"Time nine forty-seven a.m., Tuesday, August seventh. Interview of suspect, Andrew Bolt. Present, Detectives Adrian Carter and Harold Whiting."

"Mr. Bolt, you understand the charges against you and you have chosen to decline legal defence?"

"Yes."

"Very well. In your statement, on the night in question, you say you were just out walking. Alone. Do you often go walking at two a.m. in the morning, Mr. Bolt?"

"It was hot. I couldn't sleep?"

"And your walk took you past the cathedral . . . St. James? Isn't that rather a long way from your residence?"

"I don't know, I guess. I wasn't paying attention."

"And yet you noticed a light from the partially opened church door?"

"It caught my eye."

"Caught your eye . . . and your curiosity, you say as well."

"Yes. I thought I heard singing"

"Singing . . . at two in the morning."

"It's what I thought I heard."

"So you went into the church?"

"Yes."

"It wasn't your first time in that cathedral was it, Mr. Bolt?"

"Huh? No- I mean yes- it was my first time."

"What did you see when you first went in?"

"What? When . . . I uh, there was a man- the minister I think."

"Anyone else?"

"There was someone else, I didn't see who. Just some movement."

"And so you confronted Reverend Nichols."

"I spoke to him if that's what you mean."

"You knew him then."

"Eh? No. I mean, I didn't know-"

"And he recognized you, didn't he?"

"What? Wait, you're getting me all mixed up."

"Interview paused at ten-thirteen a.m."

In the hall outside the interview room, Adrian Carter sighed and watched his partner light a cigarette.

"They'll kill you, Harry."

"Not before this job does." He blew out a satisfying cloud of smoke. "How the hell could somebody do that to another person . . . in a church for God's sake."

"I doubt that."

"What?

"That it was for God's sake."

"Funny, Carter. I have a really weird feeling about this. Almost supernatural."

"C'mon, you think Bolt is some kind of demon?"

"You saw the crime scene. Did that look like Bolt could hang a body the size of Nichols up on that cross? He can't weigh more than a hundred and forty pounds for Pete's sake."

"So what, you're suggesting he has some superhuman strength that-?"

"I'm not suggesting anything . . . I'm just sayin'."

"Look, we have a bystander witness who saw him go into the church. We have a hammer with his prints also in the church. Eventually, he'll tell us how he did it, Harry."

"Okay, the hammer I concede but the bystander? Another middle of the night stroller? I want to hear her excuse for being out there."

"She's next in the box, partner . . . and watch out, you've got ash all over your shirt front."

"Resumed interview with Andrew Bolt at ten twenty-five a.m."

"How did your prints get on the hammer, Bolt?"

"I think I want a lawyer after all."

"You realize that just makes you look guiltier."

"I want a lawyer."

"Interview paused at ten-thirty a.m. Suspect requested legal representation."

"Get the broad in here fast, Adrian, before his lawyer shows up."

Carter hurried to the office and had the woman escorted to a second interview room.

"Miss Hansen, this is my partner, Detective Whiting. We have a few questions about the night you saw Mr. Bolt, the man you said you saw enter the church." The woman fixed her eyes on Harry, a hint of a smile played on her lips.

Harry shifted uncomfortably and looked to his partner.

"Mind telling us just what you were doing out at the time of the morning? Kind of late for a woman to be out alone."

She turned to Adrian, crossing her legs. "I was observing."

"Excuse me? Observing? Observing what?"

"Why, Andrew of course."

The two detectives traded puzzled looks. "You know Andrew Bolt?"

"Yes, he was my project."

Adrian leaned forward on the table. "What do you mean, your project?"

The full smile extended and both detectives instinctively sat back on their chairs.

"Andrew was doing what I told him to do." She watched their faces and laughed aloud as they sat stunned. "Of course his task is finished so I don't need him anymore. He achieved his destiny."

"M-Miss Hansen," Adrian struggled to recover from the statement, "just what are you talking about?"

"Andrew owed for a favour. Doesn't matter what but repayment was required and that was what Andrew did in the cathedral that night."

"Owed what? Owed who?"

"Whom"

"What!"

She sighed and stood from her chair.

"Wait a minute, where do you think you're going?"

"My work is done, and so is Andrew's. He won't be needed anymore."

The scream from the other interview room resembled the frantic screeching of a wounded parakeet and the detectives nearly fell over themselves rushing from the room. Bolt was gone. On his chair was a residue of ash and in the air was the reek of sulfur.

They stumbled back into the hall, gasping and rubbing their eyes, recovering enough to see the figure of Miss Hansen casually escape down the corridor, her red heels clacking on the terrazzo floor.

"Stop . . ." Adrian's voice coughed into silence as she paused, turning and giving a small parting wave, her flame-red eyes glittering and her lips curled in an evil grin.