The Discourtesy of Death (Father Anselm Novels) Read Online Free PDF

speaking, these guarded ‘replies’ had completely exceeded Anselm’s expectations. He’d foreseen a spat and some trading of insults. But instead, Mitch had cut to the chase with a candid confession making sure, however, that it could never be used to initiate a fresh prosecution. He’d been honest, retracting with the Gilbertine the lies he’d told the lawyer. As if acknowledging that the first half of this peculiar conference was over, Mitch put his trumpet down and said:
    ‘You mentioned a proposal.’
    The sun had climbed high, moving shadows round the boat as if to rearrange the furniture of light and dark. Something important had changed. Nothing looked the same. Mitch swallowed a couple of aspirin and finished off the bottled water. He was smiling faintly. A kind of forgiveness had come to his pleasure wherry. And he was important now. He was a symbol.
    ‘Up until this morning I was a beekeeper,’ explained Anselm. ‘I also picked apples, washed bottles, and waxed floors. On occasion, I was released to help those who’d come unstuck with the law. This arrangement has come to an end. You are partly responsible.’
    ‘Me?’
    ‘Yes. You invited readers of the
Sunday Times
to contact me should they find themselves in a hopeless situation. That’s a large category of people and a surprising number took up the offer. My Prior thanks you. He’s also asked me to respond in the name of the community. For me, it’s a new beginning. And like everyone who starts a new venture, I want to clean up the past. I’d like you to help me.’
    ‘Me?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘As a symbol?’ Mitch was amused, failing to appreciate that Anselm wasn’t even remotely smiling.
    ‘At Larkwood we use lots of symbols and rituals to express things that can’t be put into words. We also use them to enact important changes in direction.’
    ‘You have something in mind?’
    ‘I do.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘I want you to help me solve a case, just one example of the need for justice. I’d like you to contribute something to the system you flouted. Because whether you like it or not – remorse and forgiveness aside – the law is our only means of restoring order to a disordered world.’
    Mitch was no longer flippant. The creases in his pale face, the lines of worry or concentration, had deepened.
    ‘There’s an element of reparation, too,’ persisted Anselm. ‘Call it a fine, but I want you to meet any expenses. And since you twice before took me for a ride, I’d like you to provide the transport. We’ll use the boat as our office. That’s everything. If you think about it, I’m not asking much.’
    ‘And what’s in it for you?’
    ‘Like I said, you represent all the others, from the greatest to the least. All the liars, thieves and killers. Back then, I could only offer a route off the charge, not knowing whether it should stick or not. Now, with your help I want to uncover the truth regardless of what anyone says and whatever the cost or implications. Working with a former client who should have been convicted will be my one small act of reparation. It’s not much either, but it’s something. That’s what symbols are for.’
    When the silence grew heavy, Mitch went to the kitchen and made more coffee. He was quiet and absorbed, mulling over Anselm’s outlandish proposal; reviewing their friendship, the sudden break, and now this surprising offer of reconciliation. Before each jury the greater part of Anselm’s speeches had dwelled upon good things, things known to be true: Mitch’s blameless past, a jazz club that raised thousands for charity, the history of glowing commendations from his bewildered employers. All that good faith had survived. It was still there. The only shadows – back then and now – had fallen from the two indictments. When Mitch came back to the table Anselm spoke again. There was a need for absolute candour:
    ‘I’ll be honest, Mitch, I’m hoping that once you become involved in the search