He stops beside the St. Mary's Catholic Church. White paint peels from its brick exterior. He leads the way inside. Boom, you are staggering back, gaping at magnificent stained-glass windows. They might be in Rome. The moment has all the force of discovering Spinney Field. At the far end of the immense sanctuary, a priest is saying mass for perhaps five parishioners. "I'm not Catholic," Wyche says as he backs out into the street. "I don't know whether the windows are great art, but I feel good that this is here."
Wyche climbs back into his car and drives happily off, a man in a web, spinning ever more surprises.