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Her notebook lay open on her lap, full of question marks.Was there a reason for Father Tom’s target practice?Did he think he might need to defend himself?And why such a strong reaction to Zbigniew, the curate?Everyone had described Father Tom as affable, friendly, a joiner-in.He cleaned up after parties.Put his own safety on the line when he saw someone being bullied.And yet, he’d had this stark, disproportionate response to a complaint.
She looked over at the skaters.All boys, in huge, tent-like jeans and tops.And watching them, from a nearby bench, a tight huddle of girls.Ninth or tenth grade, she reckoned, the girls already resembling young women, the boys stuck in a cruel limbo, with some features maturing before others, soft rosy cheeks alongside scrappy moustaches, strong jaws pebble-dashed with zits.The girls seemed to take the business of being there, on the square, very seriously – muttering to each other, occasionally conveying something in sign language.The boys were trying to pretend the girls weren’t there.
“Hey skater grrl, buy yous a waffle?”
Kate smiled at Marcus.“Let’s wait till the queue’s a bit shorter.”
“Who put you on to these guys?”Marcus asked, heaving himself onto the bench beside her.
“Mandala, the housekeeper.She said Tom and a bunch of guys used to meet up here and playpétanque.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a French game with bowling balls.I practically had to draw blood to get that out of her.”
“Didn’t want to talk?”
“Not that.Happy to talk but… just going round and round in circles.Maddening.Anyway, what did you get?”
“Okay.You know who was the last person to see the Father alive?Other than the killer, I mean.”
“Someone who went to Confession?”
“Mary Kerrigan.The one whose husband disappeared after Tom had a word in his ear.”
“Did he disappear?”
“Not really.She didn’t hear from him for a couple years, then she got a letter from Honolulu.Says he needs thirty grand or he’s going to jail.Guess the rest.”
“She sent him thirty grand and he vanished.”
“Not quite.She sends him thirty grand, he doesn’t go to jail.Then, a few months later, he says he’s onto a massive score – something to do with stocks and shares.If she hands over the remainder of her life-savings, he’ll quadruple it, guaranteed.So she sends him another thirty grand; that’s all she’s got.Nowhe’s vanished.”
“Asshole.And poor woman.Poor, stupid woman.”
“She’s still got a picture of him in a little silver frame.Mean-looking bastard.”
Kate sighed.“Did she see if anyone came into the church?”
“She said someone was coming up the path just as she was walking down.Confession is six-thirty to seven-thirty; she was a little bit late getting there, and she ended up leaving the church at about seven-forty.”
“Description?”
“Hood up.‘All bundled up,’ she said – I asked her what she meant and she said, like wearing a cloak or a shawl on top of a big coat.Strong smell.”
“Of what?”
“Diesel.And he’s a big guy, she said, bigger than me.”
“We need CCTV, doorbell cameras, see where he came from, where he went.”
“Young Arthur’s on it.And I got something else.Bangor PD.Attacks on homeless tents… it’s like a sick local pastime.Four in the last twenty-two months.”
“Four deaths?”
“Four attempts.Two successes, if you want to call it that.”
“So we don’t know if it’s linked to the death of Father Tom.”
