Testament by David Morrell Read Free Book Online Page B

and smooth, like a minister on the radio. “If that is what you’d like, sir, we’ll do our best to arrange it.”
    He thought a moment. “Yes. My wife will want that. I can’t come down to pick out a casket or anything. Please give him the very best you have.”
    The voice was puzzled. “Certainly, sir. Whatever you wish.”
    “I can’t go over to the hospital and sign the release papers either. You’ll need to bring them here for me to sign before you can get the body.”
    The voice was twice as puzzled. “Well, yes, certainly, sir. May I say that we all of us sympathize with you in your time of mourning.”
    “Whatever you want. Go on and say it.”

15
     
    An hour later a priest showed up at the front door. He was stooped and wrinkled. His hair was thin and white like spider’s silk, his black suit specked here and there with dust. He said he was the pastor, but he had never seen him before and he had never heard Claire mention a priest like this either, so they sat in a triangle in the living room, the two of them and the detective from the phone.
    The priest apologized for coming around so unexpectedly. He obviously didn’t want to talk about what he’d come for. “It’s a small matter, I’m sure,” he said, fidgeting on the sofa. “But we really should discuss it. You can’t imagine how I dislike bothering you in your grief.” His voice was hushed and unsettling, as if he were straining to whisper in the vestibule before Mass.
    “What is it?” He still wasn’t sure this was really a priest. He thought of calling the church to make sure. The detective had his hand near his shoulder holster under his jacket.
    Again the reluctance. “I hardly think it’s anything serious, I’m sure it isn’t, but you see, I was checking through our records as a matter of course, and—well—you are Roman Catholic, aren’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    “And your family?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you attend Mass regularly?”
    “My wife and daughter go every Sunday.”
    “Yourself?”
    “I haven’t gone in ten years.”
    “Not even to make your Easter duty?”
    “That’s right.”
    The priest looked out the front window for a moment. He cleared his throat. “May I ask why you don’t attend?”
    “They changed the Mass into English, and then they brought in the guitars.”
    “A few of us very much regret those changes as well. In spite of them, you should have completed your Easter duty so that you could remain in the Church and try to save your soul. You don’t believe, is that it?”
    “That’s right.” He sounded like he was in confession.
    “Not in the Church?”
    “Not in God. Excuse me, Father, but what is it you want to say?”
    “Perhaps I already understand. After I checked through our records, I phoned the other parishes, and I learned from the courthouse that your child was born here—but I find no record of his baptism.”
    Almighty God, you sent your only Son to rescue us from the slavery of sin and to give us the freedom only your sons and daughters enjoy. We now pray for this child who will have to face the world with its temptations and fight the devil in all his cunning. Your Son died and rose again to save us. By His victory over sin and death, bring this child out of the power of darkness, strengthen him with the grace of Christ, and watch over him at every step in life’s journey. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.
    He saw now what was coming, and he knew what it was going to do to Claire. He didn’t know how he could tell her. Principle, he thought. The things I have done for principle. “Yes,” he said quietly. “The baby was not baptized.” He was sure now that this was a priest. Not even Kess or his men would have thought of this.
    “My dear man, was there a just reason?”
    “The baby was very sick for the first two months, and we couldn’t take the chance of going outside with him.”
    “But surely—how old did you say he was on the phone? four months?