Chapter Nine

Each one of us, however, has been given his own share of grace, given as Christ allotted it.

Ephesians 4:7

Monday 10th September: It was early evening. The previous morning's awkward encounter at Partner's Diner gone but not forgotten. Father Sebastian was reflecting on the problem in the study of the ground floor flat that the diocese had provided as his home. He was reluctant to answer the door when the bell rang. It was after all Monday, the traditional rest day or "weekend" for most clergy. But he mustered his bonhomie with considerable effort and dragged himself to his feet.

"Good to see you Donna. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Donna White was in uniform. She looked good in uniform. Like a sweet in a blue and silver wrapper thought Seb - then mentally he took two paces back. He was a priest for heaven's sake. But he wasn't that hard on himself. He recognised that the general public regarded celibacy as the spiritual equivalent of castration. Which it is not.

Donna wasn't bothered she had pulled the short straw on this down at the station house because, said the sarg, "You know the guy."

Which she did of course, being Catholic herself. Still, so were a goodly chunk of the boys in the precinct. She'd just been suckered into this, Dona reflected. But she didn't mind. She would rather it were her. She liked Father Sebastian.

"Sorry Father; it's professional not social."

"Ah," Father Sebastian paused. "Well if this is professional I should call you Officer White."

Donna smiled. "I'm not sure I'd be comfortable with that."

"Very well. But we have to be on equal footing. Call me Seb like your mother does. How is Alicia by the way?"

"My mother's fine thank you Seb," said Dona. Her good-humored eyes crinkled with amusement. It was not so many years back Father Sebastian had been testing her on her catechism, and she'd been quite in awe of him.

"Look Seb, I'm just a rookie. They wouldn't send me out on this but for the fact that it's not very important. Still, we have to check things, no matter how trivial. You understand?"

"Sure Dona, I understand. Will you come in and sit down? Can I get you a coffee?"

Dona declined. She wanted to keep this professional and get it done with. She didn't want to make more of this than it was. And what it was was nonsense.

"Thing is, we received an anonymous note down at the precinct house, telling us you were with Mary Young the night she died. On the towpath between South End and Memorial, and that we should ask you what you were doing."

"I was most certainly not with Mrs Young." Father Sebastian grimaced, "I wish I had been with her. I might have been able to help." And he meant it. He felt that the community, all that knew her, bore collective responsibility for Mary Young's death. How could they all have so profoundly failed to understand that woman?

Dona relaxed visibly. "I knew that. I knew you weren't with her. I told the sarge: 'Just because someone accuses someone doesn't make it true'." Dona moved back towards the door, relieved that she could bring this to swift closure. She had other stuff to do.

Then she hesitated. "So you weren't on the towpath?" asked Donna, almost as an afterthought.

"I didn't say that I wasn't there."

Donna shrugged. It didn't matter. This was just a formality after all. "Alone Father?" she asked.

"No. And please call me Seb. No I was not alone."

"Well thank the Lord for that. Puts an end to the whole business. Who were you with?"

"I'm sorry. I don't think I should tell you that."

Which he didn't. He was fully aware of the complications that this engendered but Angie had talked with him of her troubles. Confided in him. It was not the confessional, but it amounted to the same thing, besides . . . "No. I'm sorry. I can't."

Officer Donna White's heart sank, then her disappointment turned into irritation. What was she doing being so deferential to this man? She was a police officer and he was a witness, possibly a suspect. Still she had respected him and now for some reason she didn't. Which bothered her. Priests had their rules of confidentiality just like police officers. But it was something about the way he'd replied that disturbed her. The lack of an explanation maybe. Call it woman's intuition but she recognised an element of awkwardness in Seb's reply, embarrassment even. Her response was sotto voce but Father Sebastian heard her none the less as this curious dialogue finally reached its climax and she said, "Aw . . . . Shit!"