15

How much had Gloria told that old priest? It was the question that haunted him day and night. She was beginning to crack, and now at this crucial time, when it all was coming to a head, when everything he had planned during these two years was about to happen, she had rushed into that room.

He had been born a Catholic, and knew that if what Gloria said was under the seal of the confessional, the priest would have to keep his mouth shut. But he wasn’t sure if Gloria was a Catholic, and if she wasn’t, and just had gone in for a little heart-to-heart chat, maybe the old priest would consider it okay to say that Zan had a lookalike, someone who was impersonating her.

If that happened the cops would keep digging, and it would soon be all over… .

The old priest. That neighborhood around West Thirty-first Street wasn’t any great shakes, he thought. And stray bullets were hitting people all over the city these days. Why not one more?

He would have to take care of it himself. He couldn’t take the chance of having one more person alive who could tie him to the disappearance of Matthew Carpenter. The best thing would be to go back into the church, and try to get a line on when that priest was hearing confessions. There must be a schedule.

But that might take time. Maybe if I call, he thought, and ask when Fr. O’Brien is scheduled to hear confession next, whoever answers won’t think it unusual. I’m sure some people want to talk to the same guy about their problems every time they go. Besides I can’t sit around like this and wait for him to go to the cops.

The decision made, he placed the call and was told that Fr. O’Brien was scheduled for the next two weeks, Monday through Friday from four to six P.M.

It’s about time for me to go to confession, he thought.

Before he paid Gloria to mind the child, he’d known that she was a consummate makeup artist. She told him that she sometimes made up herself and her friends to look like celebrities, and that they’d fooled everyone. She said they all had a good laugh when according to Page Six of the Post the celebrities they were mimicking were sighted having a quiet dinner at an out-of-the-way spot and graciously signing autographs.

“You wouldn’t believe how often we don’t get a check,” she had giggled.

I always wear the wig she gave me when we meet in town, he thought. With that wig and the raincoat and dark glasses, even my best friends wouldn’t know me.

He laughed aloud. As a kid, he’d always enjoyed being in plays. His favorite was when he had played Thomas à Becket in Murder in the Cathedral.