As the priest’s words hung in the air, Coletti turned to Smithson, who looked into his eyes and told him the very thing he needed to hear.

“Forgiveness is hard,” she said gently. “Trust me, I know. But maybe you should follow Father O’Reilly’s example, and start by forgiving yourself.”

Coletti knew she was right about forgiveness being difficult. But she was wrong about where forgiveness began.

“Before I do anything else, I need you to know I’m sorry,” he said, looking at the priest through the glass.

Father O’Reilly smiled. He finally had the chance to say the words he’d only spoken in a small still voice in his cell. “I forgive you.”

With that, both men were loosed from the prison that had held them captive for the past ten years. They were freed to deal with the reality of the moment.

“The angel of death resurfaced today,” Coletti said. “He dropped a note at an art gallery and said he was going to kill again in twenty-four hours. If we can link him to the Confessional Murders, we can get you a stay of execution and eventually get you out of here. But I’m gonna need your help.”

At first, O’Reilly was shocked. Then he was elated, then hopeful, then frightened, and finally, he was resolved. Slowly, he looked from Coletti to Smithson and back again. “So he was real after all,” he said. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to think back on what happened in the cathedral,” Coletti said. “Do you remember anything distinctive about the killer? Anything that would separate him from a crowd?”

“Yes,” O’Reilly said. “His voice was gravelly, almost guttural, but it wasn’t very deep. He wasn’t that tall, but he was strong for his size. He had to be. The recoil from that sawed-off never knocked him back.”

“How about his face?” Smithson asked. “Did he have a tattoo, scars, anything like that?

“It was hard to see his face under the hat,” O’Reilly said. “But, there was one thing about him. I was bigger than him. If I could’ve gotten to him, maybe I could’ve knocked him down. Maybe I could’ve even saved those people.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Smithson said. “I doubt there was anything you could’ve done.”

“She’s right,” Coletti said. “And anyway, the past is the past. All we can do now is try to figure out the things we missed the first time.”

“Things like what?” the priest said.

“In my dreams, the killer said he had hurt people before that day,” Coletti said. “But I can never recall the exact words he used. Can you?”

“I’ve been hearing his words for years,” the priest said, closing his eyes as he resurrected the memories.