9
Cash surveyed the church. It was a spartan building in whitewashed stone with a modest spire and cruciform ground plan, the neat façade flanked by two spruce trees. It stood at the top of the main street on a high point overlooking the town of Burns. A bust of Christ looking down with a kindly expression, His two fingers raised, occupied a niche above the entrance. Feeling its eyes upon her, she climbed the steps and heaved open double doors to the vestibule. She was immediately immersed in a cool stillness. The smell of incense mixed with stone wafted through the air.
Colcord followed her, removing his hat to reveal his receding fringe of blond hair.
Rows of oak pews stretched on either side, ending in an altar framed by several carved wood statuettes of robed saints in various poses of piety. Cash shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, taking in the grand pillars that rose on either side, feeling a bit like a little girl again attending Mass. An old, familiar feeling of anxiety began to steal over her, which she quickly pushed down.
“You all right?” Colcord asked, clapping a palm on her back, seeming to sense her unease.
“I’m good. Let’s get this over with.”
Cash strode down the center aisle. The church appeared empty, the trappings of what had possibly been a wedding adorning various pews. A lone priest wearing black robes materialized from behind the altar, a candlesnuffer in one hand. He was a mousy man with brown hair and aprodigious mole lodged to the right of a button nose. Bushy brows shaded eyes the color of cement. As he got closer, she realized the top of his head barely reached her chest. Despite his stature, he spoke in a polished voice that carried far.
“Good afternoon, Sheriff. Welcome to Saint Mary’s Church. My name is Father Moore. How can I assist you today?”
Father Moore held out a hand to Colcord, who shook it and introduced himself.
The priest did not offer a handshake to Cash, and she stepped forward to introduce herself as well. “I’m Agent Cash with the Colorado Bureau of Investigation,” she said, perhaps louder than she intended.
He turned to her with eyebrows raised in query.
“We’d like to ask you some questions about Willy Grooms.”
“Has Mr. Grooms gotten himself into some trouble?” Father Moore turned back to Colcord and spoke to him as if he was the one who had made the request.
The church doors opened behind them, and a woman clicked into the vestibule and took a seat in one of the pews.
“Is there a place we can speak that’s more private?” Colcord asked.
“Certainly, Sheriff.” Father Moore led them around the altar and past the supplicating eyes of the statuettes. Cash recognized them as Saint Matthew, Saint Christopher, and a third she could not place.
Father Moore noticed her looking at the statue. “Saint Neot,” he said, “my favorite saint. I had him added when I assumed my duties here. An ascetic, a wise man, and the patron of fish. Said to have stood four feet tall. There are many formidable men in history that were of short stature, you know.”
“Right, of course,” Cash said.
The tiny priest ducked through a nondescript door tucked into the wall, Colcord stooping to follow suit. Cash slipped through the miniscule door, wondering if it had also been added specially for Father Moore.
They passed through a sacristy and entered a spare office. A small photograph of the pope holding the papal ferrule aloft hung behind Father Moore’s desk, the only decoration in the room. Cash seatedherself across from Father Moore. Colcord set his hat on the desk and propped himself against the back wall.
“Mr. Moore—” she began.
“FatherMoore, if you would. I did not go through seminary formation to be called ‘mister.’ ” The priest folded his hands together and pursed his lips, his eyes shifting between Cash and Colcord, as if confused why Colcord was not conducting the interview.
Cash forced a strained smile. “Pardon.FatherMoore. I have some sad news. Willy Grooms has passed away. The CBI and the sheriff’s office are investigating his death as a homicide.”
Father Moore’s forehead knotted deeply. “Homicide? Good heavens. That is regrettable news, indeed. May eternal rest be granted unto him.” He made the sign of the cross.
Cash ignored Father Moore’s rather mawkish reaction. “I’d like to open by mentioning that this interview is completely voluntary. Do you mind if I record?”
Father Moore shook his head. Cash hit Record and placed her cell phone on the desk between them.
“How long have you known Mr. Grooms?” Cash asked.
“I met him three years ago, and only once,” he began, speaking in an oddly sonorous and precise voice. “His son, Samuel, was a parishioner and rarely spoke of his father. Mr. Grooms suffered from severe mental illness and did not know Christ until Margie Brooksfield brought him to the light. He did not have the power to know God due to his mental state.Invincible ignorance, we call it—ignorant of God, but still able to achieve salvation. While he was not able to attend church on account of his disability, I was able to help him gain eternal salvation by baptizing him in Solitary Lake. It was the only time I met him.”
“Did Grooms ask to be baptized?”
“Not in so many words,” Father Moore responded. “But he was clearly aware of his original sin and responding in signs of humble gladness because of Christ.”
