“Then you told me you had just received a letter from her. You said you’d call me right back. When you didn’t, I called you. Your secretary said you’d left your office.
“Why would you have done that? Why hadn’t you returned the call? It had to have something to do with that letter. Barbara had to have written something that greatly disturbed you-enough to force you to some sort of action. Maybe she guessed who her killer would be? Whatever, it was something cataclysmic, I was sure of that.
“I called Sergeant Mangiapane and then I got here as fast as I could.”
The priest had Adams’s attention. “But how did you know where to find me? If you had been a minute or two later, I would have done the most foolhardy thing in my entire life.”
“That was more luck than anything. I was looking on your desk for Barbara’s letter when I spotted the word you had written on a scrap of paper.”
“‘Judas’?”
“Yes-Judas. An odd word to scribble. But it told me you were after someone you felt had betrayed you. I recalled what you had told me at your banquet: how your bank was not one of the conglomerates, but that the big banks were always out looking for smaller banks to devour.
“You were dedicated to keeping the bank financially alive and well. Yours is a family bank and you are dedicated to keeping it that way. You even belong to the Independent Bankers Association to join with other independents who want to avoid forced mergers.
“I knew from talking to Jack Fradet and others at your dinner that his job as comptroller of this bank is, among other things, to gather information and to assess the financial status of the bank. If he gave you the wrong information, misinformed you, the bank could be weakened-a ready victim for a takeover.
“He’s the one who could best play the traitor. You went looking for him. I went looking for you.”
Adams nodded slowly. “When I read in Barbara’s letter about Fradet’s reaction to her bluff, everything fell into place. I had thought the bank was having some extraordinary good fortune. That misinformation led us into one mode of business while we should actually have been going in the opposite direction. He deliberately set us up for disaster.
“After I read her letter I immediately checked the books. Now that I was looking for it and knew what to look for, I saw what Jack had done. I could have killed him!” He shook his head sadly. “I almost did.”
“And this gives the police a different motive for Barbara’s murder,” said Father Tully. “She died not because she was carrying the killer’s child, but because the murderer believed-falsely-that Barbara Ulrich was onto his game.”
“Now … if only they can prove it,” Adams said.
“What’s going on here?” A demanding Zoo Tully stood in the doorway.
His brother looked up brightly. “Have we got some stories to tell you!
Twenty-Six
More than he could express, Father Tully deeply appreciated this farewell dinner.
This was by no means his first send-off celebration. In his twenty years as, in effect, a missionary priest, he had periodically been transferred from parish to parish.
Such priestly passages could prove financially rewarding, as soon-to-be-former parishioners sponsored a party at which gifts were given. But congregations in parishes serviced by a Josephite priest usually could afford only gifts of prayer and affection-actually sufficient for just about any truly dedicated priest.
This evening’s leave-taking was especially significant because the participants were those with whom Father Tully had bonded to varying degrees in his brief stay in Detroit.
There was Father Koesler, back from vacation and eager to get back to the helm of his parish. Inspector Koznicki and his wife, Wanda, were the hosts. Rounding out the company was Lieutenant Tully-the brother who had become a brother-and Anne Marie, who was all a real sister should be.
The dinner bore Wanda’s hallmark: good plain food prepared and served with love. As the clambakers in Carousel sang, “The vittles we et were good, you bet/The company was the same.” Throughout, all joined in the conversation, which was, by turns, warm, witty, thoughtful, and stimulating.
When eventually the plates were empty, still no one made a move to leave the table, which was being cleared by Wanda and Anne Marie, assisted by the lumbering Walt Koznicki. Dessert and coffee were coming up.
Father Koesler had been surprised, indeed amazed, that his standin had been involved in a murder investigation. Was such clerical assistance in police work, he wondered, endemic to St. Joe’s? Or was it just to a Koesler pastorate?
It must, he decided, be the latter. For in succeeding parishes, Father Koesler had been involved in this sort of thing almost as an annual adventure. And here was Father Zachary Tully at a Koesler parish for only a few days and, voila! in a mystery up to his collar.
So much had been going on with Tom Adams and Jack Fradet and the Adams Bank people, as well as with the police and the prosecutor’s office, that Koesler had a lot of lingering questions. With the table clearing causing a temporary lull in the conversation, he was finally able to get a question in. “What puzzles me most about all this excitement that’s been going on in my absence is this business of equating Mrs. Ulrich’s killer with the father of the child. I thought that a pretty good motive-”
“And in the light of that-” Father Tully interrupted.
“Yes,” Koesler plowed on, “in the light of that, why would you reject that theory simply because Mr. Adams admitted that he was the child’s father, but claimed not to have killed the mother? Why in the world did you believe him? True, he acknowledged paternity … but wouldn’t most criminals deny the major crimes they commit while admitting the minor ones? I know you were eventually proven correct. But what-a lucky guess? Blind trust in Mr. Adams?”
Father Tully looked as if he’d hit a home run in Tiger Stadium on his birthday. “Thank you for finally asking that question, Father Koesler. I’ve been dying to explain. But I’d like to explain it in the form of a game.”
“Really!” Lieutenant Tully protested, all the while smiling at his brother.
“Humor me,” Father Tully said. “I’ve got the perfect cast of characters for this game right here and now. Playing against each other will be Father Koesler and my brother.
“Now, I’m going to tell you a story. Neither of you may interrupt me. Hear me out and then tell me the identity of the rich man.”
By this time the dessert and coffee had been served.
“Okay” Father Tully commenced, after first taking a sip of coffee. “The rich man in this story is also very powerful. What separates him from most other rich and powerful men is his love of God. He religiously kept the first half of the great commandment to love the Lord God with all his strength and with all his mind and heart. He wasn’t always strong on the second part of the commandment-that being to love all others in like manner. But he was outstanding in his love of God. It was a love that could prove costly to him. But he would meet that cost to maintain, demonstrate, and prove this love of God.”
Zoo was smiling. Koesler was not.
“In the course of giving himself generously to God, he angered his wife. Every chance she got she scolded him because he was, in her eyes, making a fool of himself for his God.
“The result was not pleasant for him-or for either of them, for that matter. The man was forced to choose between getting respect from his wife or giving to God. Loving God as he did, the man had no real choice-and his wife had no chance at alclass="underline" she was cast aside.
“Now, enter into the rich man’s life a woman of outstanding beauty. In addition, she was extremely effective in the art of seduction. After shedding his wife, the rich man had a definite gap in his life. He filled that gap with the very willing, beautiful woman.
“The fact that the woman was married to a man in the service of the rich man made no difference: passion was the undisputed winner. As a matter of fact, the married man himself was so dedicated to the rich man’s service that he had no time for his own wife.