Legion by William Peter Blatty Page B

before his wrist got in the way and he could close it no further. At that point, he released the metal pull and, using the pressure of his fingertips against the facing of the panel on his side, he slid the panel the rest of the way until it closed with a muffled thud.
    Kinderman got up and walked over to the penitent’s box on the left, where he opened the door and looked down at Paterno. “Did you hear something?” Kinderman asked him.
    “Yes. You shut the panel.”
    “Did it sound just the same as when you waited for the priest to come over to your side?”
    “Yes, exactly the same.”
    “Exactly the same?”
    “Yes, exactly.”
    “Please describe it.”
    “Describe it?”
    “Yes, describe it. What did it sound like?”
    Paterno looked hesitant. Then he said, “Well, it slides for a way and then it stops; then it slides again until it’s closed.”
    “So a little hesitation in the sliding?”
    “Just exactly the way you just did it.”
    “And how can you be certain it was shut all the way?”
    “There was a thud at the end. It was loud.”
    “You mean louder than normally?”
    “It was loud.”
    “More than usual?”
    “Yes. Very loud.”
    “I see. And didn’t you wonder why your turn didn’t come right after that?”
    “Did I wonder?”
    “Why your turn didn’t come.”
    “I guess I did.”
    “And when did you hear this sound? How long before the body was found?”
    “I can’t remember.”
    “Five minutes?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Ten minutes?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Was it longer than ten minutes?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    Kinderman digested this for a while. Then he asked, “Were there any other sounds while you were in there?”
    “You mean talking?”
    “Whatever.”
    “No, I didn’t hear talking.”
    “Do you hear that at times in the confessional?”
    “Sometimes. Only if it’s loud, though, like sometimes the Act of Contrition at the end.”
    “But you didn’t hear it this time?”
    “No.”
    “No talking whatever?”
    “No talking whatever.”
    “No murmuring?”
    “No.”
    “Thank you. Now you may go back to your seat.”
    Averting his gaze from Kinderman, Paterno got up quickly from the kneeler, and then sat down again with the others. Kinderman faced them. The attorney was glancing at his watch. The detective addressed him. “The old man with the shopping bag, Mister Coleman.”
    The attorney said, “Yes?”
    “How long would you say he was in the confessional?”
    “Maybe seven, eight minutes or so. Maybe more.”
    “Did he stay in the church when he finished his confession?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “And what about you, Miss Volpe? Did you notice?”
    The girl was still shaken and she stared at him blankly.
    “Miss Volpe?”
    Startled, she said, “Yes?”
    “The old man with the shopping bag, Miss Volpe. After his confession, did he stay in the church or did he leave?”
    She stared at him glassily for a moment, then she answered, “I might have seen him leave. I’m not sure.”
    “You’re not sure.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “But you think he might have left.”
    “Yes, he might have.”
    “Was there anything odd about his behavior?”
    “Odd?”
    “Mister Coleman, was there anything odd?”
    “He just seemed a little senile,” said Coleman. “I figured that’s what took him so long.”
    “You said his age was in the seventies?”
    “He was up there. He was walking pretty feebly.”
    ‘‘Walking? Walking where?”
    “To his pew.”
    “Then he stayed in the church,” said Kinderman.
    “No, I didn’t say that,” said Coleman. “He went to his pew and perhaps said his penance. After that he might have left.”
    “I am properly corrected, Counselor. Thank you.”
    “Quite all right.” There was a glint of satisfaction in the lawyer’s eyes.
    “And what about the man with the shaven head and the man in the windbreaker?” Kinderman added. “Can anyone tell me whether they stayed in the church or left?”
    There