A Prayer for the Dying - Jack Higgins [28]
There was a photo of the Ceska in the top right-hand corner. 'I've never even heard of the damn thing,' Miller said. 'How can you be sure?'
'Well, I've some more tests to run, but it's pretty definite. You see there are four factors which are constant in the same make of weapon. Groove and land marks on the bullet, their number and width, their direction, which means are they twisting to the right or left, and the rate of that twist. Once I have those facts, I simply turn to a little item entitled the Atlas of Arms, and thanks to the two German gentlemen who so painstakingly put the whole thing together, it's possible to trace the weapon which fits without too much difficulty.'
Miller turned to Fitzgerald. 'Get this information to CRO at Scotland Yard straight away. This Ceska's an out-of-the-way gun. If they feed that into the computer, it might throw out a name. Somebody who's used one before. You never know. I'll see you back in my office.'
Fitzgerald went out quickly and Miller turned to Johnson. 'Anything else, let me know at once.' He went back to his office where he found a file on his desk containing a resume of Father da Costa's career. Considering the limited amount of time Fitzgerald had had, it was really very comprehensive.
He came in as Miller finished reading the file and closed it. 'I told you he was quite a man, sir.'
'You don't know the half of it,' Miller said and proceeded to tell him what had happened at the presbytery.
Fitzgerald was dumbfounded. 'But it doesn't make any kind of sense.'
'You don't think he's been got at?'
'By Meehan?' Fitzgerald laughed out loud. 'Father da Costa isn't the kind of man who can be got at by anybody. He's the sort who's always spoken up honestly. Said exactly how he felt, even when the person who was hurt most was himself. Look, at his record. He's a brilliant scholar. Two doctorates. One in languages, the other in philosophy, and where's it got him? A dying parish in the heart of a rather unpleasant industrial city. A church that's literally falling down.'
'All right, I'm convinced,' Miller said. 'So he speaks up loud and clear when everyone else has the good sense to keep their mouths shut.' He opened the file again. 'And he's certainly no physical coward. During the war he dropped into Yugoslavia by parachute three times and twice into Albania. DSO in 1944. Wounded twice.' He shrugged impatiently. 'There's got to be an explanation. There must be. It doesn't make any kind of sense that he should refuse to come in like this.'
'But did he actually refuse?'
Miller frowned, trying to remember exactly what the priest had said. 'No, come to think of it, he didn't. He said there was no point to coming in, as he wouldn't be able to help.'
'That's a strange way of putting it,' Fitzgerald said.
'You're telling me. There was an even choicer item. When I told him I could always get a warrant, he said that no power on earth could make him speak on this matter if he didn't want to.'
Fitzgerald had turned quite pale. He stood up and leaned across the desk. 'He said that? You're sure?'
'He certainly did.' Miller frowned. 'Does it mean something?'
Fitzgerald turned away and moved across the room to the window. 'I can only think of one circumstance in which a priest would speak in such a way.'
'And what would that be?'
'If the information he had at his disposal had been obtained as part of confession.'
Miller stared at him. 'But that isn't possible. I mean, he actually saw this character up there at the cemetery. It wouldn't apply.'
'It could,' Fitzgerald said, 'if the man simply went into the box and confessed. Da Costa wouldn't see his face, remember - not then.'
'And you're trying to tell me that once the bloke has spilled his guts, da Costa would be hooked?'
'Certainly he would.'
'But that's crazy.'
'Not to a Catholic it isn't. That's the whole point of confession. That what passes between