His face betrayed him in that minute, and he knew it. It clearly revealed the effort of trying to figure out how Father Frank would have reacted to this accusation.
By that time I had his wrist, but my grip wasn't firm and he wrenched his hand loose and swung at my chin. That told me he was strong and fast, but not experienced, so I was about to kick him in the knee when he stepped back and pulled out a small pistol.
"Fuck you, Father Fuckface!"
The familiar caterwaul seemed to fill the church, and "Father Frank" made the mistake of looking around to try to locate the source, then he made the bigger mistake of starting to swing his gun toward where he thought she was.
The crook of a cane snaked around his wrist, pulling the barrel of the gun farther away from me, and I stepped in and hit him in the stomach as hard as I could.
"Ron," I yelled as he crumpled, "go outside and find a runner. We need a nurse with a gurney and restraints. Two gurneys."
Her head popped up between two pews. "Two what?" she demanded.
I grinned at her. "Just tell them we have a dead body, and murderer who may also be insane."
She nodded knowledgeably. "You want a loony jacket." She stood with her arms crossed behind her back in demonstration.
I nodded. "A loony jacket, yes."