THE ARCHBISHOP LEANS back in his chair, his hands folded on his chest, and looks up at the ceiling of his office. I had spent thirty minutes or thereabouts telling him what I found out—or at least what I could. I couldn’t share Rachel’s confession, even with the Archbishop. But I told him about the text messages.
Finally, he speaks. “So Father McCoy broke his vow of celibacy.”
I nod. “I believe there is evidence that he did.”
“Am I right in saying there are things you cannot tell me?”
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
He nods. “And you are right, you have no choice.” He pauses and looks at me. “Father McCoy has not confessed?”
I shake my head. “Not as far as I know. He has said nothing to me about any of this. But he feels guilty. Inordinately so.”
“His use of the discipline and cilice shows h
