Precious Blood(35)

A goat.

He watched the woman in the red coat tug the goat through the church’s side door and shivered. There were none of those handy electronic billboards near St. Agnes’s, so he had no way of knowing the temperature, but he was sure it was well below zero. As always, it was windy. Colchester seemed to have a patent on the wind. He flipped up the collar of his coat, tightened his scarf, and started walking.

Both the convent and Rosary House were empty. Both the church and the school were busy with their own work. That left the rectory.

Gregor climbed the low metal-edged concrete steps to the rectory’s front door, and rang the bell.





[2]


It was Father Declan Boyd who answered Gregor’s ring—not Andy Walsh, whom Gregor had been hoping for, but still hadn’t met. Gregor supposed Andy Walsh was over at the church, doing whatever he had to do to help out with what was going on over there. Declan Boyd looked like he’d just roused himself from an unintentional doze. His black pants and Roman-collared black shirt were rumpled, and his eyes were red and bleary. Somewhere behind him, a television was blaring out what sounded like a political speech.

Declan Boyd looked him over. “Oh,” he said, “Mr. Demarkian. Oh. Well. Um. Ah—”

“Can I come in?” Gregor asked him.

Boyd got control of himself, a little. “Of course,” he said, stepping back. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I, uh—”

But Gregor had stepped inside by then. Standing in the tiny foyer, he had no trouble figuring out what was making Declan Boyd so nervous. The television wasn’t tuned to a political speech, but to a sermon. And what a sermon it was, too.

“The Roman Catholic Church,” the voice shouted, “calls itself Holy. The Roman Catholic Church calls itself Apostolic. Do you know what that means? That means ‘from the apostles.’ From Paul and Peter and James and John and all the other holy men Christians all over the world look to for guidance in their search for a personal relationship with Our Lord Jesus Christ. Well, let me tell you something, brothers and sisters. The Roman Catholic Church is a liar. She is not holy. She is not from the apostles. She is the Whore of Babylon and the engine of Hell, and she is on a worldwide mission to drag every soul on earth down into the pit in which she lives. I tell you, if you are to be saved, you have to do more than find Christ in this world. You have to strike out at His enemies, and His greatest enemy is the Church of Rome.”

Gregor Demarkian gave Father Declan Boyd a long, searching look. Declan Boyd blushed.

“Ah,” he said. “Yes. Well—”

“What is that?” Gregor asked.

“Barry Field,” Boyd said resignedly. “He used to be Catholic, you know. He used to be part of St. Agnes Parish. In the old days.”

Gregor had no idea what Boyd meant by the “old days”—pre-Vatican II or the week before last. “What is this Field person now?” he asked. “The head of the local Know-Nothing party?”

“He’s a television preacher,” Boyd said. “Just regional, you know. Although there have been rumors.”

“Of what?”

“Of his getting on one of those Christian networks.”

“Wonderful,” Gregor said. He was in, but the door was still open behind him. He’d been so caught up by the sermon, he’d forgotten to close it. Now he remembered. “Does Cardinal O’Bannion know you listen to that nonsense? Does Father Walsh?”

“If it wasn’t for Father Walsh, I wouldn’t listen to it,” Boyd said. “After the—uh—talk, well, there’s this kind of talk show. Father Walsh is his guest on this talk show.”

“His guest,” Gregor repeated, stunned.

“Father Walsh is his guest a lot. Barry Field’s guest, I mean. It’s all very well and good for the Cardinal to say we shouldn’t watch the thing, but there’s the instinct of self-preservation to be satisfied. I’m sorry. I’m not making any sense. It’s just that—”

“If you’re going to get in trouble, you want to know about it ahead of time.” Gregor nodded. “I can see the point in that. Does that television have to be so loud?”

“Of course not.” Boyd turned and shot through an archway to the side of the main door, and Gregor followed him. He found himself in a small living room furnished with two worn couches, three rickety chairs, and an enormous television set. Declan Boyd was standing in front of the television set, fiddling with the controls. Barry Field’s voice was sinking to a whisper.

“When he told me he was going to go do this on Holy Thursday, I couldn’t believe it. I mean, he was the one who insisted on taking the ten o’clock Mass. If he was going to be out half the morning, he should have taken the one tonight. What if he’s late? The ten o’clock is a Mass for children, for Heaven’s sake. Children get restless.”