'I can't break the seal of confession,' he protests. 'Her death doesn't absolve me of that.'
'Come on, Father! Even if it helps to catch her murderer? He's told us he's going to kill a child soon if we don't catch him!' I stab a finger at him. 'You don't get off the hook that easy. This is a difficult issue for you, I understand, maybe some advanced canonical interpretation is required, but you need to take a hard look at the right and wrong here. Her big secret is already sitting out there on the Internet for everyone to see. How can you make that worse? Seems to me you can only make it better.'
'Really?' His voice is harsh. 'Let me ask you something, Smoky. If you died tomorrow, would you want me to reveal what we just talked about inside the confessional?'
The question takes me aback. My immediate, visceral response:
Touche, Father.
'Under normal circumstances, of course not. But if I'd been murdered like Rosemary? Forced to tell it all again, and then had it exposed to the world?' I move in close to him, make him look down to meet my eyes. 'I'd want you to do whatever it took to bring that fucker to justice.'
I can see the struggle going on inside him, can understand it. Father Yates is a man of conviction, a true believer who practices what he preaches. He lives his life by certain inviolate concepts. The stability of those concepts, the black and white of them, are what keeps him anchored to his faith while he toils away in the gray areas. The Rosemarys of the world are complicated. Dealing with them must be difficult. I can understand his need for certainties.
'Fine, tell me,' he says. 'If I think your theory has merit, I'll give you a sign. I won't speak directly to the content of Rosemary's confession, but I will give you a sign.'
I can see that even this compromise has cost him.
'Thank you, Father.'
I tell him about Rosemary having sex with her brother, and about how Dylan then took his own life. Father Yates's face is a mask throughout. When I finish, he looks right into my eyes and makes the sign of the cross.
'In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,' he murmurs. 'Amen.'
Excitement thrills through me, overtaking everything else.
'I need access to the confessional tomorrow, Father. First thing in the morning. I'm going to get someone over here to sweep the confessional booth and the rest of your church for bugs.'
He sighs. 'Of course.'
'Alan, can you give us a moment?'
My friend nods. 'I'll meet you out by the car.'
When we're alone, I gesture to the front pew. 'Take a seat, Father.'
He does. I sit down beside him.
'I know this is bad for you.'
He's gazing at Jesus again. He doesn't seem to be finding that same peace and contentment I'd seen earlier.
'Do you?' he asks. 'Do you really?'
'Yes. You feel violated. You feel like the one thing you could always count on has been shattered.'
He turns to look at me, still troubled but intrigued. 'That's a fair assessment.'
'I know all about it. My profession betrayed me, led a killer to my house who took away my family and my face.' I open my jacket to show him my weapon. 'I always believed in my gun and my FBI ID. I was sure they'd keep me safe. I was certain of it, no doubt allowed.' I shrug. 'I was wrong.'
'So what do you do then, when that happens?'
'You go to sleep, wake up the next morning, and get back to work. The work matters, Father.'
He smiles now, and I'm glad to see it. He's still sad, but this is better.
'You're saying that my work matters, Smoky. Does that mean you've reconciled with God?'
'Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm still plenty pissed at God. I don't know about'--I gesture to indicate the church that surrounds us--
'all of this. What I do know is you helped me. Real help, no bullshit. So yes, if that's any indicator of what you do, your work matters.'
Those troubled eyes, again. 'I let the devil into my church.'
'So? The first time you get knocked down you give up? Where's the tough guy from Detroit? Yes, it's fucked up. Acknowledge it, take a drink or pray or whatever it is that priests do to blow off steam, and then get back to work.'
Another smile. I get the feeling it's in spite of himself. 'I'll consider what you're saying. In the meantime, you need to stop swearing in my church, Smoky.'
'I'll promise to stop swearing if you promise to stop feeling sorry for yourself.'
He actually laughs. 'It's a deal.' His face gets somber. 'Please catch this man.'
'I'll catch him.'
'Good. Now, leave me alone. I need to pray.'
ALAN IS LEANING UP AGAINST the car, staring up at the starless LA sky.
'Ministering to the minister?' he asks.
'He's okay.'
'How do you want to play this?'
I glance at my watch. It's after eleven.
'Let's wrap it up for tonight. I'll call Callie and James and tell them to go home. We'll hit the ground running in the morning.'
'Sounds good to me. I'm beat. You call, I'll drive.'
*
*
*
'MR. HARRISON BESTER IS APPARENTLY not a security-conscious Internet user,' Callie says. 'I'm sitting in front of his home right now, choosing the paper stock for my wedding invitations.'
'Did the surveillance show up yet?'
'No.'
'They'll be there soon, I imagine. I need you to stay put until they arrive.'
She emits a long, loud, noisy sigh. 'You really have no respect for the pressure I'm under. Planning a wedding, working this case, riding herd on Kirby, and trying to fit in my nightly sex-a-thon with Sam. Very stressful.'
'Poor baby.' I smile.
'Thank you, honey-love. That's all I need, just a little sympathy now and again. How did it go with Father Yates?'
'It was positively enlightening. I'll fill you in tomorrow. We need to start early.'
'I'LL GO TO BED WHEN I feel like it, thanks. You're my superior, not my mother.'
'Have it your way, James. I have a lead, though, a good one. I want everyone in early.'
'I'm always early,' he retorts, and then hangs up. I shake my head as I close the phone.
'How's Damien?' Alan asks.
'Charming, as always.'
'You know what the strangest thing is for me about James being gay?'
'The idea of him being intimate with anyone?'
He grins. 'That's right. Before he said he was gay, I honestly kind of thought of him as a eunuch. Sexless. I can't imagine anyone putting up with his shit long enough to hop in the sack with him.'
'Takes all kinds to make the world go round.'
'I'm glad about it.'
'Why?'
'He's an irritating little fucker, and sometimes I want to punch his lights out, but he's still family. I'm glad he's got something going on in his life besides the j-o-b.'
I smile at him as he drives. 'You're a big old softie, Alan.'
'Don't tell anyone. Hey, I was watching Father Yates when you were telling him about Rosemary and the
