Although the blood had stopped flowing, the body was still warm and Quinn guessed that death hail occurred no more than half an hour before. The shaved head, the bare feet and the robe made it clear that Haywood had come to the Tower as a convert. But how long had he been here? Had he come directly after saying good-bye to Willie King in Chicote? If that was the case, who had engineered Alberta Haywood’s escape? Was it possible that the two of them had planned to meet at the Tower and hide out there?
Quinn shook his head, as if responding to a question spoken aloud by someone else. No, George would never have chosen the Tower as a hiding-place. He must have heard, from Willie, from John Ronda or from Martha O’Gorman, that this was the place where the investigation into O’Gorman’s death started all over again. He wouldn’t pick a hide-out I knew about and visited. In fact, why hide out at all?
The death, the strangeness of its setting, and the sight and smell of the fresh blood were making him sick. He went outside, gulping in air like a swimmer exhausted from fighting a heavy surf.
Mother Pureza was coming up the path supported by Sister Contrition and Brother Crown, and chattering in Spanish. Behind the trio the Master walked, his head down, his face gray and gaunt.
He said, “Take her up to her room and see that she is cleansed. Be gentle. Her bones are brittle. Where is Sister Blessing? You’d better fetch her.”
“She is ill,” Sister Contrition said. “A touch of indigestion.”
“All right, do the best you can by yourselves.” When they had gone, he turned to Quinn. “You have arrived at an inopportune time, Mr. Quinn. Our new Brother is dead.”
“How did it happen?”
“I was in my quarters meditating, I was not a witness to the event. But surely it’s obvious?—Brother Faith was a troubled man with many problems. He chose a way to solve them that I cannot condone, though I must accept it with pity and understanding.”
“He jumped from the top of the Tower?”
“Yes. Perhaps it is my fault for underestimating the degree of his spiritual despair.” His deep sigh was almost a groan. “If this be true, God forgive me and grant our Brother eternal salvation.”
“If you didn’t see him jump, what brought you to the scene so fast?”
“I heard Mother Pureza scream. I came rushing out and saw her bending over the body, shouting at it to get up and stop play-acting. When I called to her, she ran away. I stopped long enough to see if there was anything I could do to help our Brother, then I went after her. I met Sister Contrition and Brother Crown on the way and asked them for their assistance.”
“Then the others don’t know yet about Haywood?”
“No.” He paused to wipe the sweat off his face with the sleeve of his robe. “You—you called him Haywood?”
“It’s his name.”
“He was a—friend of yours?”
“I know his family.”
“He told me he no longer had a family, that he was alone in the world. Are you saying he bed to me?”
“I’m saying he has a mother, two sisters and a fiancée.”
The Master looked shocked, not by the existence of Haywood’s family but by the fact that he’d been deceived. It was a blow to his pride. After a minute’s thought he said, “I am sure it was not a deliberate lie. He felt alone in this world, and so he claimed to be. That is the explanation.”
“You believe he came here as a true convert?”
“Of course. Of course he did. What other reason would he have that he should want to share our humble life? It is not easy, to live as we do.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Do?”
“About his death.”
“We look after our own dead,” the Master said, “as we look after our own living. We shall give him a decent burial.”
“Without notifying the authorities?”
“I am the authority here.”
“Sheriff, coroner, judge, jury, doctor, mortician, dog-catcher, soul saver?”
“All of those, yes. And please spare me your petty irony, Mr. Quinn.”
“You have a big job, Master.”
“God has granted me the strength to do it,” he said quietly, “and the ability to see how it must be done.”
“The sheriff might be a little hard to convince of that.”
“The sheriff can take care of his own, I will take care of mine.”
“There are laws, and you’re living within their jurisdiction. Haywood’s death must be reported. If you don’t do it, I’ll have to.”
“Why?” the Master said. “We are a peace-loving community. We harm no one, we ask no favors from the outside world beyond the favor of being allowed to live as we see fit.”
“All right, let’s put it this way: a member of the outside world wandered in here and got himself killed. That’s the sheriff’s business.”
“Brother Faith of Angels was one of us, Mr. Quinn.”
“He was George Haywood,” Quinn said. “A real estate man from Chicote. And whatever his reasons for coming here, I know saving his soul wasn’t one of them.”
“God forgive you for your blasphemy, and your lies. Brother Faith was a True Believer.”
“You were the believer, not Haywood.”
“His name was not Haywood. It was Martin. He was a banker in San Diego, a widower alone in the world, a troubled man.”
For a moment Quinn was almost convinced he’d made a mistake, and that the green Pontiac station wagon was merely a coincidence. Then he saw the uncertainty growing in the Master’s eyes and heard the doubt in his voice even while he was denying it.
“Hubert Martin. His wife died two months ago—”
“Ten years ago.”
“He was desolate and lonely without her.”
“He had a red-headed girlfriend named Willie King.”
The Master leaned heavily against the archway as if the sudden burden of the truth was too great for him. “He was— he was not seeking salvation?”
“No.”
“Why, then, did he come here? To rob us, to cheat us? We have nothing to be robbed or cheated of, only the car that he himself gave to our common fund. We possess no money.”
“Maybe he thought you did.”
“How could he? I explained in detail how the colony operates on a self-sufficient basis. I even showed him our account books to prove how little use we have for money here, when there is nothing we must buy except gasoline and a few spare parts for the tractor and the odd pair of spectacles for one of our Brothers whose sight is failing.”
“Did Haywood seem interested?”
“Oh yes, very. You see, being a banker, I suppose he—”
“A real estate agent.”
“Yes. I keep forgetting. I... it’s been a very confusing day. You must excuse me now, Mr. Quinn. I have to inform the others of the sad news and arrange with Sister Blessing to take care of the body,”
Quinn said, “You’d better leave everything as it is until the sheriff gets here.”
“The sheriff, yes. You’re going to tell him, I suppose.”
“I have no choice.”
“Please do me a favor and refrain from mentioning Mother Pureza. It would frighten her to be questioned. She is like a child.”
“Children can be violent, too.”
“There is violence in her, but only in her talk. She is too frail to have pushed him over the handrail. God forgive me the very thought of it.”