“And what, may I ask, happens to the blessed sacrament of communion if the priest disavows the resurrection of Christ?”

“Communion is a symbol, a public and spiritual avowal that we are at one with the teachings of Christ. That we draw strength from His presence in our hearts and minds. That we want to do right. That we want to believe.”

Back at the judge’s bench, Ben observed an infinitesimal pursing of Father Holbrook’s lips-a sure sign of his disapproval of the views espoused by the priest on the witness stand.

“We have also been told that the issue of abortion rights was discussed at the vestry meeting, in rather loud and angry words.”

“That is true. Helen Conrad was a member of a local organization founded by another vestry member, Ernestine Rupert. It’s a pro-choice group. They wanted to meet in the parish hall on Thursday evenings. I gave them my permission. But some of the vestry members-the ones who are pro-life-objected.”

“Interesting. Interesting,” Fleming said, tapping his lower lip with his pen. “But none of this explains why you were shouting at Helen Conrad.”

“She was not the only member of the vestry with whom I had… problems. I also had protracted discussions with Kate McGuire. Susan Marino.”

“Did you shout at them, too?”

“I used forceful words, but I hope I did not shout at-”

“I have four affidavits from eyewitnesses,” Fleming said, shuffling the papers before him. “All four describe your conduct as shouting or bellowing. One witness was able to hear you clearly even though she was in the nursery at the opposite end of the church.”

“It was an intense discussion, sir.”

“And a violent display of temper, according to these affidavits.”

Ben rose to his feet. “Father Holbrook, I must object to the use of affidavits rather than live witnesses. I can’t cross-examine an affidavit.”

“Mr. Kincaid, this is not federal court.”

“No, but this tribunal is supposedly governed by the Federal Rules of Evidence. And there’s no way you could do this in federal court, not when the testifying witnesses are available.”

Holbrook lowered his chin. “Mr. Kincaid, our goal here is not a flamboyant display of legal skills. Our goal is to arrive at the truth so that we can best serve the needs of the parish.”

“I understand that. But I still must insist-”

“Your objection is overruled, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Sir, with all due respect-you know that in the eyes of the law, I’m right.”

“Perhaps,” he answered. “But in the eyes of God, you’re wrong. Please sit down.”

Thank you, sir. May I have another one, sir? Ben sat down.

Fleming resumed his questioning. “Father Beale, is it true that you said-or rather shouted-that Helen Conrad, the woman who was later murdered, did not deserve to be a member of the vestry?”

“My point was simply that if she could not open her mind to new-”

Fleming’s voice rose for the first time in the entire proceeding. “Did-you-say-those-words?”

Beale’s head bowed slightly. “I’m afraid I did.”

“Did you also say that you would not allow her to-quote-bring the whole church down to her small-minded level-end quote?”

“Tempers were high, sir. Words were flying-”

“Did you say it?”

“I did, sir. I did.”

“And did she respond by telling you she was going to report you to the bishop? That she would have you removed from the church?”

“She did.”

“And how did you respond?”

Father Beale did not immediately reply.

“I have the words right before me, Father,” Fleming continued. “But I would like to hear it from you.”

When Father Beale’s voice finally returned, it was but an echo of what it had been before. “I told her I would not allow her to destroy thirty-four years of ministry. That I would stop her.”

“No matter what it took?”

Beale closed his eyes. “No matter what it took.”

The silence that filled the parish hall spoke more clearly than all the testimony that had gone before. It was as if a collective chill shuddered down the spines of those present. Ben thought that by now he should be immune to such things, but he felt it, just the same.

Without being obvious, Ben checked the expressions on the faces of the church members who had turned out to witness this event. Ben had hoped for more of a grand jury approach-no spectators allowed-but Payne had decided that since this action directly concerned the parish, and since the action was in fact being brought by the parish, he could not exclude them.

Ben could see at a glance which of the spectators still supported Father Beale-not many-and which were of the clique that wanted him ousted. But even those who backed Beale seemed shaken by this horrible threat.

“It was an inexcusable flash of temper, sir,” Beale said. “I know that.”

“It was a breach of faith, Father Beale. With your own parish.”

“I know. And I have apologized and asked their forgiveness.”

Fleming frowned. “After you shouted these threats, you left the meeting?”

“Yes. I was-quite agitated.”

“And the next time you saw Helen Conrad-”

“She was dead. Asphyxiated.”

“Who found the body?”

“A young woman from outside the parish. She apparently came to the prayer garden early in the morning to visit the remains of her grandmother. She found the body and, since the doors to the church were still locked, she called the police from her car phone.”

“When did you find out?”

“When I arrived at the church, perhaps five minutes later.”

“What was your reaction?”

Beale lifted his head, staring at Fleming as if his question had exceeded all bounds of propriety. “I was grief-stricken, of course. I was shocked and horrified. A member of my flock had been slain, in a cruel and heartless manner. And on holy ground.”

“And yet, the woman had been a thorn in your side. A thorn that was now very conveniently removed.”

Beale’s lips trembled. His teeth clenched tightly and the lines of his angular face deepened. “I don’t know what you’re suggesting, sir, but if you imagine that I had anything to do with what happened, or even that it secretly pleased me, then you know nothing about me. I was her priest! Yes, we had disagreements. Yes, I felt she should be removed from the vestry, she and all the others who are so mired in the past they can’t see the future. But I never wanted this-” His voice broke on the last word. He jerked his head around abruptly, trying to maintain control. “I would never cause or wish violence on any person. It’s contrary to everything I believe.”

Fleming was unmoved. “Were you questioned by the police?”

“Yes.”

“You were a suspect.”

“Most of the members of this parish were questioned. No charges were ever brought. Against me or anyone else.”

And Ben knew why. By picking the brain of his good friend, Major Mike Morelli of the Homicide division, he had learned that Father Beale was indeed the police department’s top suspect. His collar didn’t grant him any immunity from their inquiry. An unveiled threat followed by a violent death was simply too incriminating to be overlooked. The reason no charges had been brought was that there was simply no evidence. Motive, yes, but proof, no. No fingerprints, no footprints, no evidence of any kind. The woman had apparently been clubbed on the head then strangled shortly after nightfall, but it had rained in the early morning. Since the prayer garden was exposed to the elements, whatever trace evidence may have once existed had washed away.

“Not by the police,” Fleming continued. “But what about the vestry?”

“On the Sunday following Helen’s murder, the vestry formally requested that I resign.”

“They believed you had committed the murder.”

“They didn’t specify their reasons.”

“But it was understood-”

“Most of them had been wanting me out for a good long while. This development gave them the perfect excuse.”