Burglars in the Belfry
Unfortunately for the offender(s), one of our deacons† used to be Chief of Police around here for many years. It seems unlikely that the perps will escape his forensic skills, starting with the usual observations about inside jobs, fingerprints on the glass, guilty expressions and pattern recognition — such as similar events in other parishes over the years. I wonder if they left the jar behind, or took it with? I wonder if the Mafia has a contract out on the poltroons (like the Roy Scheider film, Sorceror, remember?)
Ten-to-one, Father Dave has already heard from the perp, and is waiting patiently for closure and restoration. Personally, I think it's either some kid, or somebody who maybe sleeps a bit too close to the belfry and has let in a few fluttering bats to worry between his ears.
Ok, it doesn't really rise to the level of a fullbore Agatha Christie, except for the Mortal Sin bit. And most of this parish could reimburse the damage out of pocket, if asked. But wow, isn't this iconic? You can almost hear the hammer-hard heels of Inspector Javert tearing over a foggy bridge in the night, after Jean Valjean with the bishop's candlesticks in tow...
†Bearing no resemblance to Victor Hugo's Javert at all, Deacon K.'s most salient feature is the Long Homily.
Labels: Ecclesiastical criminology