8

Fr. Aiden O’Brien had spent a sleepless night worrying about the young woman who, under the seal of the confessional, had told him that she was taking part in an ongoing crime and would be unable to prevent a murder. He could only hope that the very fact that her conscience had driven her to begin to unburden herself to him would also force her to prevent the grave sin of allowing another human being’s life to be taken.

He prayed for the woman at morning Mass, then with a heavy heart went about his duties. He especially enjoyed helping with the meals or the clothing distribution that the church had been carrying on for the needy for eighty years. Lately the number of people they fed and clothed had been rising. Fr. Aiden assisted at the breakfast shift, watching with satisfaction as hungry people’s faces brightened when they began to eat cereal and scrambled eggs and sip steaming hot coffee.

Then, in the midafternoon, Fr. Aiden’s own spirits were cheered considerably when he received a call from his old friend Alvirah Meehan, inviting him to dinner that evening. “I’ve got the five o’clock Mass in the upper church,” he told Alvirah, “but I’ll be there about 6:30.”

It was something to look forward to, even though he knew that nothing could remove the burden the young woman had laid on his shoulders.

At 6:25 he got out of the uptown bus and crossed Central Park South to the building where Alvirah and Willy Meehan had lived ever since the forty-million-dollar lottery windfall. The doorman got on the speaker to announce him, and when the elevator stopped at the sixteenth floor, Alvirah was waiting to greet him. The delicious aroma of roasting chicken floated into the hall and Fr. Aiden gratefully followed Alvirah to its source. Willy was waiting to take his coat and prepare his favorite drink, bourbon on the rocks.

They had not been sitting too long before Fr. Aiden realized that Alvirah was not her usual cheery self. There was a concerned look in her expression and he got the feeling she was trying to bring something up. Finally he decided to put it on the table. “Alvirah, you’re worried about something. Anything I can do to help?”

Alvirah sighed. “Oh, Aiden, you can read a person like a book. Well, you know I’ve told you about Zan Moreland, whose little boy disappeared in Central Park.”

“Yes. I was in Rome at that time,” he said. “No trace of the child ever?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Zan’s parents died in a car accident and she spent every cent of their insurance money hiring private detectives, but there simply hasn’t been a trace of the little guy. He’d be five today. I’d asked Zan to come to dinner, but she’s meeting her ex-husband, and that’s a mistake, too. He blames her for allowing a young babysitter to take Matthew out.”

“I’d like to meet her,” Fr. Aiden said. “I sometimes wonder which is worse, to bury a child or to have a child disappear.”

“Alvirah, ask Fr. Aiden about that guy you saw in church last evening,” Willy urged.

“That was something else, Aiden. I stopped in at St. Francis yesterday—”

“Probably to slip a donation into St. Anthony’s box,” Aiden interrupted with a smile.

“Actually, yes. But there was a guy there and his face was in his hands, and you know sometimes you get the feeling you don’t want to crowd next to someone?”

Fr. Aiden nodded. “I understand, and that was very thoughtful of you.”

“Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea,” Willy disagreed. “Tell Aiden what you saw, honey.”

“Well, anyhow, I walked across the back to the last pew, where I could watch for this fellow when he left. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a good look at him, but then you came out of the Reconciliation Room and started across the atrium to the Friary. I was going to see if I could catch up with you, but then Mr. Devout, whoever he is, jumped up, lifted his dark glasses, and Aiden, let me tell you, he didn’t take his eyes off you for one minute until you were out of sight.”

“Perhaps he wanted to go to confession and couldn’t work up his courage,” Fr. Aiden suggested. “Unfortunately, that happens, too. People want to unburden themselves, but then can’t bring themselves to admit to what they’ve been doing.”

“No. It’s more than that. It just has me worried,” Alvirah said firmly. “I mean it does happen sometimes that some crazy person decides he’s mad at a priest. If there’s anyone you know who’s mad at you, keep an eye out for him.”

The wrinkles on Fr. Aiden’s forehead deepened as a thought occurred to him. “Alvirah, you say that this person was kneeling at the Shrine of St. Anthony for a few minutes before I left the Reconciliation Room?”

“Yes.” Alvirah put down the glass of wine in her hand and leaned forward. “You suspect someone, don’t you, Aiden?”

“No,” Fr. Aiden protested unconvincingly. That young woman, he thought. She said she was powerless to prevent someone from being murdered. Was she followed into church or did someone accompany her? She had rushed into the Reconciliation Room. Maybe she came in on an impulse and then obviously regretted it?

“Aiden, do you have security cameras at the church?” Alvirah asked.

“Yes, at all the doors that lead into the church.”

“Well, couldn’t you check them and see who might have come in between 5:30 and 6:30? I mean there weren’t many people there.”

“Yes, I could do that,” Fr. Aiden agreed.

“Would you mind if I took a look at them tomorrow morning?” Alvirah asked. “I mean I couldn’t see that guy’s face, but I did get an impression of him. On the tall side, an all-weather coat, like a Burberry. He did have a lot of black hair.”

A tape will also show that young woman coming into church, Fr. Aiden thought. Not that I have any hope of learning who she is, but it would be interesting to get a sense of whether she was being followed. The burden of concern that he had been carrying all day deepened.

“Of course, Alvirah, I’ll meet you in the church at nine A.M.” If someone followed the young woman and was afraid of what she might have told him, would that young woman’s own life be in danger now?

It did not occur to the gentle friar to ask himself if his own life might be at risk because somebody feared the information that the troubled young woman had confided to him.