A Prayer for the Dying

‘I’ll leave you to it.’ She hesitated, the door half-open. ‘You’ll be going out, then?’

‘Not just yet,’ Father da Costa told her.

Miller frowned. ‘But I don’t understand, Father, I thought. …’

‘A moment, please, Superintendent,’ Father da Costa said and glanced at Anna. She went out, closing the door softly and he turned again to Miller. ‘You were saying?’

‘Our arrangement was that you were to come down to the Department to look at some photos,’ Miller said.

‘I know, Superintendent, but that won’t be possible now.’

‘May I ask why not, Father?’ Miller demanded.

Father da Costa had given considerable thought to his answer, yet in the end could manage nothing more original than, ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to help you, that’s all.’

Miller was genuinely puzzled and showed it. ‘Let’s start again, Father. Perhaps you didn’t understand me properly. All I want you to do is to come down to the Department to look at some photos in the hope that you might recognise our friend of this morning.’

‘I know all that,’ Father da Costa told him.

‘And you still refuse to come?’

‘There wouldn’t be any point.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I can’t help you.’

For a moment, Miller genuinely thought he was going out of his mind. This couldn’t be happening. It just didn’t make any kind of sense, and then he was struck by a sudden, dreadful suspicion.

‘Has Meehan been getting at you in some way?’

‘Meehan?’ Father da Costa said, his genuine bewilderment so perfectly obvious that Miller immediately dropped the whole idea.

‘I could have you brought in formally, Father, as a material witness.’

‘You can take a horse to water but you can’t make him drink, Superintendent.’

‘I can have a damn good try,’ Miller told him grimly. He walked to the door and opened it. ‘Don’t make me take you in formally, sir. I’d rather not but I will if I have to.’