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He leaves us behind as he strides towards the altar, his long brown robe billowing around his legs, and is already crouching by the old man by the time we reach them.
Brother Cecil cocks his head at me. “The youth center? Yes, I remember those days. So many nice young boys and girls used to come there. Not like now when no one comes.”
“A lot of boys and girls still come, Brother,” Ignatius says kindly.
“Do you remember Hana Pate?” I ask, then add, “A blonde, tall girl who could write very well,” after he just looks at me blankly.
He shrugs and nods and blinks his eyes but doesn’t respond. I take my phone from my pocket and bring up a picture of younger Hana that I found online this morning. She’s still much older in the photo than she would’ve been when he knew her, but it’s worth a shot.
“This is Hana,” I say to him. “Do you remember her?”
He squints at the photo, then takes the phone from my hand with a shaky, arthritis-twisted hand and blinks at it for what seems like an eternity.
“Oh, yes,” he finally says. “Yes, I remember her. Hana. A strange girl. Unnatural.”
He shudders as he hands me back the phone and nearly drops it on the stone floor in the process.
“Unnatural in what way?” I ask, leaning in closer, because the people exiting the church all around us are talking so loudly and just generally making so much noise I can barely hear him.
“She corrupted another girl here. Sweet little Anica, so very innocent in the way she saw the world. Hana took advantage of that with her unnatural proclivities. I saw them kissing in the bushes by the river one day. I told Hana never to come back after that.”
“But Hana was only twelve or thirteen at the time,” I say. “Maybe it was just girls being girls.”
He shakes his head as best he can, given his stiff neck and bent shoulders, and has a very disgusted look on his face. “I know young girls and how they act. This was not that. Anica was only eight years old at the time, and Hana was twelve. Both were naked to the waist and Hana was lying on top of her. They were not kissing as friends do.”
He shudders again, more violently this time.
“I need to go lie down now, Ignatius,” he says in a hoarse voice. “Will you take me?”
The priest assures him that of course he will help him to his room, excuses them both then wheels him towards the door.
I look at Dino. “What did you make of that?”
He shrugs. “It sounds twisted, but he is a very old man, so maybe he’s misremembering. You know her better than me. Did she make a habit of kissing girls?”
“She never tried anything with me,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Nor does this story, honestly,” Dino says and heads for the exit. “They might have just been playing and the priest saw what he wanted to see.”
He could very well be right. But what he saw shook the Brother to the core, that much was evident from his face as he told the story.
“Where to next?” Dino asks as we reach the car. If he has any problem with being my personal chauffer for the day instead of working the case with Brina, Mark and Sojer, he’s not showing it and I really appreciate that.
“Hana’s parents still live around here,” I say and point at the apartment blocks across the field from the church. “I thought we could go speak to them, see what they can tell us about Hana.”
“Sure, hop in,” he says with a wide grin on his face as he holds the passenger door open for me.
“I won’t be doing any hopping,” I say wryly, and he chuckles merrily at my reaction to his joke.
His cheeriness is helping take the edge of my sour mood and gives me hope that Hana’s article and last night’s interview will soon be something that’s behind me and forgotten.
She’s suspicious, unpleasant, and hateful. But does that make her a killer? I still want to answer yes to that question, but the wish is fading.
