John the Baptist was making a list

Chapter 6 – Victims and Suspects

John the Baptist was making a list. There was no shortage of targets for this instrument of God, for the world seemed to have been taken over by demons dressed in the holy cloth. John had been collecting the stories: priests who had used their position to molest children, deacons of the church involved in sex scandals, pillars of the community using their position to profit. John had studied the bible endlessly. He knew how Christ would have dealt with them – did he not overturn the tables of the money changers and cast them from the temple in Jerusalem? The murder of innocence would certainly have brought greater wrath. John was sure that Jesus could not come back in these circumstances, and he must clear the way before Herod and Salome should take his head.

Setting a death in an eternal pose had been easy. Taking the life in the future would not be so easy. He could not hope that each victim would halt his attacker, as had happened in the church the night before. But the next to be punished could be executed by his victim, for there was a priest who had harmed John. Sometimes he couldn't even remember it. Today he could remember, in every humiliating, agonizing detail. This one had not been punished by the Vatican. He'd not even been censured by the Cardinal. His retribution was overdue. It would be the beginning of the end – destroying the pretenders, demons and predators so they would no longer poison the church – clearing the way for His return

John's fear and hesitations would have to be set aside – Father Ernest must die.

Brennan had struggled to maintain her silence. Even now, as they searched the small office space, part of her was screaming to address Father Samuel's bible quotations. He was a fascinating study of a man clinging to tradition, taking the teachings of an ancient book that had been many times translated as pure fact. From a scientific perspective that could hardly be considered fact. Yet she also knew how Booth felt about such remarks. He also believed in heaven and hell and the contradictory teachings of a book lost in translation.

Strangely, Brennan could find no fault in the morality, and that had to be a first. Having lived through the foster care system, she could see value and honor in offering sanctuary to the homeless. Anthropologically speaking, the homeless had a subculture that had its own value in human experience. Yet, with all her analysis, she had never been curious enough about this subculture to do an actual field study. It was that one bit of human existence that she never wished to examine too closely, and which she hoped never to sink to – being a lost and repeatedly discarded youth had been close enough for her. If Fathers David and Samuel used their position to really care for those who were trapped between cultures, then she could admire them. It was the first time she'd actually seen intrinsic value in religion.

Brennan finished going through the drawers of the small, cherry desk. "It's just as they said," she announced finally, "just a birthday calendar. He doesn't seem to have notes on anything." She glanced around the room. It was spartan. There was no art on the walls, no calendars, no pictures. A corkboard of church fliers was its one decoration. The desk itself was orderly, with an ancient blotter and a lamp that looked like it might have come from a second hand store. Crisply starched sheers adorned the window. Wheel marks from a vacuum cleaner showed in the unblemished beige carpeting. Mrs. McMasters must have taken her nervous cleaning through this room too.

"Father Tom was like that," Booth agreed.

"He is the priest you've mentioned, isn't he?" she asked softly.

Booth only nodded, looking wan and aggrieved. Nothing about him seemed normal, from his exhausted face to his plain black socks. The latter point seemed almost strange, for Booth loathed normal socks, ties, and belt-buckles. She was surprised he even owned normal socks, and she wondered if he had consciously chosen the plain accessories, or if his black mood had overridden even the smallest aspects of his personality. It was why she had held her tongue while they dined with the priests.

Father Samuel entered the room with a light knock and held out a couple of notebook pages. "Father David and I finished the list of regulars. I will go to the soup kitchen for dinner tonight and point out as many of these as I can. I don't think you'll find any killers there, though. If there are witnesses, they won't be eager to tell you anything." His blue eyes scanned the room as if looking for something out of place. After Booth took the pages, Father Samuel stuffed both hands in his pockets.

"Even if they are, some of the information will be less than trustworthy – I know, I know," Booth said. "I've dealt with street people before."

Father Samuel was silent a long moment. "I had not meant to suggest otherwise, Agent Booth. I just – I want you to know that Father David would not let anyone dangerous stay – in spite of what he said. He's the kind of priest I want to be. He takes his calling seriously." His fingers traveled to his vestigial tab.

"And Father Tom?" Brennan interjected. She then cringed at the look Booth fixed on her.

"He was a good priest too," Father Samuel said, though there was a slight hesitation. He pushed up his glasses.

"Did he know about Father David's hospitality?" Brennan asked.

"I – he didn't -- I thought he didn't know, but he would have had to if he was frequenting the chapel at night, wouldn't he?"

Now Booth's curiosity brought him round. "Was his visit to the chapel at that hour an unusual event?" His brown eyes fixed unwaveringly on Father Samuel, his hands at his waist.

Father Samuel sighed and shrugged. "Father Ernest did tell you the truth – we all tried to check on the chapel. Most nights Father David and I did the late checks, Father Ernest and Father Thomas usually did the early checks."

"How early – didn't they see your overnight guests?" Booth asked, taking a step closer, using his height to become slightly intimidating.

"Well, Father David asked them to stay in the choir loft. Unless you walked up there, you wouldn't see them. Father David was always up to wake them before five. He'd clean up, give them toast and coffee, and minister to them." A pause. "I know what you're thinking, but he really did great things for those in need. Two of our regulars started to attend mass and one has completely turned his life around. He got a job and counseling – started volunteering at the soup kitchen instead of eating there. His name is Edwards. I could introduce you tonight. He's completely changed his life. He's an inspirational success."

"Suppose for a moment that Father Thomas didn't know about this," Brennan said suddenly, "then tripped across a 'boarder' last night. What would happen – in your opinion?"

Father Samuel looked briefly alarmed, but then shook his head and waved a hand as if to cast his fear aside. "He might have questioned it, but I believe Father Thomas would have understood. And anyway, we didn't invite just anyone to stay – there are unfortunate souls out there who are obviously dangerous or deranged. Luckily, those aren't the kind that would ask to stay here."