It was the smell that got him. The mothball stench of the clergy. His stalker tried to make 'innocent' conversation, another dead giveaway.
Keep your nerve, don't look up, lock him out. Peripheral vision spotted a hole in a navy-blue Shetland wool cardigan.
Yes, it's a Kindle. I have around 250 books on it. Steady, you are opening the door to the confessional. Stop now, or you're a goner.
He wanted to tell him that even though he didn't 'believe' in God, there was a fairly OK syllogistic argument for God's existence.
It went like this:
God is a concept.
Concepts exist.
God exists.
Instead he kept his head down in his Donna Leon and began a contemplation of the women in Brunetti's life - Paola, Elettra, Griffoni.
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