***************
Previously:

Derek moved in the direction of the couch, but stopped in sharp surprise when he saw a dark-cloaked figure wearing a brimmed hat seated in one of the wingback chairs facing the fireplace. Why didn't Father Brian mention he had a guest?

The man stretched his legs closer to the fire and spoke without turning. "Sheriff Oleson, how good of you to join us." The voice was low, yet seemed to bounce off every wall in the room.

Derek spun around at the sound of the priest's approach. "Why didn't you tell me you had someone in here with you, Father?"

The priest was stunned by the force of the man's angry words and utterly confused by his statement.

"What are you talking about, Derek? There's no one in here but you and me."

***************

"I'm telling you a man was seated in front of your fireplace when I walked into this room," Sheriff Oleson insisted. "Were you counselling someone who didn't want to be recognized and left through another door, Father?"

The priest lifted his chin a fraction. "Only one entrance to this room, Sheriff, and no other persons have been in this rectory since I returned from the police station."

Glancing downwards, his voice shook a bit. "My housekeeper insists the rectory is haunted." He tried for a smile as he met the Sheriff's hard look. "In the old days, priests favored the loose-fitting black cassocks most of the time. It would make sense that our resident ghost would be a priest."

"I don't believe in ghosts." Derek Oleson's jaw was clamped so tight his words came out in chunks. "But ... I do believe that Debra Padget's murderer ... convinced as he is of your mutual understanding ... might decide to pay you a visit."

"If it is God's will then nothing on this earth can keep him from me," the priest insisted.

The detective was too exhausted to argue. Making a last-ditch effort to impress upon the priest the gravity of the situation, he warned, "A psychopathic killer's real pleasure lies in making his victims suffer. If this guy is like the others I've dealt with, your death would be slow and infinitely more painful than you can imagine. Maybe God's okay with that, but I'm not."

Father Brian gasped when the detective pulled a firearm from the holster tucked into the small of his back. "Is that really necessary?! I've already told you ..."

A finger to his lips, Derek tilted his head in the direction of the hallway in an unspoken directive for the priest to vacate the room. Though he resented being ordered about in his own home, he chose to comply.

The sheriff kept to the outer edges of the room as he made his way to the two sets of French doors that flanked the fireplace. They were of thick oak and curtained to contain the sunlight. He checked first one door, then the other, proving them securely locked. Derek slid the curtain panels of one set of  doors aside, and the entirety of the rectory's rear property was visible through the panes of glass. Due to its natural slope, anyone attempting escape through the doors would face a drop of approximately fifteen feet unto a concrete slab. Possible, but not likely.

He crept toward a corner closet and stood alongside, listening for any sounds of movement. Slowly, he tried the knob and finding the door unlocked, he nudged it wide, gun ready. The room was filled with storage boxes from floor to ceiling, leaving no room for a grown man to hide. The investigator checked the ceiling for a trapdoor and finding none, he holstered his weapon. Returning to the center of the room, Derek motioned for Father Brian to re-enter while he surveyed the entire seating area from that vantage point.

"I'm curious, Father," he queried. "The chair in question isn't turned in the direction of the couch, like the other one. Instead, it's facing the fire. Why is that?"

"I moved it closer to the fire for warmth." The cleric tapped his knee. "Helps with the joint pain." 

I'm not buying it, Padre. But I'll let it slide for now.

Derek finger-combed his brushcut, exposing an irregular, angry scar along the underside of his forearm. Father Brian's impression was of skin mangled by dull metal. A beat before he looked away, Derek caught his stare. "Long story," the detective said as he absently rubbed the scar. "I forget it's there sometimes ... but I never forget who gave it to me."

He chose a seat in the middle of the couch, leaving Father Brian with no choice but to sit in a chair directly across from him. "It's been a long day and we're both tired, Father. Whatever I saw can wait until another time. Let's get started, and you can fill me in on the second phone call from the killer and why you think he's going to murder again."

Unbuttoning the flap of his breast pocket, the detective retrieved a notebook and recording device. When he activated the device and placed it on the table between them, a vein spasmed in the priest's right temple.

"As I mentioned earlier, Father Brian, this is an informal interview, which you have requested to be conducted in your home: the rectory of St. Matilde's Catholic Church."

"That is correct, Sheriff. Is it necessary for you to tape our conversation?"

The sheriff nodded. "It's standard procedure these days."

"In that case," reaching inside his blazer pocket and retrieving a similar device, "I, too, would like to record our conversation. The killer has chosen to confess his actions to me, and I want to be sure nothing gets screwed up in translation."

"Do you have reason to believe I may misrepresent the facts, Father?"

"Not at all, Sheriff. But you must understand the killer may consider his conversations with me as completely confidential, just as they would be in a confessional. It would be a shame to get this guy to trial only to have pertinent information thrown out if he claimed to believe everything he told me was 'client' privilege."

"That's the only reason you want to tape our conversation?"

"What other reason would I have, Sheriff."

Derek's eyes were like two blue marbles set atop molten mounds. "I'm working on that, Father."

A grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eleven times giving the room its only sound as Sheriff Oleson scanned his notes. Finally, he turned his attention back to the interview.

"I found an item at Debra Padget's house that I believe holds one of the keys to why she was killed. In her curio cabinet was a trifold picture frame with the center snapshot removed. The remaining pictures led me to think they'd been taken at her retirement party. Were you attached to St. Matilde's when Debra Padget retired?"

"I was an assistant at that time -- the pastor was Monsignor Lew Flaherty." He rubbed the gray stubble along his jaw and stared at a point in the distance. "As I recall, Debra Padget and Coach Stanley Eisner, both retired at the same time."

"Wait a minute." Prickles of energy moved along Derek's spine. "Wasn't Lew Flaherty known to have been a pedophile by Catholic authorities, even before his placement at this parish?"

"Yes, that has unfortunately been proven to be the case. Your predecessor, Sheriff Manton, investigated complaints by three separate sets of parents from St. Matilde's, and arrested Monsignor Flaherty. He was convicted of statutory rape, but died after serving less than a year in prison."

Brian felt a sudden surge of his pulse. "Sheriff, you don't think ... dear God in heaven ... what if Debra Padget and Stanley Eisner chose to retire in the midst of the scandal because they knew about Monsignor Flaherty's crimes?!"