He pulled himself back to the present with an effort “And you think Meehan is behind the killing of Krasko this morning?”
“He has to be,” Miller told him. “Krasko was, to put it politely, a business rival in every sense of the word. Meehan tried to take him under his wing and he refused. In Meehan’s terms, he wouldn’t see reason.”
“And a killer was brought in to execute him publicly?”
“To encourage the others,” Miller said. In a sense, the very fact that Meehan dares to do such a thing is a measure of just how sick he is. He knows that I know he’s behind the whole thing. But he wants me to know – wants everyone to know. He thinks nothing can touch him.”
Father da Costa looked down at the photo, frowning, and Fitzgerald said, “We could get him this time, Father, with your help.”
Father da Costa shook his head, his face grave. Tm sorry, Inspector. I really am.”
Miller said in a harsh voice, “Father da Costa, the only inference we can draw from your strange conduct is that you are aware of the identity of the man we are seeking. That you are in fact protecting him. Inspector Fitzgerald here, himself a Catholic, has suggested a possible explanation to me. That your knowledge is somehow bound up with the secrets of the confessional, if that is the term. Is there any truth in that supposition?”
80
“Believe me, Superintendent, if I could help you I ùwould,” Father da Costa told him.
“You still refuse?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Miller glanced at his watch. “All right, Father, I have an appointment in twenty minutes and I’d like you to come with me. No threats – no coercion. Just a simple request.”
“I see,” Father da Costa said. “May I be permitted to ask where we are going?”
“To attend the post mortem of Janos Krasko at the city mortuary.”
“I see,” Father da Costa said. “Tell me, Superintendent, is this supposed to be a challenge?”
“That’s up to you, Father.”
Father da Costa stood up, suddenly weary. His will to resist was at a new low. He was sick of the whole wretched business. Strangely enough the only thing of which he was aware with any clarity was the sound of the organ, muted and far away.
“I have evening Mass, Superintendent, and supper at the refuge afterwards. I can’t be long.”
“An hour at the most, sir, I’ll have you brought back by car, but we really will have to leave now.”
Father da Costa opened the sacristy door and led the way back into the church. He paused at the altar, “Anna?” he called.
Fallon stopped playing and the girl turned to face him. Tm just going out, my dear, with Superintendent Miller.”
“What about Mass?” she said.
“I won’t be long. As for the organ,” he added, “perhaps Mr.. Fallon would come back after Mass? We could discuss it then.”
“Glad to, Father,” Fallon called cheerfully.
Father da Costa, Miller and Inspector Fitzgerald walked down the aisle, past the chapel of St. Martin de Porres, where Jack Meehan and his brother still sat in the shadows, and out of the front door.
It banged in the wind. There was silence. Fallon said softly, “Well now, at a rough estimate, I’d say you’ve just saved my neck. I think he suspected something, the good Superinten-dent Miller.”
“But not now,” she said. “Not after such playing. You were brilliant.”
He chuckled softly. “That might have been true once, as I’ll admit with becoming modesty, but not any more. My hands aren’t what they were, for one thing.”
“Brilliant,” she said. “There’s no other word for it.”
She was genuinely moved and for the moment it was as if she had forgotten that other darker side. She groped for his hands, a smile on her face.
“As for your hands – what nonsense.” She took them in hers, still smiling, and then that smile was wiped dean. “Your fingers?” she whispered, feeling at them. “What happened?”
“Oh, those.” He pulled his hands free and examined the ugly, misshapen finger-ends. “Some unfriends of mine pulled out my nails. A small matter on which we didn’t quite see eye to eye.”