Jane found the priest in the church garden, clipping roses.
The old man looked up when he saw him and smiled. "Hello, my son," the priest greeted him cheerfully. "Have you come for confession? I'm afraid you've caught me tending more earthly concerns at the moment, but we can make our way to the confessional if that is what your soul desires."
"Ah, no," Jane said. "I'm not here for confession."
"In that case, would you mind making yourself useful and carrying that basket for me?" the priest asked, nodding towards a basket of clippings on the ground beside him. "It goes faster if I don't have to bend so much. At my age, sometimes it seems to take me a quarter of an hour to straighten up if I yield to gravity for even a moment."
"Certainly," Jane said, picking up the basket.
"Now young man," the priest said, placing another clipping in the basket as Jane followed him along the hedge. "What can I do for you? I sense that you are not here on searching for spiritual guidance. Though if you don't mind me saying so, you look as though you could use some."
Jane smiled wryly. "You're probably right about that, but you're also right that that isn't what I came here for."
"Very well. How can I be of service to you?"
"My name is Patrick Jane. I work with the CBI. I'm looking for information on two individuals who used to attend this church, Timothy and Sally Carter."
The old man paused in his pruning. "Patrick Jane, hm? I remember your name from the news. You are the one who shot Timothy, aren't you? You claimed you believed he was the serial killer the police call Red John."
"Yes, that was me," Jane acknowledged. "I supposed I ought to say I'm sorry about that, but since he turned out to be an evil psychopath, I actually don't feel much remorse about the whole thing."
"You believe that if a man has committed a great sin, that gives another man the right to take God's precious gift of life from him?"
Jane shrugged. "Pretty much."
The priest shook his head. "Society would disintegrate if all men thought like you."
"Society agrees with me. California has the death penalty, if you recall."
"More's the pity," the priest acknowledged. "Death is God's to mandate, not man's."
"I guess we'll have to agree to disagree about that," Jane said. "If there was a God, which there isn't, He's not doing a very good job of choosing."
The priest regarded him. "How so?"
"In your version of reality, God allowed my wife and child to be brutally murdered. If He's so great and good, why would He let them die and let the man who killed them stay alive and continue to kill?"
"You are struggling with an age old question. Why does a good and all powerful God permit the existence of evil?"
"Exactly. It doesn't make sense."
"I am a lamb of God, and I follow the Lamb of God," the priest said. "Ours is not to know God's will, but to seek it."
"Yeah, well, maybe that's part of my trouble with the whole God thing," Jane commented. "Maybe I'd be more inclined to believe in Him if He made His will a little easier to fathom if you did seek it."
"There's a remarkable piece of literature you might find helpful with that," the priest said blandly. "You may have heard of it. It's called the Bible. It's available in any bookstore and even most hotels."
"It is indeed a fascinating read," Jane said. "But you have to admit it's a bit impenetrable at times. All those allegories and contradictions. There's some good stuff in there, don't get me wrong. All I'm saying is you'd think if God was so set on people following His will, He'd have made it a little easier for us to figure out what it is."
"Man cannot fathom the greatness of God," the priest told him. "How can we aspire to know His will completely when that is the case? We must strive to know God and follow His plan for us to the best of our ability, but we are imperfect. We will therefore never have a complete understanding of a perfect God until we overcome the limits of mortal life and the secrets of heaven are unlocked to us."
"I don't buy that," Jane said. "Either God has a plan, or humans have free will. You can't have both. It doesn't make sense."
"God grants us the freedom to choose whether or not to follow Him. That is His greatest gift. When a man chooses not to follow God's plan, that is when evil and violence creep into his heart and begin to guide his actions."
"And then what? The plan just adjusts itself to account for all that evil?"
The priest shrugged. "I don't claim to have all the answers about the mechanics of God's plan. All I know is that no matter what, God will take care of us."
"That's a hell of a leap of faith," Jane commented.
The old man pointed his pruning shears in Jane's direction. "You could benefit from a little faith in your life, my boy."
Jane realized the conversation had wandered somewhat far afield from the point. "What can you tell me about the Carters?" he said in an effort to steer the conversation back on course.
The priest gave him a look that said plainly, Coward, but he didn't press the issue. "What do you want to know?"
"How long did they attend this church?"
The priest thought for a moment. "Tim was a member here about six years, I'd say."
"What about Sally?"
"Sally belonged to the church since she was a teenager."
"Her family attended this church?"
He shook his head. "No, the rest of her family were not believers. She came to us on her own when she was about fifteen."
"She didn't get along with them?"
"She was having some difficulties at home when she first came to us, yes," the priest said carefully. "There was some trouble with her father and brother, I believe. Her mother died when she was quite a small child, you see, so it was just the three of them."
Jane observed him closely. "You suspected abuse?"
"She never admitted as much to me, but I did suspect something along those lines. I believe there was an investigation at one point, but Sally insisted nothing was wrong, and without her testimony, there wasn't much the authorities could do."
Jane considered this. An environment of incest and abuse could well explain Sally's vulnerability to a powerful figure such as Red John, plus her strange dependency on Timothy Carter, a man with his own twisted sexual games. Participating in his games with that poor young woman might have given her an opportunity to act out her own self-loathing by projecting that feeling towards another.
"Do her father and brother still live around here?"
"No, they moved out of the area not long after Sally married Tim."
Jane sensed there was more to that story. "They didn't approve of the marriage?"
"I think it was more that they didn't want her to leave the nest," the priest said thoughtfully. "The father and brother still lived together at that time, you see."
If the father abused both children, that could have generated a bizarre sense of dependency that could account for the seemingly tight-knit nature of the family, Jane thought.
"How did Tim and Sally meet?"
"They met here, at a church social. Tim saw her across the room, serving lemonade to the guests. He went right up to her and started talking to her. Sally never had a lot of boyfriends like other young women. I think she was flattered by the attention. They were married a couple months later."
"Hm." Timothy Carter had likely been trained by Red John to spot vulnerability in others. He must have sensed Sally's susceptibility to being led by a strong will. "Do you know of anyone else he was close to, besides Sally?"
The priest thought about it for a moment. "No one in particular. He was well-liked by everyone, but I don't recall him ever seeking out anyone in particular, besides Sally."
"What else can you tell me about him?"
"He was a very charming man. Successful in business, a generous neighbor. He often volunteered to help out at church events."
"That was his public face," Jane commented. "What can you tell me about his darker side?"
The priest smiled enigmatically. "Very little."
"You were his priest for six years. He never confessed anything to you about kidnapping and torturing that girl he took from your own congregation?"
"Now, Patrick," the priest chided him. "I know you are not a man of faith, but surely you know that a priest may not break the covenant of secrecy between confessor and confessed."
"But the Carters are dead now," Jane pointed out. "What does it matter at this point if you tell me something they confessed to you?"
"Confession is a holy sacrament. Where is it written in the Word of God that the sacred nature of confession is ended when the confessed sinner goes to meet his Maker?"
"They were in league with Red John. If one of them told you something about him, I need to know what it was."
"I'm sorry. I can't help you."
"You really won't tell me if they said anything to you?" Jane said in disbelief. "Even if the information you have could potentially save the lives of others?"
"Even if my oath to God did not prohibit it, I wouldn't tell you," the priest informed him.
"Why not?"
"I choose to celebrate what is good and great in a man's life rather than condemn him for his mistakes."
"That's very New Age of you," Jane commented. "Are you sure you're Catholic? What happened to guilting your congregants into following the path of the righteous?"
The old man smiled. "I am perhaps less traditional than you assume, young man. I prefer to think that it's very New Testament of me."
Jane watched the priest closely for some signal that would help him read him, to see if any movement or expression would give away what he knew, but the priest just smiled placidly at him, secure that following his conscience would lead him right in the end on this point. At a glance, Jane could tell he wasn't going to get a damn thing off him about the Carters that the old man didn't think he had a right to know. He sighed. "Celebrating the good, huh?"
"Yes. Wouldn't you prefer that people recognize what is good and pure in you rather than focusing on your deepest flaws?"
Jane smiled wryly. "Goodness and purity? I have precious little of that, I'm afraid."
The priest shook his head. "On the contrary, I see a great light around you."
Jane snorted. "Nice try. I know that trick."
"What trick is that?" the priest inquired.
"The bright light? Someone from the trying to communicate with me from beyond the dead? I've played that gambit a thousand times."
The priest shook his head. "This isn't that kind of light."
Jane raised his eyebrows. "What kind of light is it then?"
"Since you have an appreciation for New Age vocabulary, I suppose one could call it 'good energy.' That which is good in you that is trying to make its way out into the world."
"Make its way out?"
"Yes." The priest fixed him with a penetrating look. "I can see you have tremendous gifts, Patrick. Yet you hide the true light within you. You're used to getting your way through smiles and charm, but that is not your true self. You have people you care about in your life, yes?"
"I—of course," Jane said, taken aback.
"But you hold yourself aloof from them, am I right?"
"I suppose," Jane admitted grudgingly.
"You refuse to let them fully into your life, and you don't engage fully in theirs."
Jane thought about how annoyed Lisbon got when she felt he was prying too deeply into her personal life. "I'm not sure that's entirely accurate."
The priest raised his eyebrows. "Isn't it?"
Of course, regarding Lisbon's personal life, Jane knew himself to be capable of being far nosier than he'd ever given her reason to suspect. Come to think of it, she would probably be horrified to discover how thoroughly he would insinuate himself into her life if he permitted himself to indulge in that forbidden luxury.
He knew he didn't support her the way she deserved. Not the way she supported him, wholly and freely. Oh, he would make small gestures now and again, wheedle her into a good humor after she'd had a bad day, but he didn't act on half the ideas he had about ways to please her. Because she would notice if he did. And if she noticed, she might suspect the truth about why he came up with so many ideas about how to tease her, charm her, care for her. He couldn't afford for her to suspect, to know the truth. Not yet. Not while Red John was still out there, lurking in the wings, ready to swoop in and destroy anything Jane cared about.
It was possible the priest had a point.
"I'm better off alone," Jane said. "When people get close to me, bad things happen to them."
The priest tutted impatiently. "Excuses! You're doing a disservice to your friends and to yourself, trying to sustain these relationships with your miserly half-light." He gestured towards the garden around him. "That would be like trying to get these roses to grow by shining a light bulb on them when you have the power to nourish them with genuine sunlight. If you deny them that sunlight and continue to shine that cheap imitation of light on them, soon they will starve."
Jane shook his head. "Trust me, if I tried to feed my friend Rigsby on nothing but sunlight, he wouldn't thank me for it. He'd be happier with a halogen lamp and a bag of Doritos."
The priest pointed his pruning shears at him again, unimpressed by this deflection. "You need to be careful."
"I'm always careful. I have a dangerous job and a habit of pissing people off," Jane told him. "I've learned how to protect myself- I just hide behind my partner until the danger has passed and I'm fine."
"You mistake me. I'm not talking about being careful with your physical being," the priest said, shaking his head. "I'm referring to your spiritual being. Your soul. That is what you must be careful of."
"What does my soul have to do with anything?"
"That light I see... it is at war with darkness. The battle is raging; you must be vigilant to ensure the darkness does not consume you."
Jane smirked. "Thanks for the tip. If I see any thunderclouds forming over my head, I'll be sure to duck under cover."
The priest shook his head. "You must let go of this hatred you have within you. It poisons you."
Jane gave him a cool smile. "I've never been the type to turn the other cheek."
"Perhaps you could learn to do so."
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Because your inability to do so is preventing you from getting what you want."
"I want revenge for the murders of my wife and child."
The priest shook his head. "No, you don't."
"Yes, I do," Jane said with certainty.
"Revenge," the priest scoffed. "What is revenge? A fleeting release for a vengeful spirit. Revenge is nothing. You don't want revenge."
"What is it you think I want, then?" Jane asked curiously.
The priest met his eyes. "Peace, Patrick. You want peace."
Peace. What did that even look like? Jane wasn't sure he would recognize peace if it came up to him and bit him. The only thing that came to mind when he thought about what peace meant to him was being able to take a breath without being consumed with fear that someone he cared about might be Red John's next target. Surely that wasn't what the priest meant, though. Jane might not have been an expert on the subject, but he was reasonably certain that the notion of peace entailed more than an absence of chronic dread that one's loved ones might be murdered in their beds. Jane could hardly wrap his head around the idea. Even the former seemed such an unattainable goal that he rarely entertained the idea of it even being possible.
Jane's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for peace."
The priest ignored his gloomy pronouncement. "I believe the light will triumph in the end, in your case. You are stronger than you fear. I have faith in you. There is another who does as well."
"What do you mean?"
The priest reached out and his hand fluttered over Jane's shoulder. "There is one who prays for you. I can feel the strength of her prayers around you."
Jane felt a chill. This was a trick he didn't know. He remained silent, trying to puzzle it out. Most people had trouble reading him, but for someone observant enough, he supposed it would be easy enough to guess some of his thoughts based on his facial expressions. But to guess the thoughts and actions of a third party who wasn't even present? Maybe he needed to renew his subscription to Mentalists Monthly and study up on the latest techniques, because he had to admit this move was a little out of his league. Many people were religious—perhaps it was just the laws of statistics that at least one person he was close to would be someone who often prayed. And from there, a fairly good chance that the person who supposedly prayed for him was a woman. Obviously the person who came to his mind was Lisbon. He'd never really thought about it before, but he supposed it made sense that she prayed for him. He examined himself for any signs of resentment about this, but in the end it made him feel oddly cared for. He appreciated the sentiment, even if he didn't happen to believe in the power of prayer as Lisbon did.
Off of Jane's expression, the priest smiled. "Ah, you have some idea of who that is I see." He watched Jane closely. "Someone you care for a great deal, yes?"
Of course, it was possible that Lisbon didn't pray for him, and the priest was just a gifted con man hired by Red John to mess with him. "You're a little spooky," Jane told him. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
The priest smiled. "I'll take that as a confirmation that I'm right."
"Yes."
The priest watched him closely. "This woman in your life. There is something holding you back from being as close to her as you'd like."
"Yes," Jane agreed.
"And what is that?"
"I'm afraid for her life," Jane said simply.
The priest shook his head. "Fear is the devil's instrument."
"Yes, well, it's also the thing that keeps us from wandering willingly into the jaws of the monsters, so I'll keep it close at hand, if it's all the same to you," Jane said.
The priest raised his eyebrows. "Have you ever thought this woman might help you find your path to peace?"
Jane firmly clamped down the thoughts of Lisbon that tried to surface at this suggestion. "The only path available to me is to destroy Red John."
"No. You always have a choice."
"Not if I want the people I care about to stay alive."
"Vengeance is not a path that leads to peace. Remember, 'Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.'"
Jane recognized the quote, but couldn't quite place it. "Is that something Jesus said?"
The priest flashed him a smile. "Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr."
"Ah. Another wise man."
"Yes." The priest returned to his neglected pruning. "Think about what I said, Patrick. I'd hate to see your light diminished to less than its full potential."
Jane wasn't sure how to respond to this. "Thanks for taking the time to talk to me. It's been most…illuminating."
The priest clasped Jane's hand in his own papery dry one. "I hope you find what you are looking for, my son."
Jane shook his hand. "Thank you, Father. I appreciate that."
Jane prepared to take his leave, but then hesitated. "Would you like some help with your garden?" Jane asked the old man.
"Certainly," the priest said, completely unruffled by Jane's unexpected offer. "Pride goeth before a fall. I'm not one to turn down assistance from an able-bodied young man."
"You'll have to show me what to do," Jane told him.
"Not a problem," the priest declared. He gave him instructions, and Jane set to work.
Once he had drilled him in the mores of proper rose tending methods, the priest settled back to observe Jane's progress. "Now I have a question for you," the priest informed him.
"What's that?" Jane asked, his eyes intent on his task.
"Will you tell me about your young lady?"
"My young lady?" Jane repeated.
"Yes. The one who will help you find your path to peace."
"What about her?" Jane said cautiously.
"Well, is she pretty?" the priest said, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Very pretty," Jane admitted. He hesitated. "Beautiful, in fact."
The priest nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. "Come now, don't be shy. Tell me all about her," he said. He winked. "You know I won't tell a soul."
