“I know it was. You got to talk to that lady?”

“Lady? Yeah, I talked to the lady.”

“What was she like?”

“Different,” he said. “Not what I expected. I guess someone with her job isn’t on duty 24/7. Even dominatrixes take Saturdays off apparently.”

“Did she help you?”

“She swears up and down she doesn’t know Father Ike. But I don’t know. I just don’t know…”

“You think she’s lying?” Paulina asked.

“Not about that. But she’s hiding something. She even told me she was hiding something before she shut the door in my face.”

“That’s brass, right there.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Was she pretty?” Paulina asked. He knew she was asking out of curiosity, not jealousy. Paulina had too much self-respect for something like that.

“She’s not my type but she wasn’t bad. I can see the appeal. Her appeal, not the appeal of what she does. I’ve been beat up. It’s not fun. But she can make a couple thousand dollars a day just beating men up. And they’re the ones paying for it. Crazy.”

“Sounds like a good racket to me. Hat’s off to her,” Paulina said, tipping an imaginary hat.

“Now who’s being ornery?”

“Hey, whoa,” she said, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. “Archbishop Dunn’s on the news.”

She unmuted the television. Archbishop Thomas Dunn was on the screen. He was a tall white man in his late sixties, with a broad smiling, ruddy face and thick white hair with a widow’s peak.

Paulina leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Cyrus sat back, waiting to be unimpressed.

A young pretty reporter had caught the man outside St. Louis Cathedral.

“Your Excellency, can you confirm that a priest has been found dead on a church property?”

“Unfortunately, I can confirm that. Out of respect for the family, we are not commenting further, though we are asking the faithful of New Orleans for their prayers during this difficult hour. And please, pray for your pastors. Even called by God, this can be a stressful, thankless vocation. Depression, burnout, they can take their toll on all of us.”

“The exact cause of death has not been disclosed by police, but a firearm was found at the scene. Could you—”

“Thank you, that will be all.” The archbishop was already walking away, back into the cathedral.

“Useless,” Cyrus said. He took the remote from her and turned the TV off. He pulled her close. “How you feeling, baby?”

She rested her head on his chest. “I just keep trying to focus on all the good Father Ike did. There’s nothing else I can do except pray for him. And pray for you.”

His phone buzzed on the table. He ignored the first ring, but knew he couldn’t ignore the second. Paulina knew, too. She passed him his phone.

A 504 number. He answered. “Tremont.”

“Mr. Tremont, this is Sister Margaret at St. Valentine’s.”

He sat up. “Thanks for calling me back, Sister. I guess Detective Naylor told you I’d be calling about Father Ike.”