A Prayer for the Dying. Jack Higgins
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good.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Father da Costa said.
‘Because there aren’t many of that calibre about, Father. It’s as simple as that. Let me explain. About six months ago somebody got away with nearly a quarter of a million from a local bank. Took all weekend to get into the vault. A beautiful job – too beautiful. You see we knew straight away that there were no more than five or six men in the country capable of that level of craftsmanship and three of them were in jail. The rest was purely a matter of mathematics.’
‘I see,’ da Costa said.
‘Now take my unknown friend. I know a hell of a lot about him already. He’s an exceptionally clever man because that priest’s disguise was a touch of genius. Most people think in stereotypes. If I ask them if they saw anyone they’ll say no. If I press them, they’ll remember they saw a postman or – as in this case – a priest. If I ask them what he looked like, we’re in trouble because all they can remember is that he looked like a priest – any priest.’
‘I saw his face,’ da Costa said. ‘Quite clearly.’
‘I only hope you’ll be as certain if you see a photo of him dressed differently.’ Miller frowned. ‘Yes, he knew what he was doing all right. Galoshes to hide his normal footprints, probably a couple of sizes too large, and a crack shot. Most people couldn’t hit a barn door with a handgun at twelve feet. He only needed one shot and that’s going some, believe me.’
‘And considerable nerve,’ Father da Costa said. ‘He didn’t forget to pick up that cartridge case, remember, in spite of the fact that I had appeared on the scene.’
‘We ought to have you in the Department, Father.’ Miller turned to Fitzgerald. ‘You carry on here. I’ll take Father da Costa down town.’
Da Costa glanced at his watch. It was twelve-fifteen and he said quickly, ‘I’m sorry, Superintendent, but that isn’t possible. I hear confessions at one o’clock. And my niece was expecting me for lunch at twelve. She’ll be worried.’
Miller took it quite well. ‘I see. And when will you be free?’
‘Officially at one-thirty. It depends, of course.’
‘On the number of customers?’
‘Exactly.’
Miller nodded good-humouredly. ‘All right Father, I’ll pick you up at two o’clock. Will that be all right?’
‘I should imagine so,’ da Costa said.
‘I’ll walk you to your car.’
The rain had slackened just a little as they went along the path through the rhododendron bushes. Miller yawned several times and rubbed his eyes.
Father da Costa said, ‘You look tired, Superintendent.’
‘I didn’t get much sleep last night. A car salesman on one of the new housing estates cut his wife’s throat with a bread knife, then picked up the phone and dialled nine-nine-nine. A nice, straightforward job, but I still had to turn out personally. Murder’s important. I was in bed again by nine o’clock and then they rang through about this little lot.’
‘You must lead a strange life,’ da Costa said. ‘What does your wife think about it?’
‘She doesn’t. She died last year.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not. She had cancer of the bowel,’ Miller told him calmly, then frowned slightly. ‘Sorry, I know you don’t look at things that way in your Church.’
Father da Costa didn’t reply to that one because it struck him with startling suddenness that in Miller’s position, he would have very probably felt the same way.
They reached his car, an old grey Mini van in front of the chapel, and Miller held the door open for him as he got in.
Da Costa leaned out of the window. ‘You think you’ll get him, Superintendent? You’re confident?’
‘I’ll get him all right, Father,’ Miller said grimly. ‘I’ve got to if I’m to get the man I really want – the man behind him. The man who set this job up.’
‘I see. And you already know who that is?’
‘I’d put my pension on it.’
Father da Costa switched on the ignition and the engine rattled noisily into life. ‘One thing still bothers me,’ he said.
‘What’s that, Father?’
‘This man you’re looking for – the killer. If he’s as much a professional as you say, then why didn’t he kill me when he had the chance?’
‘Exactly,’ Miller said. ‘Which is why it bothers me too. See you later, Father.’
He stood back as the priest drove away and Fitzgerald appeared round the corner of the chapel.
‘Quite a man,’ he said.
Miller nodded. ‘Find out everything you can about him and I mean everything. I’ll expect to hear from you by a quarter to two.’ He turned on the astonished Fitzgerald. ‘It should be easy enough for you. You’re a practising Catholic, aren’t you, and a Knight of St Columbia or whatever you call it, or is that just a front for the IRA?’
‘It damn well isn’t,’ Fitzgerald told him indignantly.
‘Good. Try the cemetery superintendent first and then there’s the Cathedral. They should be able to help. They’ll talk to you.’
He put a match to his pipe and Fitzgerald said despairingly, ‘But why, for God’s sake?’
‘Because another thing I’ve learned after twenty-five years of being a copper is never to take anything or anyone at face value,’ Miller told him.
He walked across to his car, climbed in, nodded to the driver and leaned back. By the time they reached the main road, he was already asleep.
Anna da Costa was playing the piano in the living-room of the old presbytery when Father da Costa entered. She swung round on the piano stool at once and stood up.
‘Uncle Michael, you’re late. What happened?’
He kissed her cheek and led her to a chair by the window. ‘You’ll hear soon enough so I might as well tell you now. A man was murdered this morning at the cemetery.’
She gazed up at him blankly, those beautiful, useless, dark eyes fixed on some point beyond, and there was a complete lack of comprehension on her face.
‘Murdered? I don’t understand.’
He sat down beside her and took both her hands in his. ‘I saw it. Anna. I was the only witness.’
He got up and started to pace up and down the room. ‘I was walking through the old part of the cemetery. Remember, I took you there last month?’
He described what had happened in detail, as much for himself as for her, because for some reason it seemed suddenly necessary.
‘And he didn’t shoot me, Anna!’ he said. ‘That’s the strangest thing of all. I just don’t understand it. It doesn’t make any kind of sense.’
She shuddered deeply. ‘Oh, Uncle Michael, it’s a miracle you’re here at all.’
She held out her hands and he took them again, conscious of a sudden, overwhelming tenderness. It