He arrived in the scarlet Scimitar with Billy at the wheel to find Varley standing on the street corner, miserable in the rain. He came to meet them as they got out. “He’s still in there, Mr.. Meehan. I haven’t been in myself.” “Good lad,” Meehan said and glanced up at the church.
“Bloody place looks as if it might fall down at any moment.”
“They serve good soup/ Varley said. “To dossers. They use the crypt as a day refuge. I’ve been in. The priest, he’s Father da Costa, and his niece, run it between them. She’s a blind girl. A real smasher. Plays the organ here.”
Median nodded. “All right, you wait in a doorway. When he comes out, follow him again. Come on, Billy.”
He moved into the porch and opened the door gently. They passed inside and he closed it again quickly.
The girl was playing the organ, he could see the back of her head beyond the green baize curtain. The priest knelt at the altar rail in prayer. Fallon sat at one end of a pew halfway along the aisle.
There was a small chapel to St. Martin de Porres on the right. Not a single candle flickered in front of his image, leaving the chapel in semi-darkness. Meehan pulled Billy after him into the concealing shadows and sat down in the corner.
“What in the hell are we supposed to be doing?” Billy whispered.
“Just shut up and listen.”
At that moment, Father da Costa stood up and crossed himself. As he turned he saw Fallon.
“There’s nothing for you here, you know that,” he said sternly.
Anna stopped playing. She swung her legs over the seat as Fallon advanced along the aisle and Billy whistled softly. “Christ, did you see those legs?”
“Shut up!” Jack hissed.
“I told you I’d see to things and I have done,” Fallon said as he reached the altar rail. “I just wanted you to know that.”
“What am I supposed to do, thank you?” Father da Costa said.
The street door banged open, candles flickered in the wind as it closed again and to Jack Median’s utter astonishment, Miller and Fitzgerald walked up the aisle towards the altar.
“Ah, there you are, Father,” Miller called. Td like a word with you.”
73
“My God,” Billy Meehan whispered in panic. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Like hell we do,” Meehan said and his hand gripped Billy’s right knee like a vice. “Just sit still and listen. This could be very interesting.”
7
Prelude and Fugue
Fallon recognised Miller for what he was instantly and waited, shoulders hunched, hands in the pockets of his trench coat, feet apart, ready to make whatever move was necessary. There was an elemental force to the man that was almost tangible. Father da Costa could feel it in the very air and the thought of what might happen here filled him with horror.
He moved forward quickly to place himself between Fallon and the two policemen as they approached. Anna paused uncertainly a yard or two on the other side of the altar tail.
Miller stopped, hat in hand, Fitzgerald a pace or two behind him. There was a slight awkward silence and da Costa said, “I think you’ve met my niece, Superintendent. He has Inspector Fitzgerald with him, my dear.”
“Miss da Costa,” Miller said formally and turned to Fallon.
Father da Costa said, “And this is Mr.. Fallon.”
“Superintendent,” Fallon said easily.
He waited, a slight, irked smile on his mouth and Miller, looking into that white, intense face, those dark eyes, was aware of a strange, irrational coldness as if somewhere, some-one had walked over his grave, which didn’t make any kind of sense – and then a sudden, wild thought struck him and he took an involuntary step backwards. There was a silence. Everyone waited. Rain drummed against a window.
It was Anna who broke the spell by taking a blind step towards the altar rail and stumbling. Fallon jumped to catch her.
“Are you all right, Miss da Costa?” he said easily.
Thank you, Mr.. Fallon. How stupid of me.” Her slight laugh sounded very convincing as she looked in Miller’s general direction. I’ve been having trouble ùwith the organ. I’m afraid that, like the church, it’s past its best. Mr.. Fallon has kindly agreed to give us the benefit of his expert advice.”