“Dang if that preacher ain't called you right,” Noll said. He leaned back in his chair, regarding Farther McCarthy from head to toe.
“What do you mean?” McCarthy asked.
“He'd said you'd come around here. A Catholic priest, wearing the clerical collar.” He lightly brushed the back of his hand across his neck as he said this. “And by George, here you are in the flesh.”
“When did he tell you this?”
“The other week shortly after it happened. He didn't seem too agitated about it all though. Took it all in stride. Me, I felt the devil himself at work in the place. The church, I mean. The things those kids did….”
“Kids?” McCarthy said.
“Sure it was kids,” Noll said, his face contorting for emphasis. “Couldn't have been anyone but kids. Yeah, I know their parents would say that their young'uns weren't as bad as it appeared. Will say that maybe they'd been a little bored and had gotten a little carried away. But to me, if you go pissing on the Holy Book, then you're as bad as it appears, and worse!”
“Do you know who vandalized the church?”
“No sir, I hadn't got the slightest clue. But we've got other churches here in Bengate. And believe me, sure as I'm living and breathing, those little hell rats are going to do it again. The devil's in their blood, you see. They won't be able to help themselves. And when they do, you can best believe I'm going to nail their hides to the wall. Now that's a campaign promise you can make book on.”
McCarthy simply nodded his head. “Did Reverend Swag tell you where he was going?”
“Nope, he didn't and I didn't rightly ask. But he'll be back soon.”
“How do you know that?”
“One reason is that he told me that he would be. And secondly,” Noll said, as he reached under his desk, pulling out a set of keys. He handed the keys to McCarthy. “He's expecting to meet with you. He said there's something he wants you to see in his chambers. He said it's on the computer. I guess it was a small miracle those hellacious devils didn't go trashing about in there.”
McCarthy took the keys, looking at them suspiciously as he turned them over slowly in his hand.
“That big one opens the side door to the church,” Noll said. “The others are to his chambers and what not. He said you'd be able to figure it out. I expect you'll be safe over there. The ones that did all that damage won't likely make a return trip over there anytime soon. The place is still a mess.”
The church smelled awful. McCarthy was reminded of the time a few years back when one of his parishioners, a twenty-six year old husband and father, had lost both his wife and three year old son in a deadly vehicle crash. The family's Dodge Caravan was a mangled total loss. The insurance company, worried about storage fees and its own bottom line, had requested that the husband get over to the salvage yard ASAP to remove any personal effects from the vehicle so they could move the salvage to their own storage facility. Devastated by the loss and without family and friends in the area, the young man had asked McCarthy to accompany him to the tow yard. The young man hadn't known how much seeing the family vehicle in its current condition would affect him. There were only a few things left in the van, all of which were of sentimental value only, some pictures, CDs, and a few of the son's toys. Included amongst the items was a small sippy cup of milk that had spoiled. As soon as the young man opened the van door, the rancid odor of spoiled milk mixed with the scent of the young wife's dried blood on the dash panel had rushed out to McCarthy, who'd been standing a few feet back. How the young man had withstood the odorous onslaught, McCarthy would never know. But he himself had doubled over and vomited.
The smell inside the sanctuary was similar to that, but worse somehow, as if someone had thrown in some rotting fruit for good measure. McCarthy walked quickly to the pastor's chambers. The door to the chambers was closed, but not locked. McCarthy entered and discovered, to his pleasant surprise, that the odor didn't reach this far. He closed the door behind him.
The computer was atop Swag's desk. McCarthy sat at the desk and powered the computer on. As he waited for the computer to go through its paces, he glanced around the chambers. It was in pristine order. How nice of the vandals to have spared this room, he thought sarcastically. Scanning the room, his eyes came to a rest on the file cabinet and its metallic lock sitting in the far corner of the room. Suddenly he became aware of the keys in his hands, wondering absently if he'd have need of them.
The desktop came up without need of password entry. There was only one icon and it was aptly titled, VIDEO.
He clicked on it.