Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

our best to provide them with schooling, even if it is just basic literacy.”

I drummed my fingers on the table a moment. “This was the program that Alicia was involved in.”

“The blessed child was instrumental in setting it up.”

“Who funds these programs? Even with volunteers, something like this requires money.”

His face went hard. He said, “Donations,” and clamped his jaw shut.

I waited. Dehan sighed and said, “Donations from whom, Father.”

“There isn’t a single donor…”

I snapped, “We can find out. It will take longer, but we will find out. I already have the feeling you are holding back information, Father, do you want to compound that feeling or do you want to cooperate with us?”

He drew breath but Dehan was in before he could speak.

“What is it you are trying to hide?”

“I am not trying to hide anything!”

“So who funds these programs?”

“I told you! All sorts of people!”

“This morning you were at pains to stress that Conor Hagan does a lot to help the community. Is he one of your contributors?”

He sighed, and it was shaky. “Of course.”

“Does he fund the orphans program?”

“Amongst others.”

“He, amongst others? Or he funds that program, amongst others?”

It took him a surprisingly long time to answer.

“He funds that program, amongst others.”

“Who else contributes to the orphans program?”

He hesitated. “Off the top of my head, collections from the parish, Conor, a couple of local businessmen.”

“Names?”

“Sadiq Khan.”

I stared at him in silence. Eventually, Dehan said, “Excuse me?”

“Sadiq Khan, he runs a shipping company…”

Dehan leaned forward. “Is he a convert to Catholicism?”

“…No.”

“He is a Muslim, then.”

“I assume so, we have never discussed his religious beliefs.”

Her voice was becoming tense, but I was curious to see where this would lead. “You never questioned the fact that a Muslim was funding a Catholic charity for orphans, in which the children were taught in the Christian faith?”

“Detective! It is not for me to question his motives! If he helps our children then I am grateful. We both worship the same god, after all!”

“So the bottom line is,” I said, “that this orphans charity is funded by Conor Hagan and Sadiq Khan.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

I sat back. “Not exactly ‘all sorts of people’ is it, Father?”

“I suppose not.”

I opened the folder and slid a photograph in front of him. It was the photo of the twelve kids standing together. His jaw dropped.

“Holy mother of God…!”

Dehan raised an eyebrow. “Do you know these children?”

He nodded. “Yes, but how…?”

“How what, Father?” She leaned forward, staring at his face. “How did we get the photograph?”

He nodded again, staring at the picture. He picked it up and surprised me by smiling. He pointed. “Look, that is little Mati, this one is Jennifer… That little one with the cheeky grin, now what was her name? I’m pretty sure she was dyslexic, poor love. Sole, I am pretty sure it was Sole…”

“Who are these children, Father?”

He looked up at me, surprised, a little irritated.

“Sure, this is Alicia’s first class. Isn’t that why you’re showing it to me?”

Dehan frowned. “They are all girls.”

“Well, of course they are, Detective Dehan! We segregate the boys from the girls, especially at that age! How else are you going to teach them? Have you ever seen a Catholic school that didn’t?”

I could feel the rage building in her and I acted before she could open her mouth. I slid the next photograph in front of him.

“Is this also standard practice in Catholic schools, Father O’Neil?”

“Oh, sweet Jesus!”

He tried to stand, staggering back as he did so. The chair toppled and he fell over the chair, sprawling on the floor. He was struggling to his feet as Dehan and I moved around the table. His breathing was quick and ragged and he was holding out his left hand, like he was trying to ward off the photograph. He kept saying, “What…? What…?”

Dehan picked up his chair and I took his arm.

He was staring into my face. “What is that?”

I raised my eyebrows at him as I guided him back to the chair.

“It is a picture of a naked child, Father; one of the children in your orphans program, funded by Conor Hagan and Sadiq Khan, and run by you.”

“No.”

He said it as he sat. He refused to look at the picture and said again, “No.”

I sat, too, but Dehan remained standing, leaning on the back of her chair.

“What do you mean, ‘No,’?”

His voice was shrill. “What are these pictures? Where did they come from? Who took them? Who did this?”

I spoke quietly. “I was hoping you would tell me that.”

“Jesus, Mary and sweet Joanna! How in the name of all that is holy should I know?”

Dehan’s voice was harsh. “You don’t like to upset Conor, do you, Father?”

He was shaking his head, staring at her like she was a dangerous lunatic.

“You can’t think…”

“It’s a profitable racket.”

“No!”

“What do you get out of it, Father?”

“No, no!”

“Or maybe all you have to do is look the other way, advise the kids to accepts God’s will and pray for his forgiveness. Is that what you do?”

“No! No, no, no, and a thousand times no!”

He’d managed to silence us. He stared furiously at us in the ringing silence. “You are wrong! I don’t know what this filth is, but it has nothing to do with me and I can tell you it has nothing to do with Conor!”

Dehan’s voice was heavy with scorn. “He sticks to the moral high ground of extortion and drug trafficking, does he?”

Father O’Neil was shaking and his face was flushed. He leaned across the table, thrusting his face at Dehan. “Listen to