Read Online The Rainy Day Man: Contemporary Romance (Suspense and Political Mystery Book 1) by Amnon Jackont - Free Book Online Page B

baby.  The notes of an organ came from a scratched record:  " Stabat..."
                  "Stabat," the children responded.
                  "Mater..."
                  The priest sank into the darkness behind the altar.  With my feet I felt my way across wobbly flagstones, my shoulders brushing against damp walls.  I heard a door move on its hinge and a switch click.  A strip of light appeared beneath a velvet screen. 
                  "Through here," I heard his voice.
                  It was the confessional.  On the opposite wall a curtain concealed a wooden lattice.  There was a faded silk cushion on the confessor's chair.  The priest stood behind it, gripping the back.  "Well?"
                  There was a combination of impatience and apprehension in his voice.  His broad, dark face glistened with sweat and exuded a tremendous, almost erotic, vitality. 
                  "Well," I assayed, "we're neighbors..."
                  "Correct," he confirmed unenthusiastically.
                  He was not going to ask me to sit down; nor was he about to help with the burden of the conversation. 
                  "The doctor," I said, "Dr. Khamis..."
                  "Yes?"  There was a note of cautious interest in his voice.
                  "Is he...your friend?"
                  "Yes," still cautiously.
                  "For a long time?"
                  The look on his face revealed the contempt in which he held my question.  "All of us here, in Dura, have known one another for a long time."  He took an impatient step back.  In his expression there was no sympathy or involvement.  For a moment it crossed my mind that I might have missed something, or that I had failed to take in something I been told at the briefing. That first day I thought that I had seen the spark in the eyes of the wrong man.  Now I was not finding it in the place where it should have been. 
                  "Maybe," I said, "we'll have to continue probing the subject..."
                  "Maybe," he replied implacably.
                  There was nothing left but to approach directly.  "Do you have something to tell me?"
                  He smiled.  Even hostility would have been preferable to the arrogance he radiated.  I took the envelope out of my pocket and placed it at his feet, on the silken seat of the confessor's chair.  He looked at it suspiciously, picked it up and inspected its contents against the light. 
                  "Have you read it?"  A moment later he added drily, "Of course.  You had every reason as well as all the time in the world..."
                  He read quickly, instantly, as if photographing the text.  When he folded the page up again there was an expression of pained confusion on his face. 
                  "What did you say your name was?"
                  "Simon."
                  Something in my name, possibly in the way I said it, brought the shadow of a smile to his lips.  With the beginnings of hope, I added, "If you want something you can send someone to the Athenaeum and..."
                  His face became gloomy again:  "I'll find you."
                  There was no point in my staying any longer.  I moved backwards, feeling the velvet curtain at my back.  It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps things were not all that uncomplicated.  He was testing me, carefully checking the patience and discretion of the man to whom he was about to entrust his secret. 
                  "I'll be seeing you," I said in as friendly a voice as I could muster.
                  He did not answer, merely nodded his head.             
                  I burst through the