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“The Catholic church frowns on suicide, doesn’t it?” I ask.
He winces and takes some time to think about how to answer. He’s leaning against the desk so hard his knuckles are turning white.
“There is a difference between being at peace with your life ending and wanting to die,” he says. “Ana was at peace with it. She was very ill and she always understood, deep down, that she was not long for this world. This is where her wish to end it all came from. But she was content with letting nature take its course rather than forcing it. I taught her that over the years.”
I stand up to and offer my arm to Eva.
“You want to see Pontius now?” the priest asks as he straightens up. “Come.”
He doesn’t wait for us as he strides out of the room, and he’s all the way at the front door by the time we exit the room.
“You just follow at your own pace,” he says, glancing at Eva’s belly and smiling. “I’ll go ahead and see if he’s there, and if not, I’ll go find him.”
Once again, he doesn’t wait for us to reply one way or another before he exits the building and shutting the door firmly behind him.
“He sure is in a hurry to stop talking to us,” Eva says. “And he likes to walk along the river at night. That’s significant, don’t you think?”
I shrug and pull open the door, letting her exit first. “Yes, it is. As is the fact that he found Ana and her boyfriend, but only managed to save her. I’d like to ask him a few more questions about that actually. Though on the whole, he doesn’t strike me as overly psychopathic.”
Snow is still falling outside, in even fatter balls now, and visibility is maybe a couple of meters. The priest is nowhere to be seen and I can only just make out the gates of the cemetery, but not the entrance to the church beyond.
“The thing about psychopaths is that it’s very hard to spot them,” Eva says as she gingerly descends the three steps. “Even when you know without a shadow of doubt that they committed the most heinous crimes, they can come across as the nicest people you’ve ever met. Even nicer than most people, sometimes.”
She should know. She’s interviewed enough of them over the years and been fooled by a couple of them.
“But you usually only have to push them a little and they crack,” I say and get a very slanted sideways look from her.
It’s a short walk to the church, but snow is already clinging to her long hair. I’m more than ready to have this conversation later, somewhere dry and warm, and she seems to be of the same idea. If investigating a prominent doctor would be a nightmare, then investigating a Catholic priest would be something closer to hell, I’m sure. But we’ll have to.
* * *
EVA
Compared to the last few days, it’s actually quite warm outside today, definitely above freezing. Snow falling always does that. But the inside of the church is damp, dank and very cold.
The few lit candles to the left of the entrance are not giving off much by way of light, and most of the paintings and frescoes covering the walls are barely visible. The colors in the stained glass windows are also rather dull and washed out due to the grey light outside.
Churches always give me a sense of peace. I don’t know if it’s all the stone or all the praying that goes on inside them, but every time I enter one, I feel like I’ve left the outside world behind. It’s no different now.
Father Ignatius is talking to a short, stocky, bald man near the altar, who has the sleeves of his habit rolled up. He looks to be in his fifties and was in the middle of heatedly explaining something to Ignatius when we walked in, but they both fall silent as we approach along the main aisle running from the door to the altar.
An open tool chest is on the floor beside the first row of pews, there’s a bright workman’s reflector illuminating the wood, and a small electrical radiator is heating up the space. The pool of warmth we enter as we stop beside them is very welcome.
“These are the investigators I was telling you about,” Ignatius introduces us. “They have a few questions about the men you fish with by the river.”
Pontius clears his throat as he gives each of us a once over with a hard look in his widespread, dark eyes. “I’m happy to answer your questions.”
He doesn’t look it. He looks like he’d prefer to still be ranting at Ignatius, which is what we interrupted him doing.
“We were told a man in a long, dark fisherman’s coat has been loitering by the river near the spot where Ana Kobe was killed,” Mark says. “He’s about as tall as me and wide in the shoulders. Keeps his face hidden. Does that sound like anyone you know?”
The description sounds so vague that I’m not at all surprised when Pontius shakes his head after thinking about it for a few seconds. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. Maybe if you could show me a picture.”
“We don’t have a picture,” I say.
“But it could be one of the fishermen, couldn’t it?” Ignatius asks helpfully and Pontius shrugs.
“Yes, I suppose,” he says. “Men come and go there. The regulars, the ones I know best are all about my age and they know it’s too early in the year to attempt to fish the river. And just because he’s wearing a fisherman’s coat doesn’t mean he is one. A lot of people walk by the river. Don’t you have a large, long coat like that too, Ignatius? The one you wear on your nighttime strolls?”
Ignatius looks shocked for a second, but then nods and smiles. “Yes, yes, I do. I can show it to you.”
And before we can say anything, he strides out of the church.
Pontius picks up a hammer from the pew nearest to him. “I wish I could have been of more help. We are all very upset about Ana’s death, especially Ignatius. They were very close. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
He looks like he’d like us to say no so he can get back to work.
“How long have you and Ignatius known each other?” Mark asks.
“For a long time, more than twenty years,” he says. “We were novices together.”
“So he entered the church quite young?” I ask.
“He was eighteen and I thirty,” he says while nodding. “He knew this life was his calling from a young age, you see. I took a little longer to answer the call.”
“And you’ve always lived together in the monastery here?” Mark asks.
Pontius nods. “Except for the years we each spent abroad. I was in Madrid for three years and he was in Rome and Paris. But this is our home.”
“And when was this?” Mark asks.
The man thinks about it for a little longer this time. Compared to Ignatius, his thoughts are long and his sentences short. “I was gone between the years 2010 and 2014, and I believe Ignatius was gone from 2007 to 2009 and then from 2010 to 2012, but you will have to ask him.”
I will have to double check, but I’m pretty sure most of those years are the period when none of the murders occurred.
“Ignatius says he’s been sick with the flu for the last couple of weeks,” Mark says and it earns him a very dark look from the brother.
“Yes, most of us caught it,” Pontius says before Mark can even pose the question.
A cool draft and the creaking of the main church doors announce the return of Ignatius. He’s striding towards us wearing a long, dark rain coat. It looks very stiff and makes him appear much wider than he actually is. But the brown habit is clearly visible underneath. I don’t think the witness who described the man they saw by the river would’ve missed that. Or been as freaked out by seeing him if they had.
“This is the coat I wear when it’s cold,” Ignatius tells us. “It’s padded but has a removable lining, so it is perfect for both fall and winter. I purchased it in Paris long ago.”
“While you were living there?” Mark asks.
“Studying under the great Brother Maximilian, actually,” he says proudly.
“And when was this, exactly?”
“Let’s see… I went there in September 2010 and returned two years later.”
“Also in September?”
The priest nods.
“And did you stay there the whole time, or did you return home from time to time?”
“I was there the whole time,” Ignatius says.
“And was this the only time you were away?”
Ignatius smiles. “No. I was also in Rome from 2007 to 2009. I quite liked to visit new places when I was younger, and even considered church service abroad, but then I found that there was no place like home.”
The way he says is makes me think of my own home, the one which currently has no roof. But for the first time since the roof collapsed, the thought doesn’t make me sad or anxious. I know it’s all going to be OK and soon.
Ignatius keeps on smiling, but the frown on Pontius’ face keeps growing darker and deeper.
“And when you take your walks by the river, do you always wear your habit?” Mark asks. It earns him a sharp groan from Pontius and a surprised look from Ignatius.
“Well, yes,” Ignatius says. “Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes I put on warmer clothes, when it’s really cold, I mean.”
“We are men of God,” Pontius says loudly. “And here you are questioning him like you suspect him of doing something ungodly.”
Ignatius looks shocked as he glances at him, then back at us.
“They are only asking questions,” he says breathlessly. “Questions I am happy to answer.”
“And you answered them,” Pontius says. “Now I need your help to fix this bench, Ignatius. So if your visitors don’t have any additional questions…”
The hard, dark look in his eyes tells me we better not have any more questions, or else.
“Just one more,” Mark says, adopting his nice and friendly tone. The one he always uses to disarm reluctant or hostile talkers. “Could we have the names of everyone who worked at or visited the youth center over the years?”
Pontius scoffs and Ignatius just looks lost and confused. “Sure, ummm, yes, I think we keep some sort of a log. Sister Teresa handles the administration. But she’s sick with the flu now too… I can maybe try and find her records…”
“They can visit her when she’s well again,” Pontius says harshly. “I need your help now or this whole bench will be unusable today. And we need it for the funeral service in a couple of hours.”
“Right, yes, sorry,” Ignatius says. “You will find Sister Teresa in the convent on Kajuhova Street. She will be able to help you better than I could, since this isn’t the only youth center I attend. I travel all over the country to bring the word of God to the youth.”
I’m ready to insist we get the names now, but Mark says goodbye to the two men and leads the way out of the church.
“We don’t want to press them too hard just yet,” he says once we’re outside, his words muffled by the falling snow. “They’ll just close ranks if we do.”
“Pontius already did,” I say. “But I think Ignatius would’ve told us more.”
“He told us plenty for now,” Mark says. “We’ll check if his spreading the word of God reached any of the other victims as well before we come back with more questions.”
I’m all for going to see Sister Teresa right away, but he nixes that idea in the bud, claiming we’ll be late for the task force meeting if we do. I think it has more to do with not wanting to expose us to the flu she apparently has and I guess that’s smart.
But I do wish we could work this case faster. I don’t exactly know why, but I feel like we might be running out of time.
