The Man Who Murdered God (23 page)

McGuire sat upright again, his weight balanced, his body ready to spring aside if necessary. “By their deeds ye shall know them,” he said. “I remember that one, too.”

They were outside the door. McGuire could feel them moving. He could sense their hand signals.

Bobby smiled back at McGuire. “That's wonderful, Mr. McGuire. Wonderful.” He raised the shotgun.

McGuire saw the motion and knew the gun's target. “No, Bobby, don't!” he pleaded.

“Know me by this deed, Mr. McGuire,” Bobby said, the weapon in position.

McGuire screamed once before the room exploded in fire and flesh.

At the sound of the shot the assembled men outside the convent launched themselves against the doors, illuminating the interior with powerful lights. Kavander, Lipson and Innes trotted behind the squad through the front entrance. Within seconds the interior of the convent was ablaze with light.

The men rounded the corner, heading towards the chapel. At the end of the hall, wide marble stairs swept up to the second floor. In front of them, two groups of assault-squad members stood waiting, their faces blackened, and their guns hanging loosely on webbed straps.

Kavander paused at the first group standing in front of elaborately decorated leaded-glass doors. He opened one of the doors slowly and looked in.

The chapel was lit by dozens of flickering candles, sending moving shadows up the high walls. In front of a large crucifix suspended above the altar he could see the backs of the sisters bent in prayer.

“In there,” said an assault-squad member who had watched him. He pointed to a partially closed door across the hall from the chapel.

Kavander nodded and crossed the hall, Lipson and Innes behind him.

He touched the door gently with his fingertips. It swung aside only far enough for Kavander to edge himself through the opening.

The police captain gasped and recoiled at the sight of the blood, still washing slowly down the wall in crimson currents. Bernie Lipson entered next, followed by Ralph Innes, who swore and muttered to himself, shaking his head over and over.

Kavander walked carefully across the small room to the figure of McGuire, lying in the corner. He reached out and touched the detective on the shoulder. “You all right?” he asked softly.

McGuire opened his eyes. He stared dully at the floor and nodded.

“He put the Goddamn muzzle right under his chin, looks like,” Ralph Innes said. Bernie Lipson nodded and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out his notebook and began flipping through the pages.

McGuire stood up, avoiding the sight of the headless body slumped against the door. He walked steadily past Lipson, who looked up at him with concern.

“You gonna be okay, Joe?” Bernie asked, and McGuire nodded again.

As McGuire left the room, Ralph Innes patted him gently on the back.

In the corridor, two assault-team members were smoking cigarettes, their duties completed, expressions of boredom on their blackened faces. Ambulance attendants were wheeling a stretcher down the hall. McGuire looked with dulled eyes at the familiar retinue of death experts—the police photographer, the medical examiner and others—working their way towards what was left of Bobby Griffin.

Ignoring them, he walked trance-like towards the leaded-glass doors.

A hand descended on his shoulder, just as he was about to enter.

McGuire turned to look into Kevin Deeley's face.

“I heard what happened,” Deeley said. “I'm sure you did everything you could.”

McGuire stared at him. “Except pray for him,” he said finally. “That's all he wanted. He wanted a priest to pray for him. You could have prayed for him, Deeley. All I could have done was kill him. Or watch him do it himself.”

McGuire pulled the doors open and entered the chapel. He slumped in the back row, placing his arms on the pew in front of him and leaning to rest his head, silent and motionless, as the sisters knelt and raised their voices to heaven.

No author could expect more care, concern and professionalism for a first novel than this book received from everyone at Penguin Books Canada Limited. Thank you Cynthia, Lorraine, Bruce, Christeen and everyone else involved.

John Lawrence Reynolds
 is the author of more than two dozen works of fiction and non-fiction. He has previously written six mystery novels—most recently, 
Beach Strip—
and is a two-time winner of the Arthur Ellis Award (for 
The Man Who Murdered God
 and 
Gypsy Sins
). His many non-fiction books include Leaving Home, 
Free Rider
 (winner of the National Business Book Award), 
The Naked Investor
 and 
Bubbles, Bankers & Bailouts
. 
Shadow People
, his bestselling book on secret societies, has been published in sixteen countries. A former president of the Crime Writers of Canada, he lives in Burlington, Ontario. Visit him online at 
johnlawrencereynolds.com
.

The Man Who Murdered God
© 1989 John Lawrence Reynolds

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EPub Edition May 2015 ISBN: 9781443443661

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

Originally published by Penguin Books Canada Limited in 1989. First published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd in this ePub edition in 2015.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are use fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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