"There was an odd thing out there." Carr dropped the suit on the floor, then settled on the edge of an overstuffed chair. He put his elbows on his knees, laced his fingers, leaning toward the priest.

"Yes?" Bergen frowned.

"When I called, you said the LaCourts were okay when you left."

"Yes, they were fine," Bergen said, his head bobbing. He was assured, innocent. "They didn't seem nervous. How were they killed, anyway? Is it possible that one of them…" He answered his own question, shaking his head. "No, not them."

"A fireman saw your Jeep passing the station," Carr continued. "A few seconds later the fire call came in. When the firemen got there, maybe five or six minutes later, it appeared that the LaCourts had been dead for some time. A half hour, maybe more."

"That's not possible," Bergen said promptly. He straightened, looked from Lucas to Carr, a shadow in his eyes. Suspicion. "Shelly… you don't think I was involved?"

"No, no, we're just trying to straighten this out."

"So what were they doing when you left?" Lucas asked.

Bergen stared at him, then said, "You're the homicide fellow who lives over in Sawyer County. The man who was fired from Minneapolis."

"What were you doing?" Lucas repeated.

"Shelly?" The priest looked at the sheriff, who looked away.

"We've got to figure this out, Phil."

"Mr. Davenport is a mercenary, isn't he?" Bergen asked, looking again at Lucas.

"We need him, Phil," Carr said, almost pleading now. "We've got nobody else who can do it. And he's a good Catholic boy."

"What were you doing?" Lucas asked a third time. He put glass in his voice, a cutting edge.

The priest pursed his lips, moving them in and out, considering both Lucas and the question, then sighed and said, "When I left, they were fine. There was not a hint of a problem. I came right back here, and I was still here when Shelly called."

"The firemen say there's no mistaking the time," Lucas said. "They're certain."

"I'm certain, too," Bergen snapped.

Lucas: "How long were you there at the house?"

"Fifteen minutes, something like that," Bergen said. He'd turned himself to face Lucas more directly.

"Did you eat anything?"

"Cupcakes. A glass of milk," Bergen said.

"Were the cupcakes hot?"

"No, but as a matter of fact, she was frosting them while we talked."

"When you left, did you stop anywhere on the way out? Even pause?"

"No."

"So you went right out to your Jeep, got in, drove as fast as seemed reasonable to get out of the road."

"Well… I probably fiddled around in the Jeep for a minute before I left, a minute or two," Bergen said. He knew where they were going, and began to stretch the time. "But I didn't see any sign of trouble before I left."

"Was the television on?" Lucas asked.

"Mmm, no, I don't think so."

"How about the radio?"

"No. We were talking," Bergen said.

"Was there a newspaper on the table?"

"I just can't remember," Bergen said, his voice rising. "What are these questions?"

"Can you remember anything that would be peculiar to this day, that you saw inside the LaCourt house, that might still be there, that might have survived the fire? A book sitting on a table? Anything?"

"Well…" The priest scratched the side of his nose. "No, not particularly. I'll think about it. There must be something."

"Did you look at the clock when you got home?"

"No. But I hadn't been here long when Shelly called."

Lucas looked at Carr. "Shelly, could you call in and have somebody patch you through to the LaCourt house, and tell somebody to go into the kitchen and check to see if there was a bowl of frosting."

He turned his head back to Bergen: "Was the frosting in a bowl or out of one of those cans?"

"Bowl."

To Carr: "… check and see if there was a frosting bowl or a cupcake tin in the sink or around the table."

"Sure."

"She might have washed the dishes," Bergen suggested.

"There couldn't have been too much time," Lucas said.

"Use the office phone, Shelly," the priest said to Carr.

He and Lucas watched the sheriff pad down the hall, then Lucas asked, "Did Frank LaCourt come outside when you left?"

"No. He said good-bye at the door. At the kitchen table, actually. Claudia came to the door. Did you go to Catholic schools?"

"Through high school," Lucas said.

"Is this what they taught you? To interrogate priests?"

"Your being a priest doesn't cut any ice with me," Lucas said. "You've seen all the scandals these last few years. That stuff was out there for years and you guys hid it. There were a half a dozen gay brothers at my school and everybody knew it. And they affected more than a few kids."

Bergen stared at him for a moment, then half-turned and shook his head.

"Was Frank LaCourt wearing outdoor clothing or look like he was getting ready to go outside?" Lucas asked, returning to the questions.

"No." Bergen was subdued now, his voice gone dark.

"Did you see anyone else there?"

"No."

"Did Frank have a pair of snowshoes around?" Lucas asked.

"Not that I saw."

"Did you see any snowshoe tracks outside the door?"

"No." Bergen shook his head. "I didn't. But it was snowing."

"Did you pass any cars on the way out?"

"No. How far is it from the corner by the firehouse back to LaCourts'?"

"One-point-one miles," Lucas said.

Bergen shook his head. "I'm a careful driver. I said it took a minute or two to get out to the corner, but two minutes would be thirty miles an hour. I wasn't doing thirty. I was probably going a lot slower than that. And I was pulling my trailer."

"Snowmobile?"

"Yes, I'd been out with the club, the Grant Scramblers, you can check with them."

Carr came back: "They're looking," he said. "They'll call back."

Lucas looked at Carr. "If we have somebody waiting for Father Bergen to leave, and if he lures Frank LaCourt outside somehow, right away, kills him, then kills the other two, burns the place immediately and gets out, in a frenzy, and if you build a little extra time in between the firemen's arrival at the place and finding the bodies-we could almost make it."

Carr looked at Bergen, who seemed to ponder what Lucas had said. He'd chosen Lucas as the enemy, but now Lucas had changed direction.

"Okay," Carr said, nodding. To Bergen: "I hated to hit you with it, Phil, but there did seem to be a problem. We can probably figure it out. When you were there, what were you talking about? I mean, it's not confessional stuff, is it? I…"

"Actually, we were talking about the Tuesday services and the concept of an exchange with Home Baptist. I wanted to get some ground rules straight."

"Oh." Now Carr looked uncomfortable. "Well, we can figure that out later."

"What's all this about?" Lucas asked.

"Church stuff, an argument that's going around," Carr said.

"Could somebody get killed over it?"

Bergen was startled. "Good grief, no! You might not get invited to a party, but you wouldn't get killed."

Carr glanced at him, frowned. The phone rang down the hallway, and the priest said, "Let me get that." A moment later he returned with a portable handset and passed it to Carr. "For you."

Carr took it, said, "This is the sheriff," then, "Yeah." He listened for a moment, said, "Okay, okay, and I'll see you out there in a bit… okay." He pushed the clear button and turned to Lucas: "There was a bowl in the sink that could have been used to make frosting. No frosting in it, but it was the right kind of bowl."

"Like I told you," said Bergen.

"Okay," Lucas said.

"If we're done here, I'm going back out to the LaCourt place," Carr said. He picked up his snowmobile suit and began pulling it over his feet. "I'm sorry we bothered you, Phil, but we had to ask."