“Please,” Martelino said. “I myself find it all ridiculous. But the people want these things. They insist. And it doesn’t weaken their belief to see the Santo Niño sailing a battleship. It strengthens it. I myself have no doubt of our Lord. I’ve seen too much of Satan’s work not to believe.” He waved his hands. “The circus acts. The magic shows. The baby clothes. We need them. I even make things up and the people follow,” the priest said. “We had a vigil last night. The camareras sat in a room all night waiting for the Santo Niño to come alive.” He laughed.

An air conditioner was doing its best, but the room was hot and Martelino was already growing rancid beneath his heavy robes. Klay could smell him.

“You seem to know exactly what the people need, Father,” Klay said.

The priest waved an arm dismissively. “I told them I had a bad stomach. I went home to bed. Let them stay up all night. Now, what would you like to talk about?”

“I am a mortician. A family tradition. When my great-grandfather started the business, death was a solemn occasion. A time for religious reflection. Families went to church. Now my nephews play video games on Sundays. My brother’s wife can’t be bothered to take them to church.”

“Women are weak,” the priest said. “You are not married?”

Klay gave a short laugh and shook his head.

“But you are not young. Forty-five?”

“More or less. I’m wondering, Father . . . I saw the ivory Santo Niño you used in your ceremony, the carvings here in your office.” He pointed. “They say you have the best collection of carvings in the Philippines. You know master carvers. I am thinking if people in the US could see these images, it might strengthen their faith.”

“Possibly.”

“We have a chain of funeral homes across the United States.”

“Is that so?”

“Do you visit the US much, Father?”

“Not for a long time. My home is here.”

Klay paused, annoyed at himself. He hadn’t needed to ask that question. He knew the answer already, and he didn’t need the priest’s lie. According to Eady’s dossier, Martelino coordinated a network of child exploiters. He traveled to the US an average of four times a year, entering by car through Mexico or Canada. Klay had copies of the priest’s Mastercard charges, Facebook posts, WhatsApp texts, and logs of his cell phone calls. Many of the calls were to a convent-orphanage on the other side of the island, which Klay suspected was supply for customers who preferred young girls.