Eleventh Hour

furniture, old and scarred and graceful, sitting on an ancient Persian carpet that was so frayed in spots that Dane was afraid to walk on it. The heavy red drapes had black dragons woven into them. “Do sit down, gentlemen.” He turned to Dane. “I am very sorry for your loss, Mr. Carver. Everyone is. We loved Father Michael Joseph, it’s a horrible thing. Oh my, you look so much like him, it’s a shock even though I’ve seen a picture with the two of you—peas in a pod, the same smile. Oh my, this is very difficult. As I told Inspector Delion this morning, I’m the one who’s responsible. If only I hadn’t agreed to let that man come to the church for confession so late.”
    Father Binney sank down onto an overstuffed red brocade chair, all black against all red, except for his white clerical collar. Suddenly he covered his face with his hands. There were red hairs on the backs of his hands. Finally he looked up. “Please excuse me. It’s just that I have to get used to looking at you, Mr. Carver, you’re just so much like Father Michael Joseph. To have him gone, just gone, it’s too much. Nothing like this has ever happened here at Saint Bartholomew’s, and it’s my fault.”
    Dane said in his deep, calm voice, “It isn’t your fault, Father. It isn’t mine either. It’s this madman who killed him—he’s the only one to blame here. Now, please, Father, tell us what you know about this man.”
    It steadied Father Binney. Slowly, he raised his head. He shuddered one more time as he looked at Dane. Dane saw that his feet barely reached the threadbare carpet, probably a good thing, since the thing was so tatty.
    “As I told Inspector Delion, the man phoned late Sunday night, around eight o’clock, I think it was. I was on the desk for that hour, which is why I took the call. He said it was urgent, said he was very ill, that if he didn’t speak to Father Michael Joseph, then he might go to hell if he died. He was very fluent, very believable. You understand, we have set times for confessions, but he pleaded with me, didn’t let up.”
    “What was the man’s name, Father?” Dane said.
    Father Binney said, “He said he was Charles DeBruler, promised me he’d confessed to Father Michael Joseph two previous times, that Father had really helped him. He said he trusted Father Michael Joseph.”
    “What did my brother say, exactly, when you told him of the call?”
    Father Binney frowned, his brow pleating deeply. “He was very angry, truth be told. He said he knew this man, that he didn’t want to speak to him, not ever again. I was surprised, told him that I had never known him to fail to minister to anyone who asked for help. He didn’t want to, but you see, I made him feel as if he was failing in his duty if he didn’t see the man. I also told him that I never knew him to turn down a person who wanted confession, no matter the time requested, no matter what he thought of the penitent. Father Michael Joseph didn’t wish to discuss the man with me, but he said he would see him one more time. If he couldn’t do anything to change the man, it was the last time. Then he said something about having a decision to make, a decision that could change his life forever.” Father Binney fell silent.
    “What do you think he meant, Father, by ‘change his life’?” Dane asked.
    “I don’t know,” said Father Binney. “I can’t imagine.”
    Dane slowly nodded. “The man asked for my brother three times. Why? If he didn’t come to repent, then why did he want to see my brother, specifically?”
    “I have asked myself that over and over,” said Father Binney. “Three times he saw Father Michael Joseph. Why didn’t Father Michael Joseph want to see him again? Why did he talk about making a decision that night that might change his life?”
    “It sounds to me like this man had no intention of repenting his sins,” Delion said. “Maybe it’s possible that the man came to brag to your brother, you know, maybe he wanted to brag to someone about his crimes who was helpless to do anything about it. That’s why your brother was angry, Dane, why he didn’t want to see this man again. He knew the man was playing games with him. What do you think? It explains why Father Michael Joseph didn’t want to see him again. Hey, am I off the wall here?”
    “I don’t know,” Dane said. “The man came three different times.” He fell silent. “The third time he killed my brother.”
    Father