“Said she couldn’t, said she’d call if she thought of anything helpful.”

Great, okay, Dane thought. At least there was someone. Maybe she would call back. He said, “Have you spoken yet to the other priests at the rectory?”

For the first time Vincent Delion smiled beneath his thick mustache, the ends actually waxed, Dane realized when he saw him smile. “Guess what? I figured you’d be ready to climb up my ass if I didn’t let you in on that. So, Special Agent Carver, are you ready to move out?”

Dane nodded. “Thank you. I really appreciate this. I’m officially on leave from the FBI, so I’ve got time. Father Binney’s got to be first. When we exchanged e-mails last week, Michael mentioned Father Binney.”

“Oh? In what way? Something pertinent to this?”

“I’m not sure,” Dane said, shrugged. “He just wrote of problems with Father Binney. There’s something else,” Dane added, raising his head, looking straight at Delion’s mustache. “My brother said something to me on the phone the other night-something about how he felt helpless and he hated that. I’m hoping that Father Binney will have some ideas.”

They passed the small kitchen area with microwave, coffeepot, and three different bowls of peanuts.

“Hey, you hungry? Want some peanuts, a cup of coffee?”

“Peanuts, not donuts?”

“Cops living on donuts, all sporting a big gut-that’s a myth, that’s just television,” Delion said. “We’re not big on donuts here, all of us are into fitness. We like peanuts in the shell from Virginia. Sometimes even the spicy ones.”

“What’s that then?”

“Well, that’s just one jelly donut, probably the cleaning guy brought it in.”

It was hanging off a paper plate, ready to make its final leap to the floor. Dane thought it more likely that the cleaning guy wouldn’t touch it. He smiled, shook his head. “I ate on the plane. Thank you, Inspector.”