Jack Higgins – A Prayer for the Dying

II

The Gospel according to Fallon

The Right Reverend Monsignor Canon O’Halloran, adminis-trator of the pro-cathedral, was standing at his study window when Miller and Fitzgerald were shown in. He turned to greet them, moving towards his desk, leaning heavily on a stick, his left leg dragging.

“Good morning, gentlemen, or is it? Sometimes I think this damned rain is never going to stop.”

He spoke with a Belfast accent and Miller liked him at once and for no better reason than the fact that in spite of his white hair, he looked as if he’d once been a useful heavyweight fighter and his nose had been broken in a couple of places.

Miller said, Tm Detective-Superintendent Miller, sir. I believe you know Inspector Fitzgerald.”

“I do indeed. One of our Knights of St. Columba stalwarts.” Monsignor O’Halloran eased himself into the chair behind the desk. “The bishop is in Rome, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to make do with me.”

“You got my letter, sir?”

“Oh yes, it was delivered by hand last night.”

“I thought that might save time.” Miller hesitated and said carefully, “I did ask that Father da Costa should be present.”

“He’s waiting in the next room,” Monsignor O’Halloran filled his pipe from an old pouch methodically. “I thought I’d hear what the prosecution had to say first.”

Miller said, “You’ve got my letter. It says it all there.”

“And what do you expect me to do?”

“Make Father da Costa see reason. He must help us in this matter. He must identify this man.”

“If your supposition is correct, the Pope himself couldn’t do that, Superintendent,” Monsignor O’Halloran said calmly. “The secret nature of the confessional is absolute.”

“In a case like this?” Miller said angrily. “That’s ridiculous and you know it.”

Inspector Fitzgerald put a restraining hand on his arm, but Monsignor O’Halloran wasn’t in the least put out. He said mildly, “To a Protestant or a Jew, or indeed to anyone outside the Catholic religion, the whole idea of confession must seem absurd. An anachronism that has no place in this modern world. Wouldn’t you agree, Superintendent?”

“When I consider this present situation then I must say I do,” Miller told him.

“The Church has always believed confession to be good for the soul. Sin is a terrible burden and through the medium of confession people are able to relieve themselves of that burden and start again.”

Miller stirred impatiently, but O’Halloran continued in the same calm voice. He was extraordinarily persuasive. “For a confession to be any good as therapy, it has to be told to someone, which is where the priest comes in. Only as God’s intermediary, of course, and one can only expect people to unburden themselves when they know that what they say is absolutely private and will never be revealed on any account.”

“But this is murder we’re talking about, Monsignor,” Miller said. “Murder and corruption of a kind that would horrify you.”

“I doubt that.” Monsignor O’Halloran laughed shortly and put another match to his pipe. “It’s a strange thing, but in spite of the fact that most people believe priests to be somehow cut off from the real world, I come face to face with more human wickedness in a week than the average man does in a lifetime.”

“Very interesting,” Miller said, “but I fail to see the rele-vance.”

“Very well, Superintendent. Try this. During the last war, I was in a German prisoner-of-war camp where escape plans were constantly being frustrated because somebody was keeping the German authorities informed of every move that

was made.” He heaved himself up out of his seat and hobbled to the window. “I knew who it was, knew for months. The man involved told me at confession.”

“And you did nothing?” Miller was genuinely shocked.

“Oh, I tried to reason with him privately, but there was nothing else I could do. No possibility of my even hinting to the others what was going on.” He turned, a weary smile on his face. “You think it easy carrying that kind of burden, Superintendent? Let me tell you something. I hear con-fessions at the cathedral regularly. Not a week passes that someone doesn’t tell me something for which they could be criminally liable at law.”

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