“They were faithful members who loved to stay after mass and chat,” Father Douglas said, sounding grief-stricken. “Tonight, they were the last ones here.”

Tears welled up and perched themselves at the corners of the priest’s eyes. One spilled over and rolled down his cheek, hanging on his chin before splashing against the floor.

“The woman in the black skirt was named Kannitha,” he said. “The shorter one next to her, that’s Chavy. The young man was named Boran. They were cousins. The two women worked for years cleaning houses to bring Boran over from Cambodia. He got here two months ago.”

“Sounds like you knew them well,” Mann said.

“I did. They lived on the northeast corner of Tenth and Rockland, in a three-story house with four other families.”

Lynch thought for a moment. “Wasn’t there a drive-by on that block a little earlier?”

The priest nodded. “That’s one of the things they talked to me about after service. They were tired of all the shooting and they were saving up to move.”

“Look into the drive-by,” Lynch told Mann. “There’s a chance this might be connected.”

“Yes sir,” said Mann, jotting down notes before turning to the priest. “So what else did they talk to you about, Father Douglas?”

“Nothing substantial,” he said with a sad smile. “The weather, the Phillies, the neighborhood. We talked a lot, but most times we didn’t say much. Talking to me was their way of practicing English without getting laughed at. And you know what? They were some of the wisest people I’ve ever met.”

“What do you mean?” Lynch asked.

“They were Cambodian. They’d survived a regime that killed tens of thousands of people, including most of their family.”

Father Douglas paused and wiped the sweat from his brow, the grief crumpling his face as his eyes grew vacant.

“When you come from a place like that, it makes you hard. Maybe that’s why they were never afraid of anything that happened in Philadelphia. This was nothing compared to what they’d seen.”

“Did they ever talk to you about what they’d seen in detail?” Lynch asked.

“Sometimes the women did. But Boran wasn’t old enough to remember, and they never spoke of it in front of him. They just needed to get it out, I guess, and they trusted me with those horrible memories.”

“How about the other Cambodians who live around here?” Mann asked. “Did they trust you, too?”

“They’re Buddhists, mostly, so very few of them come here. From what I can see, they spend most of their time working and trying to fit in.”

“What about him?” Mann said, pointing to Boran. “Did he spend a lot of time trying to fit in, too?”