Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set Nanci Rathbun (i love reading books txt) 📖

“Of course not, Detective. I apologize if it came across that way. It was just a gut reaction.” His eyes squinched in puzzlement and he ran a hand through his curly hair. “How can I help you? I’m afraid I didn’t know Ms. Morano or Mr. Belloni, although I’ve read about the case in the papers and seen it on the TV news. In fact,” he paused and looked at me, “aren’t you the investigator?”

“That’s right, Father. Detective Wukowski and I have a joint interest in some aspects of the case, and he’s been kind enough to let me tag along so that I don’t have to bother you later with more questions.”

He nodded. “Unconventional, but if the police don’t mind, I don’t. However, as I stated, I have no involvement in the case.”

“Father, we understand that you advise a group called—” he paused and flipped open his notebook, even though he knew the name as well as I did—“the Roman Catholic Civil Liberties Union, or RCCLU.”

Father Tom sighed. “Yes, I have that dubious distinction.” I raised an eyebrow and he smiled at me. Cute smile. Cute hair. And I was pretty sure from the vibes that this was not a gay priest. “You see, Detective, Ms. Bonaparte, the archdiocese feels it’s best to have a calming influence on groups that might otherwise be an embarrassment. To work with them in order to mediate their behavior. Last year, I chaired a seminar on the ethics of abortion to save the mother’s life, and I guess that led to my being selected to act as their spiritual and theological advisor.” He shook his head as if asking himself how he got into this situation. “It’s not that I disagree with their positions on matters like abortion and gay marriage. It’s just that some of them are fairly radical in the way they approach the issues.” He looked at me. “We’re not all fanatics.”

“Were you at the dinner at the Italian Community Center last week?” Wukowski’s voice was flat and unemotional.

“No, I couldn’t attend. I had a prior commitment that night. Did something happen?”

“Not at the dinner itself, Father. We’re just trying to ascertain the movements of some of the attendees.”

“I see. Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”

“I hope you’ll keep this conversation confidential, Father, so as not to impede the progress of our investigation.” Wukowski closed his notebook and started to rise.

I couldn’t let it rest there, so I jumped in with both feet. “Father, if someone came to you and confessed to murder, and you knew that an innocent person was likely to be convicted for the crime, what would you do?”

He rested his elbows on his desk chair arms, steepled his fingers under his chin, and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, there was a glint that I hadn’t seen before. “Ms. Bonaparte, I am prevented as a priest from disclosing anything learned by me in confession.” He reached for a large tome on his desk, opened it to a bookmarked page, and began to read:

Regarding the sins revealed to him in sacramental confession, the priest is bound to inviolable secrecy. From this obligation he cannot be excused either to save his own life or good name, to save the life of another, to further the ends of human justice, or to avert any public calamity. No law can compel him to divulge the sins confessed to him, or any oath which he takes—e.g., as a witness in court. He cannot reveal them either directly—i.e., by repeating them in so many words—or indirectly—i.e., by any sign or action, or by giving information based on what he knows through confession. The only possible release from the obligation of secrecy is the permission to speak of the sins given freely and formally by the penitent himself. Furthermore, by a decree of the Holy Office (18 Nov., 1682), confessors are forbidden, even where there would be no revelation direct or indirect, to make any use of the knowledge obtained in confession that would displease the penitent, even though the non-use would occasion him greater displeasure.

He looked up, saw Wukowski scribbling furiously in his notebook, and told him that he would make a copy of the page for his use.

He closed the book with a thud and set it back on the corner of his desk. “So you see,” he said, “I cannot disclose anything told me under the seal of confession.”

“Father,” I persisted, “I seem to recall that part of the process is the penitent’s requirement to atone. In other words, if someone harms another, and they confess having done the harm, don’t they have to make reparation?”

“They are expected to do penance, but it is not required. The confession of sin and sincere regret are required for absolution. But the Church holds that satisfaction—what you call reparation—is due to God, and if the penitent does not satisfy God’s justice on earth, he or she will satisfy it after death, usually in purgatory. So there is no requirement for a penitent to make reparation to the one harmed nor is there a requirement to do penance. But it’s certainly recommended and strongly encouraged as a matter of justice and to save one from, as they say, doing hard time.” His eyes twinkled and he looked at Wukowski as he spoke those last words. Then he rose, picked up the book, and excused himself to make a copy of the page.

When he returned with copies for both Wukowski and myself—a nice touch, which I appreciated—I sprung my final question. “Father, do you ever require a penance that involves reparation to the one offended as well as penance to satisfy God? Is that appropriate?”

He lowered his eyes and compressed his lips as he thought. Then he seemed to reach a decision, and looked me square in the eyes. “As I said, neither reparation nor satisfaction is required to receive absolution. All that is required is confession and contrition.