The Brothers' Lot - Kevin Holohan [57]
“When the Bishop calls Father Sheehan and I get the call, there’s no time to waste.”
“Sit down, won’t you, Father.”
“You know what, Brother, to be honest, I think I’d like to get right to work. If I could see the scene of the, uhm, happening and the, uhm, subject or witness?”
“Of course, Father, how silly of me to be thinking you’d be having time for a ball of malt.”
Father Mulvey arched his eyebrows. “Maybe later,” he said without conviction, noting both the obvious relish with which Brother Loughlin talked of the ball of malt and the gold total abstinence Pioneer pin that glinted prominently in his lapel.
Brother Loughlin stood awkwardly for a few moments. He did not at all like the way this Jesuit had refused to have a drink with him, as if it somehow put Mulvey at a moral advantage.
“Shall we go then, Brother? It was, after all, you who called me in. It is not my miracle,” said Father Mulvey sternly.
“Very well,” replied Brother Loughlin, and held the door of the office open with overstated ceremony and politeness. Father Mulvey ignored this display of childishness.
“The more time that elapses between the happening and the investigation, the more the subject’s impressions are likely to fade. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you now, Brother?”
Loughlin took this mix of hint and threat and used it to power up his legs. He waddled down the corridor at top speed in front of Father Mulvey.
Inside the door of the monastery they were met by a knot of Brothers who all set upon the investigator like a pack of starving dogs.
“How long do you think it will take, Father?”
“Have you told the Holy Father yet?”
“Don’t be stupid, it’s already after bedtime in Rome!”
“Is the Bishop here?”
“Don’t call me stupid!”
“I have more miracles I can show you! Do you remember I wrote to you about the time Venerable Saorseach gave me the name of that horse when I didn’t have enough money for me sister’s birthday present?”
“Will we be able to get Saorseach miraculous medals when he’s made Blessed?”
“Have you ever seen a statue bleed before?”
“Brothers! Please leave Father Mulvey in peace to conduct his work,” shouted Brother Loughlin above the din. “You will know anything that happens as soon as we do. Now stay down here out of the way.”
He opened a path through the babbling Brothers and ushered Father Mulvey through.
“It’s just up the stairs on your left, Father,” Brother Loughlin explained, then turned on the Brothers in a menacing undertone: “That is the last time you uncultured goms are going to disgrace me in front of someone like that! Do you hear?”
The oratory smelt like a long-abandoned house. The mix of damp plaster and rotten wood tickled the back of Father Mulvey’s throat. He stood on the threshold and surveyed the scene carefully.
“It was just over here that …” started Brother Loughlin as he stepped into the room before feeling Father Mulvey’s restraining arm across his chest.
“Please, Brother, do me a favor, don’t go in there. I don’t want anything disturbed,” rapped Mulvey.
Brother Loughlin stood still, surprised as much by the authority in the priest’s voice as by the unexpected strength of his wiry arm.
“Let’s just keep the scene as intact as we can, okay?” Father Mulvey pulled on his surgical gloves and moved carefully into the oratory. From his raincoat pocket he withdrew his bicycle lamp and shone it up into the hole in the ceiling. Even with all the lights in the oratory except the fallen one still working, this remarkable bicycle lamp threw great illumination on the joists and wires exposed by the collapse. Brother Loughlin wondered whether such lamps were special issue to all Jesuits or just to Diocesan Investigators.
“Looks like a nice clean job,” observed Father Mulvey.
“What do you mean by clean job? Are you insinuating that someone did this deliberately?” spluttered Brother Loughlin.
“No, no. That’s a term we use in the trade for a scene that doesn’t show any outside tampering.