“Now that we’ve gotten beyond the possibility that at least one of them might have been involved in my husband’s death, can you think of anything that was peculiar about the shooting of that kid this afternoon?”
“Peculiar?” He racked his brain. “N … no. Everything seemed to proceed in an ordinary way-given the fact that it was an extraordinary event. The young man was, in effect, trapped. He chose to possibly imitate God knows who in a movie, and go out with guns blazing. That was about the size of i-wait!” Father Tully suddenly recalled something.
“What is it?”
“Something I do remember. After the shooting this afternoon-when the police were tying up loose ends-one of the officers mentioned that they’d found a sum of cash-a stash, I believe he called it.”
“How much?” Her voice was eager.
“Almost eight thousand dollars.”
“Any one of the three-Jack, Lou, or Marty-could have afforded that without any pain. I’m sure that’s more than enough for a murder contract. What did the police say?”
“They said it probably represented money for or from dope dealing.”
“The police didn’t know about our three guys and their very solid motive.”
Father Tully’s pacing intensified. “Well, I guess they did. I informed my brother-”
“And he said — ”
“That I should stay out of police business.”
“And that was it!”
“That was it. And, as far as I was concerned, that really was it. You and I have talked about it just now. But this is the first time I’ve seriously thought of it since my brother’s warning.”
“They’re not even going to. consider it?”
“I think the way my brother put it, police procedure follows the obvious line of investigation and doesn’t run off after bizarre leads.” Father Tully realized that this entire conversation was not only fraught but possibly problematic.
“Mrs. Ulrich, I think you and I see the possibility of a contract killing. But I have to admit, there isn’t a shred of proof for this theory. I, for one, am convinced that the police definitely are not going to investigate this killing further unless some pretty strong evidence comes up.”
“Huh, huh, huh,” she almost grunted. Then, half to herself, “Maybe standard police procedure discourages going further with this investigation. But it doesn’t stop me.”
“Uh …” Father Tully hesitated, then shrugged. “It probably isn’t my place to say this, but don’t you think that what you’re proposing is sort of dangerous? What if you’re right? What if one of these men is responsible for your husband’s death? And what if you flush him out? You said it yourself: there are very high stakes here. Nobody wants to see another … act of violence.” He stopped short of using the word “murder.”
“Don’t worry about me.” It sounded as if she was almost laughing. “This is one cookie who can take care of herself.”
Father Tully stopped pacing and sat on the arm of his chair. “Mrs. Ulrich, really now, I understand that these executive VPs would be protective of their position-and conceivably fearful of losing it. But for me, this was just idle speculation-and I’ve discarded that notion now that the police have dropped the investigation. Look: without any prejudice, I think we’re dealing with exceptional officers in an excellent police department.” He paused, but she made no comment.
“In the brief time I’ve gotten to know my brother,” he continued after a moment, “all I’ve been able to observe, all I’ve heard about him, tells me I can be proud of him and confident in his ability. He heard me out when I suggested that one of the VPs could be responsible for your husband’s death. He listened to me with an open mind-of that I’m sure. And he dismissed the idea.” He paused again. Still no response from Mrs. Ulrich.
“To be honest,” he said reflectively, “I haven’t completely abandoned the theory. It keeps popping into my head from time to time. Especially since each of those VPs-or maybe just one of them-could have a very credible motive. But for all practical purposes, I no longer consider it seriously. My brother said it: leave police work to the police-and in this instance, I think he’s absolutely right.
“Look at it this way, Mrs. Ulrich: If you try to get involved in this thing, what can you accomplish? If you-if we-are wrong, you could make some powerful enemies. If you’re right, you could be exposing yourself to great danger: you’d be dealing with someone who has already paid for one killing and could do it again.
“So I urge you, Mrs. Ulrich: leave it alone. Leave it to the police.”
She could have terminated this call some minutes ago. She certainly didn’t need his peroration urging her to give up her quest for the perpetrator of her husband’s murder. But it was easier just to let him go on while she pondered her next step. It would probably be good to let the priest think he had talked her out of it. “Okay. Thanks for all your information and advice. I promise I’ll think this over very carefully. I won’t do anything foolish. Promise.”
Father Tully took the lightness of her tone to mean that she would let the matter lie. Buoyed by all the good he had just accomplished, he bade farewell and hung up.
He gathered the books and papers that had hit the floor at the start of his pacing. He began putting them in order. He had been so close to a concept for his homily. But then his intense involvement in the conversation with Mrs. Ulrich had all but completely derailed his earlier train of thought.
As he organized his references, he gave a final consideration to the death of Al Ulrich.
In his experience as a priest serving in one poor parish after another, Father Tully had known more than a few individuals who would have casually accepted a contract killing. He had met only a very few who could have or would have hired someone to do the job.
Had he just met three of the latter type?
Best he himself take to heart his brother’s admonition: leave police work to the police.
At last he was comfy again, his papers and notes gathered close Except that now he was having a difficult time concentrating on the sermon he was trying to put together.
Damn! If only she hadn’t called. Their conversation had insinuated a seemingly permanent distraction in his mind. Now he was trying to rid his consciousness of the vague bothersome thoughts. At last he pinpointed the shadowy misgiving: it was Barbara’s seeming conviction that no harm would come to Nancy Groggins in her position as manager of that new branch.
That conviction was predicated at the outset on the hypothesis that Al Ulrich had been killed by a hired gun … and that one of the VPs had done the hiring. Finally-and Barbara seemed alone in this-on the assertion that none of the VPs need any longer worry about being ousted from his position for the simple reason that Tom Adams would never raise a woman to his bank’s hierarchy.
If all this were true, then there would not be another killing. Nancy Groggins, while ineligible for a top executive position, would not be in any danger-other than from the street threats that everyone faced.
Father Tully dug into his homily, vowing to at least try to erase all else from his mind.
Barbara had repaired to her tub for a long, leisurely soak.
From the moment the suspicion of murder by contract had occurred to her, she had bought it without reservation. Now she felt confirmed because someone else shared the same suspicion.
The fact that that someone-Father Tully-had done his utmost to discourage her from, in effect, carrying out her own private investigation, did not deter her. She knew that in his heart the priest believed as she did. And that was more than enough for her.
Gently, she marshaled the bubbles that skimmed the surface of her bath.
Jack, Lou, and Martin: as long as they needn’t get their hands dirty or bloody, any one of them could easily afford to pay someone else to do it. The kid had had eight grand. It hadn’t taken the cops long to find it.