“Look at you,” Mallory finally said. He leaned the chair back; his hands were folded in his lap. He appeared very relaxed. “You’re not presentable. They want to talk to you but you’re not presentable. Well,” he said, bringing the chair forward and now rising from it, “no time now for making ourselves presentable. They want to talk to you.” Mallory headed down a back hallway and stopped midway to turn, a withering look on his face that asked what Wade was waiting for. They left through the back door and got in a car. Mallory was behind the wheel. “Whoa,” Mallory said, recoiling from Wade with relish. “You smell unpleasant, Wade. Like you just crawled out of the deep shit you’re in, except you couldn’t have done that, because it’s much too deep for that. Deep deep deep. Way deeper than you’re going to be crawling out of any time too soon.” He laughed and shook his head. “We went around the bend on this one, didn’t we? Mrs. Hurley, I mean. Black Sally. I mean, I think she’s a shade, what do you say? Next time we bring her in, those of us who are still on this case I mean, which we can presume will not include yourself, those of us who are still on the case will get a better look at her. A good look. All the nooks and crannies. I’ll give you a report when I come see you on visiting day, let you know what you missed. I’m sure they’ll let you have visitors every now and then. It’d be inhuman otherwise. You have to seriously fuck up not to ever get any visitors. Well, shit, now that I think about it. You may not be seeing anybody for a while, now that I think about it. Well, I’ll find some way to let you know. Don’t think your old buddy Mallory would leave you wondering about something like that. I’ll find some way to let you know just how black it all gets down deep inside. I say she’s a horse of a different color, once you get a better look. The good part, especially. I say the good part’s not even built the same way. I say you touch it, you bite it, and the juice that comes out is more like blackberry than cherry.” Mallory thought a moment, driving down the highway. “When you come, Wade, is it white?”
Wade looked at Mallory and then stared in front of him as Mallory drove west in the dark, toward the rock. There was only one road up to Central. It was lined with small lanterns that hung from posts all the way up the side of the rock, but they didn’t light the road particularly well, their glow rendered increasingly vague smudges as they ascended into the night Vog. At the rock Mallory and Wade parked the car and took the lift up. From the lift they walked to the main doors. The sound and spray of the sea was all around them, mixed with the ash of the volcano. It was impossible to see, in the mist, anything of the sea or the volcano or the white round building itself. Inside the building the huge plain lobby was dark and empty.
Wade had been in the lobby before. He noted that Mallory didn’t seem such a stranger to it either, more impatient than intimidated. Over to the left were administrative offices and down a hallway was the Church’s confidential archives. At this moment the only other person Wade could see in the building besides himself and Mallory was a clerk leaving the archives, a man in his midthirties with a wild mass of black hair and thick spectacles that, in the glint of the hall light, made his eyes appear like blue crystal balls. He didn’t look like a priest. The archives clerk glanced furtively at the two cops as he passed; behind him Wade heard the main doors open and close with the clerk’s exit.
Wade and Mallory waited. There was no place in the huge lobby to sit. Finally through a single door to the right came a man in the white robes of a priest. He signaled to Wade to follow him and with the flick of his fingers dismissed Mallory. “See you, Wade,” Mallory said as the priest led Wade back through the door he’d just come from. Wade didn’t look back.
The priest and Wade took another lift. The priest neither said anything nor looked at Wade. When the door of the lift opened on a long hallway as austere as the lobby downstairs, the priest indicated a room at the hallway’s far end. Wade stepped out and the door of the lift closed behind him.
The doors of the room at the end of the hallway were open. Wade was now forcing himself to focus better; he was manifestly aware of the way he smelled. He was still trying to understand if the smell of sex and liquor was real or wafted in the corners of a dream-memory. He got to the end of the hallway and inside were three priests seated around the outside of a crescent table. In the hollow of the crescent was an empty chair. The room was white and the priests were in white; one of the priests looked up suddenly at Wade in the doorway as though Wade’s blackness had rudely announced him. He studied the policeman with unmistakable disapproval and pointed at the empty chair.
Wade sat in the chair for almost as long, it seemed, as he’d waited in the lobby below. The priest who had looked up at Wade wasn’t paying him attention anymore; he was reading some papers while the other two priests were busy making notes. Behind the priests were windows that looked out onto the night. Beyond the glass of the windows Wade could see bright searchlights illuminating the waves of the sea below. The room was insulated so Wade couldn’t actually hear the sea, but sometimes it seemed everything vibrated slightly as though from the force of the waves against the rock. The head priest was still reading his papers. He didn’t look at Wade but rather at the papers when he said, “Wade,” and since it wasn’t a question as far as Wade could tell, Wade didn’t answer. At the policeman’s silence the priest finally raised his head. “You’ve been with us for some time.” Wade still didn’t say anything. The priest studied his papers and said, “Your work in the past has always been satisfactory, Wade. Occasionally a bit cavalier, perhaps even eccentric, but we allow for a man’s personality in his work.” He smiled tolerantly.
Wade began to say that no one had ever mentioned before that he was either cavalier or eccentric. Wade couldn’t remember ever having been — up until the last few days — cavalier or eccentric. He started to chew the inside of his cheek but stopped himself and instead took a deep breath.
“Where have you been?” the priest said.
Wade was focusing. He needed to swallow because his throat was tight, but he knew if he swallowed hard the priest would see it and he felt as though only a hard swallow was separating him from incarceration, not in a police cell but in one of the cells in the rock below his feet or the penal colony to the south, reserved for political heresies. He’d heard many times over many years about the justice of the priests, which was far less benevolent than that of any cop. So he didn’t swallow too hard when he said, “Undercover.”
For some reason the priest actually appeared surprised by this answer. “Undercover?” he said.
“On a murder case.”
The other two priests stopped writing and looked at him now. The head priest leaned forward across the crescent table. “The murder in the hotel downtown?”
“Yes.”
“Have you found anything?”
Wade was trying to think quickly. “I’m following a lead. I’ve reached an interesting point in the investigation. But I’ve surfaced now in order to get some hard answers. I’m sure you understand what I mean.”
They didn’t understand at all. Wade knew they didn’t understand, because nothing he was saying made any particular sense. Finally the priest nodded, “Yes, I see.” After a moment the other two priests nodded as well. “Wade,” said the head priest, narrowing his eyes with concern, “there was a woman. She was at the scene. When you found her she was holding the murder weapon. You held her twenty-four hours and then let her go.”