being far from home seemed to liberate him from his usual emotional reticence. Beside him, Weird loomed in an immaculately tailored cassock that made him look far more of a peacock than any of the gay men paying their last respects. He wasn't crying, of course. His lips were moving constantly. Alex presumed this was meant to be a sign of devoutness rather than of mental illness, since Weird's hand regularly strayed to the ridiculously ostentatious silver gilt cross on his chest. When he'd first seen it at Sea Tac airport, Alex had almost laughed out loud. Weird had strode confidently toward him, dropping his suit carrier to pull his old friend into a theatrical embrace. Alex noticed how smooth his skin appeared and speculated about plastic surgery.
"It was good of you to come," Alex said, leading the way to the hire car he'd picked up that morning.
"Ziggy was my oldest friend. Along with you and Mondo. I know our lives have moved in very different directions, but nothing could change that. The life I have now I owe in part to the friendship we shared. I'd be a very poor Christian to turn my back on that."
Alex couldn't work out why it was that everything Weird said sounded as if it was for public consumption. Whenever he spoke, it was as if there was an unseen congregation hanging on his every word. They'd only met a handful of times over the past twenty years, but on each occasion it had been the same. Creeping Jesus, Lynn had christened him the first time they'd visited him in the small Georgia town where he'd based his ministry. The nickname felt as appropriate now as it had then.
"And how is Lynn?" Weird asked as he settled himself in the passenger seat, smoothing down his perfectly cut clerical suit.
"Seven months pregnant and blooming," Alex said.
"Praise the Lord! I know how much you two have longed for this." Weird's face lit up in what appeared a genuine smile. But then, he spent enough time in front of the cameras for his television mission via a local channel, it was hard to distinguish the assumed from the real. "I thank the Lord for the blessing of children. The happiest memories I hold are of my five. The love a man feels for his children is deeper and more pure than anything else in this world. Alex, I know you're going to delight in this life change."
"Thanks, Weird."
The reverend winced. "Gonnae no' do that," he said, reverting to a teenage catchphrase. "I don't think it's an appropriate form of address these days."
"Sorry. Old habits die hard. You'll always be Weird to me."
"And who exactly calls you Gilly these days?"
Alex shook his head. "You're right. I'll try to remember. Tom."
"I appreciate that, Alex. And if you want to have the child baptized, I'd be happy to officiate."
"Somehow, I don't think we'll be going down that road. The bairn can make it's own mind up when it's old enough."
Weird pursed his lips. "That's your choice, of course." The subtext was loud and clear. Damn your child to eternal perdition if you must. He gazed out of the window at the passing landscape. "Where are we headed?"
"Paul has booked you a cabin at the motel where we're staying."
"Is it near the scene of the fire?"
"About ten minutes away. Why?"
"I'd like to go there first."
"Why?"
"I want to say a prayer."
Alex exhaled noisily. "Fine. Look, there's something you should know. The police believe the fire was arson."
Weird bowed his head ponderously. "I feared as much."
"You did? How come?"
"Ziggy chose a perilous path. Who knows what sort of person he brought into his home? Who knows what damaged soul he drove to desperate measures?"
Alex thumped the steering wheel with his fist. "For fuck's sake, Weird. I thought the Bible said 'Judge not, that ye be not judged?' Who the hell do you think you are, coming out with rubbish like that? Whatever preconceptions you have about Ziggy's lifestyle, drop them right now. Ziggy and Paul were monogamous. Neither of them has had sex with anybody else for the past ten years."
Weird gave a small, condescending smile that made Alex want to smack him. "You always believed everything Ziggy said."
Alex didn't want to fight. He bit back a sharp retort and said, "What I was trying to tell you is that the police have got some daft notion in their heads that it was Paul who set the fire. So try to be