Free The Executioner by Chris Carter Page B

back.’
    ‘Sure.’ Hunter nodded.
    Father Malcolm’s office was small but comfortable. The walls were painted in white, very lightly tinged with gray. The furnishings were classic, with a distinct European influence. A heavy wooden desk sat at the back of the room facing the door. In front of it were two replica Victorian armchairs. There were saints’ prints on the walls, and religious books lined the large bookcase to the left of the desk.
    Father Malcolm showed Hunter to a seat before taking his place behind the desk. Neither spoke for a few seconds. ‘I can’t believe what’s happened. Fabian was a good man, a good priest.’ Father Malcolm’s voice was frail and sad.
    ‘I’m very sorry,’ Hunter replied. ‘I understand you were good friends.’
    The priest nodded. ‘I used to teach seminary. Fabian was one of my students. I’ve known him for over twenty years.’
    ‘What was he like?’
    ‘Kind, devoted, compassionate. As I’ve said, he was a good priest.’
    ‘When did you last see him?’
    ‘About two weeks ago. We had a seventh- and eighth-grade bake-sale here. He came over to help.’ A shy smile appeared on the priest’s lips. ‘Actually, he came over to eat. He loved banana cake.’
    ‘Did he seem different at all? Maybe worried or nervous about something?’
    ‘Not at all. He was as calm as he’d always been. Very talkative, joking with the students all the time. He looked a bit tired, but that had always been the case with Fabian.’
    ‘How so?’ Hunter gently rubbed the scar on the back of his neck.
    ‘As far as I know he never really slept very well.’
    ‘Any particular reason why?’
    A slight shake of the head. ‘We deal with many hardships, detective, and they sometimes creep up into our minds in the middle of the night and keep us awake. Fabian told me once he had bad dreams quite regularly.’
    Hunter remembered reading several passages in Father Fabian’s journals about bad dreams, but he never described them. ‘Did he ever talk to you about these dreams?’
    ‘Never. He was a very reserved man.’
    Hunter scribbled something down in his black notebook. ‘Did he ever talk about any worries he had?’
    ‘As priests we have many worries, Detective Hunter. We deal with people in need, and in today’s world troubles are plenty. But I guess you mean the type of worry that could’ve cost him his life?’
    Hunter didn’t reply, but his silence was understood.
    ‘No.’ Father Malcolm sounded confident. ‘He was a simple man. He lived for the church and to help others. Whatever worries he had, I assure you they weren’t life threatening.’
    Hunter thought about his next words. He knew he was about to venture into dangerous territory.

Twenty-Eight
     
    ‘Did Father Fabian ever talk to you about doubting his decision to become a Catholic priest or his intention to leave it all behind?’ Hunter asked and saw Father Malcolm’s demeanor change. He looked offended. He narrowed his eyes and surveyed Hunter.
    ‘What we do is based solemnly on faith and on the desire to serve Our Lord, Detective Hunter.’ The priest’s voice was steady but firm, as if reprimanding a disobedient child. ‘We don’t do it for money or thrills. It’s a call. I must admit that sometimes it gets tough. We’re humans and as such we have our moments of weakness, our uncertainties. It’s not uncommon for those of us who choose a life of servitude to God to question that decision every now and then. But our faith always proves stronger than any doubt. Do you understand what faith means, detective?’
    ‘I think so,’ Hunter replied with a nod. ‘Blind belief without questioning or proof.’
    Father Malcolm smiled, showing yellow-stained teeth. ‘That belief keeps us on the right path. It drowns our doubts. So in answer to your question, detective – yes, Father Fabian and I talked about his uncertainties and his dilemmas. Just because we decide to serve God it doesn’t make us immune to