He was keeping his options open, Bea concluded. He was, as he had said himself, no bloody fool, and the advantage he had in this moment was the years he’d had to think about the approach he wanted to use when the time came for it.
“So this person…let’s call him or her the Confessor for want of a better term…this Confessor makes cups of tea and cups of chocolate and more cups of tea and more cups of chocolate and offers biscuits, but more important offers a place for Santo to do whatever and to be whoever. And the Confessor waits. And soon enough reckons that means are available to settle whatever score needs settling. The boy’s had yet another blowup with his dad. It’s an argument that goes nowhere like always and this time the lad’s taken all of his climbing equipment from where he’s kept it in the past?right alongside Dad’s?and he’s stowed it in the boot of his car. What does he intend? It’s that classic thing: I’ll show him, I will. I’ll show him what sort of bloke I am. He thinks I’m nothing but a lout but I’ll show him. And what better way to do it than with his own sport, which I’ll do better than he’s ever managed. So that puts his equipment within the grasp of the Confessor and the Confessor sees what we’ll call the Way.”
At this, Ben Kerne lowered his head. Bea said, “Mr. Kerne, I think this is?”