Half a dozen agile policemen had stormed into St. Malachi’s, three more still coming up the steps behind them, before Father Joseph D’Angelo realised they were heavily armed. They spread out to cover both sides of the Narthex, taking up positions between pillars, the crackle of their radios eerie and threatening in the quiet church.
To his surprise, D’Angelo found himself facing down the muzzle of a standard issue service revolver.
“What in God’s name is the meaning of this?” The old priest demanded, rising awkwardly to his feet. Then, seeing Lamenzo slumped on the clammy stone floor, he breathed: “Oh, Sweet Jesus, Mary Mother of God…”
One of the policemen spoke while another knelt over the young man’s corpse, checking it needlessly for a pulse. The final officers fell into position around the body.
“No disrespect, Father, but that sonofabitch down there,” he gestured with the barrel of his gun at the body on the floor, “Just pumped a fistful of lead into the owner of a delicatessen over on Randell. Killed him, a six year old girl plus one unknown —”
“—No, no… I can’t… he couldn’t… No…” The priest breathed, shaken.
“He could and did, Padre, and right now it’s my job to make sure he’s not about to get up and do the same to you.”
“Jesus, Mary… He might have had his troubles, but he… He couldn’t.”
“He’s dead,” the fresh-faced officer leaning over Lamenzo pronounced, standing and re-holstering his pistol as he moved away from the body. According to his plastic lapel badge his name was: S. Lawson. He was a big, gangling youth, all elbows and angles.
“Christ on a fucking crutch,” another of the nine moaned, J. Bogdanovich, then swallowed, remembering where he was.
“Oh, Merciful Jesus…” D’Angelo rubbed a trembling hand across his eyes, they were damp with salty tears. “Can you help me move him?”
“Sorry, Padre. No can do.”
“But he’s —”
“Got to wait for forensics and the coroner, can’t move him.”
“This is a church” You can’t just let him bleed all over the floor…”
“Sorry.”
“Can’t we at least cover him?”
“Certainly,” Bill Stern said softly. “Do you have something? A sheet maybe? To act as a shroud?” He took a thick cigar from his pocket, didn’t light it as he slipped it between his lips.
“Yes,” D’Angelo said numbly.
Stern looked genuinely pained. “I’m sorry you had to see this, Padre, sincerely. If it could have happened any other way… but he ran here, like you could save him… Would you mind fetching that sheet, I think the sooner he’s covered up, the better, all things considered.”
“Yes, yes…” D’Angelo said, shamed by the look of sympathy and understanding the officer gave him. “What kind of a world is it we live in, Officer? Can you tell me that? What kind of a world..?”
He turned his back and walked away, returning with the spare altar cloth. “In nomine Patris et Filia et Spiritus Sancti,” whispered the priest, lowering the vestment. “Amen.”
Lamenzo’s sightless eyes were covered by the white linen. Flowers of red blossomed like the eyeholes in a Halloween lantern on the flawless cloth, one above the arm, two over the left leg. D’Angelo turned away, not bothering to hide his obvious anguish. “Well, I can’t pretend that I like standing here like some vulture, gentlemen. If you don’t mind, I’ve got a service to prepare.”
“Not tonight, Padre.” Bill Stern said, shaking his head. “I’m gonna have to insist you allow us to secure the church and that means no one comes in until the coroner’s been. Standard operating procedure, I’m afraid. However, if you want to retire somewhere, by all means. The situation’s well in hand. He isn’t gonna cause us any more problems, so it’s just a case of waiting now. If we have any problems we can’t handle, we’ll call for you.”
“I suppose I am getting old and cynical with it, Officer, but I am becoming more than a little sceptical so far as miracles are concerned.” The priest replied, looking again at the covered corpse, and back to the guns. “I’m sure he, may God bless his eternal soul, won’t be giving you any problems.” Crossing himself instinctively and genuflecting before the altar, the old priest bustled out through the sacristy door and left them to it, missing the first miracle in St. Malachi’s long history…