I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [13]
Alvirah sighed. “Oh, Aiden, you can read a person like a book. Well, you know I’ve told you about Zan Moreland, whose little boy disappeared in Central Park.”
“Yes. I was in Rome at that time,” he said. “No trace of the child ever?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Zan’s parents died in a car accident and she spent every cent of their insurance money hiring private detectives, but there simply hasn’t been a trace of the little guy. He’d be five today. I’d asked Zan to come to dinner, but she’s meeting her ex-husband, and that’s a mistake, too. He blames her for allowing a young babysitter to take Matthew out.”
“I’d like to meet her,” Fr. Aiden said. “I sometimes wonder which is worse, to bury a child or to have a child disappear.”
“Alvirah, ask Fr. Aiden about that guy you saw in church last evening,” Willy urged.
“That was something else, Aiden. I stopped in at St. Francis yesterday—”
“Probably to slip a donation into St. Anthony’s box,” Aiden interrupted with a smile.
“Actually, yes. But there was a guy there and his face was in his hands, and you know sometimes you get the feeling you don’t want to crowd next to someone?”
Fr. Aiden nodded. “I understand, and that was very thoughtful of you.”
“Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea,” Willy disagreed. “Tell Aiden what you saw, honey.”
“Well, anyhow, I walked across the back to the last pew, where I could watch for this fellow when he left. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a good look at him, but then you came out of the Reconciliation Room and started across the atrium to the Friary. I was going to see if I could catch up with you, but then Mr. Devout, whoever he is, jumped up, lifted his dark glasses, and Aiden, let me tell you, he didn’t take his eyes off you for one minute until you were out of sight.”
“Perhaps he wanted to go to confession and couldn’t work up his courage,” Fr. Aiden suggested. “Unfortunately, that happens, too. People want to unburden themselves, but then can’t bring themselves to admit to what they’ve been doing.”
“No. It’s more than that. It just has me worried,” Alvirah said firmly. “I mean it does happen sometimes that some crazy person decides he’s mad at a priest. If there’s anyone you know who’s mad at you, keep an eye out for him.”
The wrinkles on Fr. Aiden’s forehead deepened as a thought occurred to him. “Alvirah, you say that this person was kneeling at the Shrine of St. Anthony for a few minutes before I left the Reconciliation Room?”
“Yes.” Alvirah put down the glass of wine in her hand and leaned forward. “You suspect someone, don’t you, Aiden?”
“No,” Fr. Aiden protested unconvincingly. That young woman, he thought. She said she was powerless to prevent someone from being murdered. Was she followed into church or did someone accompany her? She had rushed into the Reconciliation Room. Maybe she came in on an impulse and then obviously regretted it?
“Aiden, do you have security cameras at the church?” Alvirah asked.
“Yes, at all the doors that lead into the church.”
“Well, couldn’t you check them and see who might have come in between 5:30 and 6:30? I mean there weren’t many people there.”
“Yes, I could do that,” Fr. Aiden agreed.
“Would you mind if I took a look at them tomorrow morning?” Alvirah asked. “I mean I couldn’t see that guy’s face, but I did get an impression of him. On the tall side, an all-weather coat, like a Burberry. He did have a lot of black hair.”
A tape will also show that young woman coming into church, Fr. Aiden thought. Not that I have any hope of learning who she is, but it would be interesting to get a sense of whether she was being followed. The burden of concern that he had been carrying all day deepened.
“Of course, Alvirah, I’ll meet you in the church at nine A.M.” If someone followed the young woman and was afraid of what she might have told him, would that young