  “No? How does he see it?”

  “He sees it as a battle for salvation, where there are only good guys, and other good guys who haven't yet realized how to be good. He believes that everyone is worthy of salvation. That's a far cry from believing some people deserve death.”

  “Oh, horseshit. The man believes in hell. What's different about that? How can you separate that from capital punishment?”

  “It's very simple, Matt.”

  “Yeah.”

  She half smiled at him. “Yeah. You see, you believe a single act can deserve the ultimate punishment. No redemption allowed. Father Brendan believes in redemption. So long as there is breath in the body, the soul can be saved. And that's why he'll die first.”

  She paused for a moment, looking up at the few stars whose sparkle made its way through the ambient city light, then turned to him. “The difference, in a word, is hope. Father Brendan lives in a world that sparkles with hope. A world that literally drips with the promise and security of God's love. It's not a perfect world. He sees the same ugliness the rest of us do. I’m sure he's heard his share of hurt and pain and selfishness and horror in confession. He's seen families ripped apart and grieving. He was a navy chaplain for years. He's had to see a lot. But he sees it through eyes of grace. Through eyes of love. Through eyes of hope. And that's why this is so difficult for him.”

  He looked at her. At the passion and conviction of her words, and the wistful sadness in her eyes. She was talking about something she admired and did not have for herself. It hurt to watch.

  “Chloe, he may have to be a priest, but I have to be a cop. That puts you in a difficult position.”

  At that she smiled. “And that's life, Matt. We all have our roles to play.”

  “You'll keep an eye on him?”

  “You know I will. And I’ll get some help in doing it. But there are places protectors won't be allowed to go. And you need to deal with that, Matt.” She started to turn away. “Good night. I’ll call you in the morning with any information I might get.”

  He walked away, not wondering where her loyalties lay, but how she could cling to them with all that had happened to her. And whether he would have to shred them to stop a killer.

  Chloe went back to the rectory, trying with each step to settle the emotional turmoil Matt had managed to stir up in her. She vastly preferred to observe the world from a distance and feel as little as possible. Feelings only hurt. And Matt had, indirectly, caused her to face some feelings she definitely wanted on ice.

  In the rectory she found Phil and Brendan still in the parlor, joined now by Dominic, who had finished with his duties for the day. Dominic, she thought, was a question mark. A man sent by the chancery who had little or no pastoral experience. A man who might well be in the pocket of someone in the diocese who didn't care for Brendan. The thought wouldn't have occurred to her last week, but tonight it did, after what Brendan had said about the calls from the diocese. Dominic might be here as a spy, or worse. She was cynical about church politics. While there were plenty of good men of the cloth, there were plenty who were more interested in power than souls. She didn't know which group Dominic belonged to.

  Phil had made some tea and poured her a cup as she sat in the remaining armchair. No sofa in the rectory parlor, only armchairs. Old armchairs with worn upholstery.

  “Thanks, Phil.”

  Phil smiled, an expression that lit up her face. She might refer to herself as a stop sign in order to make the children laugh, but when she smiled, you forgot her beanpole build, her freckles, and her flaming red hair. All you saw was light.

  “Okay,” Chloe said, taking charge as she was wont to do, “we need to protect Father Brendan.”

  “I already said —”

  “I know what you said, Father. But within the limits of priesthood, we can still protect you. We won't go into the confessional with you, but we can still be in the church nearby. When you go to visit the sick, somebody can ride shotgun and remain outside.”

  Brendan looked down at the floor, sighing heavily. “I don't see any reason to go overboard. One phone call, which might be a prank, isn't reason to put me under full-time guard.”

  Dominic spoke. “One phone call, which might not be a prank, following a terrible murder in the church, is ample reason. I agree with Chloe, Brendan. This is not the time to be foolhardy. I was assigned here to help with the pastoral duties, and I’m willing to take on the majority of home visits.”

  “Some parishioners might not be happy about that.”

  “Then let them be unhappy,” Dominic said firmly. “A priest is a priest, and my anointings and absolutions are as valid as yours.”

  Brendan looked wryly at him. “At the very least.”

  “So I’ll take over what I can. Eucharistic visits can be made by Eucharistic ministers. I’ll handle any anointings and confessions in private homes.”

  “As long as there isn't a conflict.” Brendan sighed. “All right. All right. I think this is extreme, but apparently none of you will be happy unless I agree.”

  “It's only a temporary measure,” Phil said. “Until the killer is caught.”

  Sorrow again shadowed Brendan's face. “That poor young man.” He looked at Chloe. “Do the police have any leads at all?”

  “None they're sharing with me. Yet. But I can tell you one thing, Father. It might make this a little easier for you. Steve was shot in the back of the head. He never knew what hit him.”

  “He was dead before he was crucified?”

  “Absolutely. There's no doubt. He died instantly from the gunshot.”

  “Thank God for small mercies.” Brendan bowed his head a moment, as if saying a silent prayer.

  “And now,” said Chloe briskly, “the best thing you can do for yourself and for Steve is to try to remember if there's anybody in the world who might have a serious grudge against you.”

 
Brendan raised his head and looked at all of them. “Do you know how appalling it is to consider the possibility that someone might have done that to Steve to get even with me? Do you have any idea how that sickens my soul?”

  Dominic leaned forward. “It's appalling. I know it is. But sometimes we have to look into the jaws of hell. Steve's murderer has to be found. Not just because he killed Steve. Not just because he might be after you. But because he might go after others. What's more, Brendan, what hope is there of saving his soul if he isn't found? If he keeps this sin locked forever in his own heart, he'll never be saved.”

  Brendan nodded slowly. “You're right. I know you're right. But to tell you the God's honest truth, I never thought anybody hated me that much. And I hope to God I never did anything bad enough to make someone willing to do this.”

  Chloe shrugged. “None of us wants to believe a thing like that. If it's any consolation, Father, this killer, or these killers, are sick twists. It might not have taken all that much to trigger them.”

  Phil nodded agreement. “I received death threats at my last assignment. And I didn't do anything at all.”

  “You see?” Dominic said. “It might just be some small thing, Brendan. A small thing. Or it might be nothing at all. But you need to think about it anyway.”

  But Brendan's attention had turned to Phil. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You should never have been treated that way.”

  Phil shrugged and smiled one of her patented smiles. “Nobody ever should be treated that way. But it happens.”

  Chloe spoke. “So help us. Father. Help us in any way you can.”

  “I will,” he said. “Of course I will. But right now … right now I need to go to the church and pray.”

  He was not allowed to go alone. Phil and Chloe accompanied him and sat behind him in the pews. He reminded himself to keep his prayers brief, because both of them needed to get home to sleep, for they had work in the morning. So did he, but he was used to getting very little sleep for long periods.