Salvation in Death (In Death 27)

“You said you confirmed it,” Freeman interrupted. “How?”

“D

ental records. The body in our possession has had facial surgery. Cosmetic surgery. A tattoo removal. There were scars from knife wounds.”

“I saw those,” Freeman stated. “The wounds. He explained them. He lied.” Now Freeman sat. “He lied. Why?”

“There’s a question. He went to some trouble to be assigned here, specifically. That’s another why. Did he ever speak to you about anyone named Lino?”

“No. Yes. Wait.” Freeman massaged his temples, and his fingers trembled. “We were debating absolution, restitution, penance, forgiveness. How sins may be outweighed by good deeds. We had different philosophies. He used Lino as an example. As in, let’s take this man—call him Lino.”

“Okay. And?”

Freeman pushed up, those dark eyes rested on his fellow priest. “This is like another death. Worse, I think. We were brothers here, and servants, and shepherds. But he was none of that. He died in sin. The man I just prayed for died in sin, performing an act he had no right to perform. I confessed to him, and he to me.”

“He’ll answer to God now, Martin. There’s no mistake?” López asked Eve.

“No, there’s no mistake. What did he say about Lino?”

“It was an example, as I said.” Freeman sat again as if his legs were weary. “That if this young man, this Lino, had sinned, even grievous sins, but that he then devoted a portion of this life to good works, to helping others, to counseling them, and leading them away from sin, it would be restitution, and he could continue his life. As if a slate had been wiped clean.”

“You disagreed.”

“It’s more than good deeds. It’s intent. Are the good deeds done to balance the scales, or for their own sake? Did the man truly repent? Miguel debated that the deeds themselves were enough.”

“You think he was Lino?” López put in. “And this debate was about himself, about using the time here to . . . balance out something he did in the past?”

“It’s a theory. How did he handle your take on this discussion?” Eve asked Freeman.

“He was frustrated. We often frustrated each other, which is only one of the reasons we enjoyed debating. All the people he deceived. Performing marriages, tending the souls of the dying, baptisms, hearing confessions. What’s to be done?”

“I’ll contact the Archbishop. We’ll protect the flock, Martin. It was Miguel . . . It was this man who acted in bad faith, not those he served.”

“Baptism,” Eve said, considering. “That’s for babies, right?”

“Most usually, but—”

“Let stick with babies, for now. I’m going to want the records of baptisms, here at this church, let’s say from 2020 to 2030.”

López looked down at his folded hands, nodded. “I’ll request them.”

Peabody sat thoughtfully as they drove away from the rectory. “It has to be really hard on them. The priests.”

“Getting snookered’s always a pisser.”

“Not just that. It’s the friendship and brotherhood, finding out that was all bullshit. It’s like, say you go down in the line.”

“You go down in the line.”

“No, this is my scenario. You go down—heroically—”

“Damn straight.”

“And I’m devastated by the loss. I’m beating my breasts with grief.”

Eve glanced over, deliberately, at Peabody’s very nice rack. “That’ll take a while.”

“I’m not even thinking, ‘Hey, after a decent interval I can jump Roarke,’ because I’m so shattered.”