“I know,” Nora said. “I was one of those kids, too. Go on.”

“Like I said, no crime committed. Nothing to do now. That’s the bad news. We know what happened. We know why he killed himself. It’s over.”

Nora put her drink down.

“Over? It can’t be over.”

“The cops can’t arrest a dead man, Nora. What do you want them to do?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But not nothing.”

They sat in silence and drank their drinks.

“I’m sorry,” Cyrus said.

“I thought it would fun, you know, solving a case.”

“It’s not the Sunday crossword.”

“I know. I know. I didn’t know,” she said. “Now I know.”

Nora looked up when she heard the sound of doors opening and closing, hushed voices whispering. Kingsley walked past the sitting room, and when he saw them in there, came inside. Nora had to smile. Céleste was passed out on Kingsley’s shoulder. She had a habit of falling asleep on any drive that lasted longer than five minutes.

“What’s going on?” Kingsley asked, his voice half a whisper.

“Just talking about the case,” Nora said, wiping her face.

Juliette followed him into the room, with Søren close behind. Nora saw Cyrus sit up a little straighter when Juliette made her entrance.

“Evening, ma’am,” Cyrus said to her, with a wide smile. Nora lightly punched him in the shoulder. Juliette pretended not to see Nora’s reprimand, though there was a twinkle in her eyes.

“I can take our daughter to her room,” Juliette said to Kingsley. Kingsley had sunk into the big armchair. Céleste, still on his shoulder, hadn’t stirred a muscle.

“She’s out, she’s fine,” he said to Juliette. “What’s the news?” Kingsley asked Cyrus and Nora.

Nora looked at Cyrus, who nodded. She told everyone everything.

Søren sat on the edge of the love seat, elbows on knees, hands clasped between, and head down as if praying. Juliette sat next to him, arm over her stomach like it was a shelf, head on her hand, elbow on the back of the seat. Kingsley listened intently and made no comment and showed no emotion. But Nora saw him drop a kiss onto his daughter’s sleeping head while they quietly recounted the events of the week.

“So it’s over,” Nora said at the end. “We figured it out but the police can’t do anything with it.”

“Would you want them to?” Kingsley asked.

“Maybe,” Nora said. “Like Cyrus said, Archbishop Dunn had told the police not to bother with an investigation. That’s why they asked Cyrus to look into it. What if they knew something?”

Søren raised his head. “Even if Father Isaac had confessed his plan to the archbishop, he wouldn’t be allowed to tell anyone or act on that knowledge.”

“That’s crazy, you know,” Cyrus said. “No offense, but doctors, shrinks, teachers, they’re all mandatory reporters. Why not priests?”

“Seal of the confessional,” Søren said. “You have to have someone in this world you can trust with your secrets.”