Page 9 of Go Home (Kate Valentine #1)

The proper term for the administrative offices of a diocese, Kate learned, was a chancery.

The word conjured up images of medieval England, towers with turrets, drawbridges, and lattice windows.

So it was a shock to find the Bishop’s HQ in an ultra-modern box of glass and steel, with an elevator that ran outside the building, and a central courtyard boasting a sculpture of twisted wire that could have been an angel, or simply abstract.

An immaculately groomed young man in a dark suit greeted her at the reception desk, and she felt as if she might be checking into a very expensive hotel.

Subsequently, she sat on a dark leather bench and sipped ice-cold water while she waited for someone called the Suffragan. Google told her that it meant the Bishop’s assistant. She took advantage of the pause for a quick catch-up with Marcus.

“What news?” she asked him, in a low voice.

“I mentioned the leaks to Chief Daniels,” Marcus said, in a low voice.

“And?”

“He hit the roof. An Oscar-winning performance. How dare we accuse his team of such an awful thing? What evidence have we got? He’s been nothing but generous with his time and his resources and this is how we repay him…”

“You know what I think?” Kate asked.

“It was him?”

“Yep. It’s no wonder he’s been so accommodating. He’s probably got a little account running with the editor of the Maine Packet . From now on,” Kate said, “we leave nothing on our desks. We only talk about the case when we’re alone.”

“Agreed. On that subject, young Arthur found no footage of the killer. There are half a dozen operational cameras on that road, and they’ve picked up zilch. I also checked the bus station camera, in case he arrived or departed that way, and again – no sign. He knows how to stay off the radar.”

Denton, she remembered, had been exceptionally savvy when it came to CCTV, plotting routes that avoided them, even, in a couple of cases, sabotaging the lenses with black paint. She forced the memory away.

“I’m also not having any joy with the Father’s laptop – my special USB stick isn’t working its magic, which suggests he’s got some extra level of security on there.”

“Excessive for a small-town priest, you think?”

“I’m not sure. People tell them things in confidence, so maybe Father T had reason to keep things secure. Anyhow, I’m going to call IT, see what they suggest. Have you seen his boss yet?”

“That would be God,” she said, and then felt slightly guilty. “I’m waiting for an audience with the Bishop.”

“It sounds like live music’s going to be involved.”

“Stop it. See you back at the Motel Desperado.”

Not long after that, a slim, silver-haired priest came up and introduced himself as Gervase before taking her up a couple of floors in the elevator.

Being composed of floor-to-ceiling windows, Gervase’s office was exceptionally warm and bright, and Kate felt somehow unsafe, as if she was perched outside the building, perhaps on a wobbly ladder.

Noticing her squinting in the sunlight, Gervase drew the blinds, and the feeling gradually subsided.

She was glad she didn’t have to work here.

“I’m trying to find out how many places Father Thomas worked,” Kate explained. “I’m assuming you’ll have that on record.”

“Yes and no,” Gervase replied calmly, his fingers forming a perfect steeple.

“Father Thomas was ordained in Derry, in Northern Ireland. That was in 1984, when he would have been twenty-five. Our records only go back to 2001, when he took U.S. citizenship. So you’d have to contact the diocesan authority in Derry to find out where he served before. ”

“Okay, so what about here?”

“He ministered to eleven parishes. I’ll print up the list for you.” He scooted his chair backwards to a printer in a smooth, balletic move.

“Is eleven a normal amount?”

“There are no strict rules. Way back when, a priest always served six years in a parish, but nowadays, younger priests tend to move every three years or so, and for those closer to retirement, it might be every five or six.”

He handed her the list from the printer. She glanced over it, then looked at Gervase.

“So Father Thomas moved around a lot. Even though he was older.”

Gervase blinked. “As I say, there’s no canon law governing the matter.”

“How does it work, though? Does the priest ask if he can move on, or do you keep a kind of tally?”

“There is a yearly review.”

Kate thought he was about to say more. But he wasn’t. A woman came in with a couple of files, gave Kate a curious look, and left.

“What about the congregations? Do they have a say?”

“The Diocesan Board makes its decisions based on parish priorities. A congregation’s perspective may be relevant, as might that of some priests.”

Was that yes or no?

“What happened with the Curate? Zbigniew.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“He left. There was a problem,” Kate said, sternly. She was getting tired of the smoke and mirrors.

Gervase looked pained. “I gather there was a… certain incompatibility. It’s not always an easy relationship.

By its nature. Younger priests are often full of zeal and ambitious plans.

Older ones can be… more set in their ways.

And they’re typically sharing a house, remember.

It’s not like a job, where you can escape your colleagues every evening and weekend.

The Lord sets for us such struggles, of course. ”

“What happened to Zbigniew?”

“He’s in Poland working with an interfaith group. Went there straight from Douglas Cove.”

That ruled Zbig out as the killer . But this guy – the Suffragan – seemed nervous. And she still had questions.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but Father Thomas was a member of a sports team in his parish. Game called pétanque.”

“I know it.”

“According to the Father’s teammates, the Bishop ordered him to leave the team last year. Do you know why that was?”

Gervase gave her an odd look; she couldn’t tell if she’d touched a nerve or if he thought she was plumb crazy.

“I have no idea why that would be the case.”

“You’ve no recollection of it?”

“I mean, I suppose it’s possible, theoretically speaking, that is, that a priest might devote too much time to a hobby or pastime and might then be advised to curtail it in the interests of his flock, but…”

“But you’ve no recollection of that.”

“If I did, it would be a matter between the priest and his superiors.”

“A priest who keeps being moved around. Just looking at this list, the last parish he was in, before St. Andrew’s, Father Thomas was there for eleven months. That can’t be normal, can it? He’d hardly have had time to get to know people.”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“Why so short?”

“I cannot discuss that sort of detail with you. The relationship between a priest and his congregation is one of privileged -”

“What about if I come back with a warrant?” she interrupted. “That’s not going to look good, Federal agents all over the building.”

The slick charm vanished behind a chilly cloud.

“What doesn’t look good, Agent Valentine, is your clumsy and unbecoming attempt at intimidation, not to mention your bizarre line of questioning and the implication that we might have been in any way at fault.

Now I must ask you to excuse me, I’ve got another meeting in five minutes’ time. ”

And with that, Kate was dismissed. The woman with the files marched her to the elevator; it was on their floor already and she stepped in it behind Kate.

“There’s really no need to escort me off the premises,” Kate said, a little peevishly. The woman said nothing, but gave what Kate thought was a slight shake of the head. When they reached the ground floor, she continued walking beside Kate, eventually following her out of the building.

“Look – “ Kate began.

“He wasn’t a bad man,” the woman interrupted. She motioned with her head and Kate followed her around the side of the building to a small parking lot edged with trees.

“I don’t want you thinking the worst,” she went on. “Tom was a lovely man. He just got too close.”

“To what?”

“Members of his flock. Women. Typically, unhappily married. And don’t think he targeted them. He wasn’t some kind of seducer or predator. He just cared. And he was lonely, too, I think. It’s not natural, all these guys… I mean, they’re not supposed to be just guys, I know. But, really, they are.”

Kate understood. She thought she did, at least. “And the church did… what? Just moved him on each time it happened? Didn’t they think, maybe, this guy’s not cut out for the job?”

“Forgiveness is a big part of the Christian faith, you know. Forgiveness and redemption.”

“If it’s fine to break the rules, why have them?”

“Look at it another way. In the first quarter of the 21 st century, how many young men in this part of the world leave high school and think, “I’m going to study for seven years and become a Roman Catholic priest”?”

“So they can’t afford to lose one?”

“They can’t afford to lose a good one. That being said, things were heading that way.”

“How do you mean?”

“It was made clear to Father Thomas that this was his last chance.”

Strolling back to her car, Kate found herself thinking once again of the Bible quotes that had accompanied Father Thomas’s body.

There was a distinct theme there. Not just of God’s will, and certain witnesses or prophets pointing the way, but of transgression and sin.

The importance of sticking to God’s laws.

And the dire consequences for those who didn’t.

What if Father Thomas had his last chance and blew it? Not with the church, but someone far less forgiving?

+++++

Before going back to the motel, she took a detour to the sea.

She’d had an idea of blowing away the cobwebs with fresh, maritime air, but in the end, she sat in her car.

The talk of priests and priesthood had inevitably brought back memories of Denton, who’d attempted to become an ordained minister, but failed the application process.