True Believers(151)

“Detective Mansfield,” Garry said.

Roy Phipps nodded politely and stepped aside. Gregor went up to him and saw that there was a narrow hall leading to the side, and near the end of it an open door. That would be the door to the room with the other window that faced front. Gregor went in and saw that he was right. He had a full, high-ceilinged view of the street, nearly down to the end where the churches were. He could see St. Stephen’s more easily than he could see St. Anselm’s, although it was a stretch for both.

Garry Mansfield came in, and Roy Phipps came in after him. Gregor sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs that faced the desk.

“So,” Roy Phipps said, “are you going to arrest me now, or are you going to wait to make a splash in the papers for a few days and do it then.”

“I’m not aware that we’re going to arrest you at all,” Gregor said. “I couldn’t arrest you if I wanted to. I’m not a police officer.”

Roy Phipps sat down behind his desk. “Very neat. Are you going to arrest one of my parishioners?”

“Not that I know of,” Gregor said.

“This gets more interesting all the time. I thought it was the official position of the Philadelphia Police Department that I am personally responsible for any untoward thing that happens to any homosexual within the city precincts.”

“Do you mean to say you think that Father Healy was a homosexual?”

“No,” Roy Phipps said, smiling faintly. “Father Healy was a Satanist and a devil worshiper in the pay of the Whore of Babylon, but as far as I know, he was as heterosexual as he was damned. I was thinking of the man who died at St. Stephen’s. Scott Boardman.”

“Were you responsible for the death of Scott Boardman?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you. But you know that. So that can’t be what this is about. Was it me you wanted to talk to, or one of the men of the church?”

“It was you,” Gregor said. “If you don’t mind. I’d like to know why you decided to found your church here, rather than, say—”

“In a neighborhood closer to where my parishioners live?”

“You can’t draw much of a crowd from the surrounding blocks,” Gregor pointed out. “You’re mismatched for the area. You have to admit it.”

“Christians are always mismatched for the world they live in,” Roy Phipps said. “At least, real Christians are. There aren’t a lot of us left anymore. Most of the people who call themselves Christians in the United States are anything but. They’re children of their times. They don’t like to hear the truth when it’s pointed out to them.”

“And the truth is?”

“That sinners go to hell and God hates sinners. I’m not in the wrong neighborhood, Mr. Demarkian. I’m in the right one. The only chance these people have is to hear the truth preached to them and to repent. If God will let them repent. God doesn’t give the gift of repentance to everybody.”

“Were you here, on the street, yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“In this office?”

“Most of the time, yes.”

“When you’re here in this office, do you keep watch on St. Stephen’s and St. Anselm’s?”

Roy Phipps shrugged. “I do what I can. I can’t really see the churches clearly from here. If you’re expecting me to have seen some particular person come in or out, the chances are nearly nil. I do see people when they walk by here, but they almost never do.”

“Do you know who Mary McAllister is?”

“No.”

“She works with homeless people. She brings a van from a soup kitchen—”

“Wait,” Roy said. “I do know who she is, by sight. I wasn’t sure of the name.”

“Did you see her anytime on the afternoon of the day Father Healy died?”

“No.”

“What about Sister Scholastica and Sister Peter Rose?”

“I assume they’re nuns,” Roy said. “But that isn’t very helpful, is it? There are a fair number of nuns down at St. Anselm’s. I couldn’t tell one from the other at a distance, and I don’t think I know any of them by name.”

“Did you see any nuns on the street the afternoon of the day Father Healy died?”

“Of course I did. They’re everywhere, aren’t they? But I don’t think that means anything, either. What difference would it make?”

“What about Father Healy?” Gregor said. “Did you see him?”

“No.” Roy stirred in his chair. “Why don’t I save you some trouble, Mr. Demarkian. The only person I saw down this end of the street all day yesterday was the whore atheist, Edith Lawton. I saw her come down the street and go into her own house. Dozens of people could have gone into and out of the churches without my ever seeing them. I don’t have a good enough view.”