Finally, the man broke.
And nodded his head over and over.
That had not taken long.
He stopped the pour, slid the linens out, and motioned for Andre to withdraw the prongs.
揂ll right,?Tallard said, swallowing and breathing hard. 揂ll right. I will tell you卐verything.?
揑f you don抰， then the next application will be far worse, with no letting up.?
Tallard nodded in understanding.
He set the water pitcher down and motioned. Andre produced his phone and activated its video recorder. They listened for fifteen minutes as this man, ordained by Holy Orders, supposedly part of an unbroken line back to the twelve apostles, described how he sexually abused boy after boy, Andre included.
Bernat raised his hand. Andre switched off the recorder. 揑 can抰 listen to any more.?
揑 did what you asked. I confessed.?
Now for the most important question. 揌ave you told anyone this before??
Tallard hesitated, and Bernat sensed that he had. To make the point clear, he reached for the pitcher.
揘o. No. Please. No more. Yes. I told the archbishop.?
There it was. Exactly what he抎 come for.
The Most Reverend Gerard Vilamur.
揂rchbishop Vilamur knows all of this??he asked.
Tallard nodded. 揈verything.?
揊or how long??
揝everal years.?
Just as he抎 suspected.
揑 want you to say that again, slowly.?He motioned and Andre tapped the recorder back on. Tallard repeated what he抎 said about the archbishop.
Andre tapped the screen, stopping the video.
Bernat抯 phone vibrated in his pocket. He stepped back and checked the display, which revealed a text marked with a red exclamation point.
Not good.
He opened and read the message from the curator of the cathedral in Ghent. The Just Judges panel has been destroyed in a fire. Total loss. It was a deliberate act of vandalism. Perpetrator escaped, police are in pursuit.
He was shocked and a multitude of questions were raised by the startling information. Thankfully, his job here was finished, so he stepped back and motioned for Andre to gather their things, including the water pitcher. No evidence could be left behind.
He headed for the door.
揥here are you going??Tallard said. 揧ou can抰 leave me here like this.?
揘ot to worry.?
He stepped outside with Andre and closed the door. The man from earlier, and one other, waited near their car.
Both walked over and he nodded.
They disappeared inside the house.
He and Andre stood in silence.
揑t抯 good that we don抰 kill,?he said in a low voice. 揟hat we do not fall to their level. Not then. Not now. Not ever. But it is also good that those two men don抰 believe as we do.?
Andre nodded. Ever so slightly. Then a wisp of a smile formed at the corner of the younger man抯 lips. Smug. Self-contained. As if nothing was more important than their success.
And nothing was.
Chapter 8
Nick pushed through the iron gate in front of the convent and quickly worked his way around to the rear of the building. Knocking on the front door had not seemed like a smart play. The convent sat at the end of the block on a corner lot dotted with tall trees. Lights illuminated the red-brick walls and he was mindful of the many windows, but all of their shades were drawn, and what lights did burn were heavily filtered. The structure itself was elegant, the pinnacles and fleurons on the window gables definitely Old World. He wasn抰 sure what he planned to do. This was a convent, after all. But some serious felonies had occurred, a woman was surely dead, and one of the participants in all those crimes had fled here.
So this place was fair game.
Not to mention that the laptop was here too.
He rounded a corner and studied the rear of the building. A group of rectangles topped by low gables surrounded a large open court. They were timbered, the roofs in varying tones and tints, their fa鏰des deeply furrowed with the washings of countless rains. At the far end of the courtyard, opposite the main building, standing alone was what appeared to be a steepled church. Lights burned inside and he heard the soft chant of collective singing. Within the courtyard were walkways, trees, and benches, all lit by lamps on iron posts. Then he spotted what he was looking for.
A back door into the main building.
Movement caught his eye as the door opened and a woman exited. She wore an ankle-length gray dress with a veil on her head. He sought cover back around the corner and watched as the nun hustled toward the church, which she entered.
No sense wasting time.
He trotted across the open space, passing through a long trestle with a vine-hung gallery, to the rear door. He lifted the latch for the Gothic door and entered. He stood in a kitchen, the space crowded but orderly, one side dominated by a large fireplace. A sharp scent of rosemary laced the warm air. Stout beams hung overhead that displayed a variety of Delft plates. The wood floor had attained that satiny finish that came from long usage and tireless cleaning. No one was around and he heard no sounds. Hopefully, the residents were all in church.