The Sinner: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

miracles, but you can’t explain why your patient with pancreatic cancer lived.”
    “There’s not always an easy explanation.”
    “Because medical science doesn’t completely understand death. Isn’t that true?”
    “But we do understand conception. We know it requires a sperm and an egg. That’s simple biology, Reverend Mother. I don’t believe in immaculate conception. What I do believe is that Camille had a sexual encounter. It may have been forced, or it may have been consensual. But her child was conceived in the usual way. And the father’s identity could well have a bearing on her murder.”
    “What if no father is ever found?”
    “We’ll have the child’s DNA. We only need the father’s name.”
    “You have such confidence in your science, Dr. Isles. It’s the answer to everything!”
    Maura rose from her chair. “But at least those answers, I can believe in.”
             
     
    Father Brophy escorted Maura from the office, and walked with her, back up the dim corridor, their steps creaking on well-worn floorboards.
    He said, “We might as well bring up the subject now, Dr. Isles.”
    “Which subject is that?”
    He stopped and looked at her. “Whether the child is mine.” He met her gaze without flinching; she was the one who wanted to turn away, to retreat from the intensity of his gaze.
    “It’s what you’re wondering, isn’t it?” he said.
    “You can understand why.”
    “Yes. As you said just a moment ago, the unavoidable laws of biology require a sperm and an egg.”
    “You’re the one man who has regular access to this abbey. You say Mass. You hear confession.”
    “Yes.”
    “You know their most intimate secrets.”
    “Only what they choose to tell me.”
    “You’re a symbol of authority.”
    “Some view priests that way.”
    “To a young novice, you certainly would be.”
    “And that makes me automatically suspect?”
    “You wouldn’t be the first priest to break your vows.”
    He sighed, and for the first time his gaze dropped from hers. Not in avoidance, but a sad nod of acknowledgment. “It’s not easy, these days. The looks people give us, the jokes behind our backs. When I say Mass, I look at the faces in my church, and I know what they’re thinking. They wonder whether I touch little boys, or covet young girls. They’re all wondering, just as you are. And you assume the worst.”
    “Is the child yours, Father Brophy?”
    The blue eyes were once more focused on her. His gaze was absolutely steady. “No, it’s not. I have never broken my vows.”
    “You understand, don’t you, that we can’t just take your word for it?”
    “No, I could be lying, couldn’t I?” Though he didn’t raise his voice, she heard the note of anger. He drew closer, and she stood very still, resisting the urge to retreat. “I could be compounding one sin with another, and yet another. Where do you see that spiral, that chain of sins, leading to? Lying. Abuse of a nun. Murder?”
    “The police have to look at all motives. Even yours.”
    “And you’ll want my DNA, I suppose.”
    “It would eliminate you as the baby’s father.”
    “Or it would point to me as a prime murder suspect.”
    “It could work either way, depending on the results.”
    “What do
you
think it will show?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “But you must have a hunch. You’re standing here, looking at me. Do you see a murderer?”
    “I trust only the evidence.”
    “Numbers and facts. That’s all you believe in.”
    “Yes.”
    “And if I told you that I’m perfectly willing to submit my DNA? That I’ll give you a blood sample right here and now, if you’re ready to take it?”
    “It doesn’t require a blood sample. Just a swab from the mouth.”
    “A swab, then. I just want to be clear that I’m volunteering for this.”
    “I’ll tell Detective Rizzoli. She’ll collect it.”
    “Will that change your mind? About whether I’m guilty?”
    “As I said, I’ll know when I see the results.” She opened the door and walked out.
    He followed her into the courtyard. He was not wearing a coat, yet he seemed impervious to the cold, his attention focused only on her.
    “You said you were raised Catholic,” he said.
    “I went to a Catholic high school. Holy Innocents, in San Francisco.”
    “Yet you believe only in your blood tests. In your science.”
    “What should I rely on instead?”
    “Instincts? Faith?”
    “In you? Just because you’re a