Savich thought Dane would break then. His breath was sharp and too fast, his eyes dilated, his hands fisted hard and tight. But he didn’t. His breathing hitched, suspended for a moment, and then he made himself breathe deeply, and held himself together. Savich said, “No, it doesn’t make sense to us, just to the person who killed him, and we’ll find out who and we’ll find out why. No, stay seated for a minute, Dane, and we’ll make some plans. Your brother’s name was Michael, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, he was Father Michael Joseph Carver. I need to go to San Francisco. I know the reputation of the department out there. They’re good, but they didn’t know my brother. Not even my sister really knew him. Only I really knew him. Oh God, I thought I’d never say this, but it’s probably better that my mom died last year. She’d wanted Michael to become a priest, prayed for it all her life, at least that’s what she always said. This would have destroyed her soul, you know?”

“Yes, I know, Dane. When did you last speak to him?”

“Two nights ago. He-he was really pleased because he’d managed to catch a teenager who’d been spraying graffiti on the church walls. He told me he was going to make the boy a Catholic. Once he was a Catholic, he’d never do that again because he wouldn’t be able to bear the guilt.” Dane smiled, just for an instant, then fell silent.

“So you didn’t sense anything wrong?”

Dane shook his head, then frowned. “I would have said no, that my brother was always upbeat, even when a local journalist tried to come on to him.”

“Good grief, what was her name?”

“Oh no, it wasn’t a woman. It was a man.”

Savich just smiled.

“It happened quite a bit, but you’re right, usually it was women. Michael was always kind, it didn’t matter if it was a man or a woman doing the coming on.” Dane frowned, fell silent again.