Twenty-Five
Carl stood on the cracked slate tiles of the porch with Charlie Head, as the senior constable pushed the doorbell button. They heard the ding-dong of the doorbell, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching the door from within the house. The door was opened by a tall man dressed in priestly black and white dog collar. He smiled when he saw Charlie.
‘Ah, Charlie. I’ve been expecting you’
‘Afternoon, Father. This is Inspector West.’
‘Hello, Inspector.’ Fr Harris extended his hand.
The priest’s handshake was weak, functional but without any power. Carl wondered what sort of man he was dealing with. ‘Thanks for making time to talk to us, Father.’
Fr Harris stepped back and held the door open for them. ‘We can sit in here.’ He pointed to the first doorway leading off the
