Man Who Loved God

Twenty

Barbara hadn’t even considered a death threat.

And a palpable threat it was. He had killed before, prodigally in Vietnam. He made no secret of that.

The threat had its desired effect: Barbara would not reveal Martin’s secret. She only hoped that neither of the other two who were in on the secret might let it slip, leading him to suspect her.

No doubt about it, Martin could be dangerous.

It was just possible that Marty was lying. Should she go ahead and request his physician’s report? But if she did go to his doctor, she’d have to be extremely cautious. No need to roil those waters.

So, pending checking a couple of his statements, she had struck out with Martin. She was now pretty well convinced that he’d had no part in Al’s death. On the surface at least there appeared to be nothing improper in his management of commercial loans. And if he was honest about his reproductive system, he couldn’t have gotten her with child.

There was time to kill before her next guest arrived. She had allowed for a generous space between visitors. That gave her flexibility in grilling them, as well as insuring that none would meet in the revolving door that was her apartment.

She heated some soup, more because it was dinnertime than due to hunger. Nervousness had destroyed her appetite.

As she awaited the arrival of Jack Fradet, she went over what she knew of the comptroller of Adams Bank and Trust.

If one word could describe his early years, it probably would be “sickly.” If there were any germs around, they would attach themselves to Jack like zebra mussels.

Being of a practical nature, the lad made no plans to excel in sports or any other type of strenuous activity. He didn’t star on the field or in the gym. But in the classroom, he was a whiz.

Though he was attracted to the study of almost everything, his forte was math. When Jack landed a job with Adams Bank and Trust, it was a marriage blessed by the god of matchmakers. He could’ve taken and kept a vow of stability. He was there for life.

Rather rapidly he rose to what in effect was the number-two position in the bank. He had no desire to go higher and supplant Tom Adams.

Adams did what his job required, and he did it well. He was visible, a hail-fellow-well-met. Jack Fradet was not suited to that role in any way. He would have been awkward and ineffective, to say the least. He was most content to stay in the shadows and take care of the money. For in that, he was taking care of the bank.

Those who knew him at all well-and there were few-wondered that he had married Marilyn-or anyone, for that matter. It was difficult to imagine him in bed with a woman unless he was asleep. Marilyn seemed genuinely bewildered that she was mated to this math machine with flesh.

But they had three children, all now adults with families of their own, so something must have happened besides refreshing slumber in preparation for the next day’s adventures in the bank.

Almost from the time Al began to work at the bank, Barbara knew who Jack Fradet was. After all, he was an executive vice president. But if she thought of him at all, it was as the little man who counted money.

Yet over the past several years, Jack and Barbara had been paramours. People who were astonished at the mating of Jack and Marilyn would’ve been struck dumb by Jack and Barbara.

How had this happened?

Al has been assistant manager of one of the Adams branches. There was an annual picnic for ranking employees down to Al’s level-and their spouses. Barbara had gone along hoping to steal some time with Martin Whitston, the first of her four conquests. That was the day she bumped into Jack. She thought it was an accident. For Jack, it was no accident.

It began simply enough. She’d had no opportunity to be alone with Martin. His wife, Lois, had seen to that. For Barbara, the picnic grew deadly dull. She was peripherally alert to her husband’s. whereabouts. She didn’t care what he did, she just didn’t want him spying on her.

Keeping an eye out for Martin, on the one hand, and Al, on the other, she was totally unaware of Jack Fradet.

But he was acutely aware of her. Oh, not in any obvious manner. He stayed on the fringe of groups of guests. He had long had an eye for her-as did lots of men. The difference between them and him was that, over the long haul, Jack Fradet usually got what he went after. Barbara was one of the most desirable goals he had set for himself.

His opportunity occurred this day when Barbara found an unoccupied bench under a corner tree. With a bored look, she sighed deeply and settled herself in the middle of the bench, hoping to discourage anyone else from sitting down alongside.

Jack waited a few minutes then approached, leisurely, with no indication that he had anything particular in mind. He paused when he reached her. She looked up and gave him a perfunctory smile.

Still standing and making no move to sit down, he introduced himself and began talking. He didn’t direct his words at her specifically-or toward anyone in particular, for that matter.

He began explaining the cloud formations of this day: cumulus-piled high, but granting shade and little chance of precipitation..

At first she paid no attention. But several general topics later in his monologue, it occurred to her that he seemed to have a great interest in and knowledge about a great number of things. His knowledge attracted her.

She couldn’t believe it: by the time Al came to collect her that evening, the time had passed so quickly while she conversed with Jack Fradet that the two had missed dinner.

Slowly, that’s the way it started, and grew. Jack and Barbara met infrequently in parks or out-of-the-way restaurants. Except for the fact that each had a spouse, there was nothing sinful, illegal, or even fattening about their interest in each other.

Then they turned a corner.

When they’d first met several weeks before, Barbara would have covered any odds that they would at any time become physically involved. Freud had said it all for Barbara: anatomy is destiny. And Jack Fradet’s anatomy did not destine him to capture her favors.

What Freud left out of the picture was what he himself asked with significant frustration: “What does woman want?”

Manners, deference, tenderness, and, up near the top of the list for at least some women, power.

Jack Fradet definitely was unimpressive physically, but he possessed, or could fake possession of, some tender virtues. And at one remove from the top of an established banking firm, he did have power-a significant amount of power. As Henry Kissinger said, power is an aphrodisiac. And then of course women generally seem able to look beyond mere physical appearance much more so than men.

It was a banking convention in Florida that transformed the relationship of Jack and Barbara. Jack Fradet was empowered to select Adams delegates for this convention. Among those selected was Al Ulrich. Jack went no further than that. He also did hot go to the convention.

It worked. Barbara invited Jack to dinner in the Ulrich condo apartment. He enjoyed dinner and again went no further than that.

Eventually she seduced him according to the plan he had cleverly composed.

Of all the men who had romanced her, the best lover of all was Jack Fradet. No one, including Marilyn Fradet, would have believed that. His services during foreplay made it virtually impossible for Barbara not to reach climax. Afterward, all he required was a brief, releasing orgasm for himself.

Now, with this in mind, she felt somewhat callous in summoning him here tonight, to the very apartment where it had all begun for them. But this was the hand dealt her by fate; she had drawn cards and she would play that hand.

A knock at the door. He never rang the bell. She didn’t have to check the time; it would be precisely seven o’clock. That’s the way Jack was.

She wore a modest housecoat. She could no more envision Jack ripping off her clothing than she could imagine Marty Whitston turning away from a lovely, near naked woman.

Barbara opened the door. There he was, wearing that slight, enigmatic smile. She ushered him in and took his coat and hat. It wasn’t cold, or even chill outside-but Jack always protected himself and his health. Jack could quote statistics on catching cold in early autumn.

They sat facing each other, neither speaking.

“Thanks for coming,” Barbara said finally. “This is about my note-at the party.”

The smile didn’t change. “Things have changed since then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Al. You feared he would blow the roof off. He’s gone. If we were in a novel, I’d say Al’s death was a deus ex machina and highly unrealistic. But since we’re in real life, I have to look at it as a major coincidence.”

Barbara rose and got two cups of coffee. She didn’t need to ask: Jack nearly lived on coffee. She wondered that he ever slept. “Maybe a coincidence, maybe not,” she said as she placed their cups on the small table that separated them.

“‘Maybe not’?” He took a sip and compressed his lips in appreciation. It was out of character for one so gorgeous, but Barbara was a marvelous cook.

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that as careful a person as Al was, that he would be killed by a kid who needed money for dope?”

“This is excellent coffee, Barbara. What’s so odd about that? It happens all the time. We live on the downtown riverfront. Things here are about as safe as anywhere.

“As far as that goes, the branch Al left was in comparably safe territory. He volunteered for the new branch. He stepped from the safety of a pantry shelf to a heated frying pan, as it were. Which is not to say that anyone anywhere in this country is really safe.

“But, Barbara dear, all of those people, as Al did, have just begun working in a risky area of this city. What if there were a residency restriction? What if someone in authority required the people who work in that neighborhood to live there too? Like they do the police and firefighters. You think we’d be able to even plan on opening a branch in a neighborhood like that?

“No, my dear, Al’s death certainly is tragic, but not a complete surprise. Nor do I think it at all odd that a dope addict would kill to feed his habit. It would be nice if all addicts had jobs so they could afford to buy the drug of their choice. But eventually and inevitably, drugs incapacitate the user to the degree where he can’t hold down a job. But he has to have dope and he’ll do anything to get it-even commit murder.

“So, no, dear, I do not think it odd that our addict goes to a bank to get some money for his addiction. After all, banks are all about money. That he was not thinking all that clearly fits nicely in the whole picture. The error may very well be in our decision to open there.”

Barbara’s eyes widened. “You mean you think that branch never should have been planned, let alone opened?”

“Tom and I had words on the subject.” All hint of a smile had vanished. “But …” He shrugged. “It was not my place to make that final decision. Actually, I think we’re moving away from serving our faithful and long-standing customers. As I say, we’ve had words. We know each other’s thinking in the matter. But Tom is still the boss.

“However, just between the two of us, I think Al was a fool to accept, let alone volunteer, for the job.”

It was Barbara’s turn to smile. “You don’t think he did it from some altruistic motive, do you, Jack?”

“Not for a moment.” Jack shook his head vigorously.

“Then why?”

“I suppose he knew there’d have to be some sort of reward at the end of the stick.”

“What do you suppose that would be?”

“A choice of the next assignment, I suppose. Maybe a choice of a prime branch. There are lots of things working here. Leave Al where he is and, in time, when the right manager retires or dies, Al moves up. But that’s all guesswork. That’s up on Tom’s level. He created the monster; he’ll have to deal with it.

“But why do you ask? You have an idea?”

“How about an executive vice presidency?”

Jack paused with his cup half raised. Then he began to laugh. He laughed so hard he had to set the cup down again. “There are only three, you know, Barbara,” he said when he could control his laughter.

“Then one of you would have to leave, wouldn’t you?”

“Al an executive VP? That’s rich. None of us is anyplace close to retirement. And even if it happened, I certainly wouldn’t be the one to be replaced. Not in this world of business.” A curious look of amusement appeared on his face. “Wait a minute … wait a minute. You couldn’t … oh, this is rich! I’ll bet you were figuring that one of us … me?” He began to chuckle. “You think that I hired that young man to kill Al so my job would be safe. Good lord, what an active imagination you have, my dear.”

While he enjoyed what he seemed to think was a hilarious notion, Barbara fumed.

Practically the same reaction as Martin’s. Either both men were completely innocent of complicity in the murder of her husband, or they deserved some sort of award for their performances.

However, even if Jack had had nothing to do with murder, still there could be something unsavory in his vice presidential dealings. Perhaps Jack was involved in some hanky-panky that would lend itself to a little blackmail.

She waited until he stopped chortling. “That idea didn’t originate with me, you know.” Actually, to her knowledge, the only other person who shared the suspicion that one of the vice presidents could be behind the death of Al Ulrich was Father Zachary Tully. And the priest was nowhere near as convinced as she.

“Oh?”

“No. But it got me to thinking ….”

Jack shook his head, condescendingly. Suddenly she was furious. Why in hell did he have to be so damned smug? Well, she’d fix his wagon!

“Yes. I did. I did think a lot. Oh, not about you and me. No, Jack, I thought about you and the bank. That precious bank that you’re all so crazy about. And I started digging, and I asked some questions-” For the first time she seemed to have his undivided attention. Good! Let Mr. Smartypants Knowitall stew in his own smug juice. “Oh, don’t worry; I was very careful; nobody could possibly connect you with any of my questions. But you know, Al has always talked about his work … and believe it or not, I’ve always listened. And I can put two and two together. And guess what, Jack: it came up four!”

He just looked at her, waiting.

“Yes, sweetie, I know what you’ve been doing.” Actually, she didn’t know a thing, but she was so teed off at his supercilious attitude that she plowed on. “You’ve been building yourself one helluva golden parachute, haven’t you? So that if or when you were bounced out of your position-replaced by Al-you’d land softly and sweetly and have a pile for as many rainy days as might come along. And just imagine what would happen if Tom Adams found out-”

Suddenly, his entire demeanor changed. His expression became feral. She’d seen this look before. Animals, especially small animals, when literally cornered, fix their adversary with such a gaze, seeming to say, “Okay, you’ve put me in an inescapable situation. Now it’s you or I-and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you are not the winner.”

A shiver passed through Barbara’s body. Had her trial balloon touched reality? For the first time she had reason to question this inquisition.

Had she hit paydirt? What if Jack really was playing fast and loose with the bank’s finances? What might he do to silence her-or anyone who might guess at the truth?

With evident resolve, Jack once more pulled a veil over his expression. He was his erstwhile enigmatic self. “Barbara,” he said at length, “that’s a pretty serious charge. But because there’s no truth to it whatever, I know this allegation is your brainchild and yours alone. You’re bluffing-why, I don’t know-but” — he smiled sardonically-” you’d make a rotten poker player, my dear. And” — he leaned toward her-“just in case you’ve a mind to try to make trouble, let me tell you: this cockamamie accusation had better not leave this apartment.”

Barbara stared at him, speechless.

“Besides” — he sat back, relaxed-“there wasn’t the slightest possibility of my being let go. Al had little or no chance of supplanting any of us. And in the unlikely-extremely unlikely-event that it might have happened, I would most certainly not be the one displaced. Not now. Not ever.”

She had, it seemed, struck out again. Both Jack and Martin had been convincing in their innocence of any involvement in Al’s death.

As for bank misconduct, Jack’s mask had slipped-momentarily, but a slip nonetheless. Despite his words, her bluff had hit home: something was highly questionable about his dealings with Adams Bank. Yet she seemed somehow to have missed the target. Was she on the mark with her guess about the facts, but wrong about the motive? No way of knowing.

However, for all practical purposes, she could prove no charge against either Martin or Jack. She shrugged mentally. Two down. Two to go.

But first the little matter of paternity, and a generous support through the distant future for mother and child. She might not be able to pin Jack to the wall as far as his bank dealings were concerned, but he wasn’t going to weasel out of his paternal responsibility. Composing her thoughts and her face, she affected a sort of wry, little-girl sweetness, as if he had defeated her in a tennis match that she had known in advance she would lose because of course he was so much better at everything than she. “Care for more coffee, Jack?” she asked, every inch the gracious loser.

“Please.”

She poured for him. No more for herself. “We have only one more outstanding matter to be taken care of.”

“If this is what I think it is, I’m just surprised it wasn’t the primary, if not the only concern.”

“A matter of paternity, Jack. Al’s gone, so he won’t be kicking up a stink-and he certainly would have. But if everything comes out okay, in about seven or so months I’ll have a baby and you’ll have a son or a daughter. What do you intend to do about it? I don’t think either of us wants to go public with this. We don’t want a mess … at least I certainly don’t.”

She didn’t know what to make of his lively smile. “Well?”

“No. No, my dear, we do not want to go public and get into a mess.”

Why was he making such a production of this?

“I have taken the trouble of photostating the bill for a doctor’s services rendered a little more than three years ago.” He reached across the table and handed her a rectangular piece of paper.

It was an itemized bill for outpatient surgery.

She was flabbergasted. “A vasectomy!”

“That’s what it says. And that’s what it was.”

“I don’t understand.” And she did not. “You had a vasectomy before we ever got together! You were sterile before we-! Why did you bother going along with my insistence on using birth control? Why, for God’s sake, would you bother wearing a condom?”

He held out his cup. “Just one more cup, please, Barbara? One for the road.” The smile became a smirk. For that and his cocky attitude as he defeated her every effort to entangle him in any facet of this affair, she hated him. But she held any external manifestation in check.

She poured another cup of coffee and handed it to him. He sipped it and smiled a bit more genuinely.

“Why?” she repeated.

He tipped his head to one side as if considering how to phrase his response. “Why? No one does anything for one reason alone. Let’s see: why would I go along with your demand that we be super protected: you with spermicide, a diaphragm-maybe an IUD, for all I know; me with a condom; just about everything but rhythm-and, of course, the Pill?

“Well, it was amusing, that’s one. It enabled me to play a trump that you never knew I held-as I just did. That’s two. And it provided protection for me from any venereal disease if you were sexually active with anyone else.

“You see, Barbara, I bought your story that you and Al were not participating in conjugal life. It was just too bizarre not to be true.

“And, as it turns out, your sleeping around was exactly what was going on. That was borne out by your note. You are pregnant. That I believe. The father is not your husband. That I believe.

“But the father is not I. That I know for an indisputable fact.”

Barbara’s head hung. She seemed to be studying the floor. “Vasectomies aren’t always foolproof,” she said in a small voice.

He looked at her almost pityingly. “Mine is, I guarantee you. I have a semen test as part of my regular six-month checkup.” He shook his head. “No, my dear, that dog won’t hunt.”

He stood, and picked up his coat and hat. “I’ll just let myself out. Out of your apartment, and out of your life very probably.”

She didn’t move. She continued to stare at the floor as the door closed.

If she had looked at Jack as he departed, she would have seen that his smug demeanor had been replaced by one of dark determination.

What rotten luck! Her first two candidates hadn’t panned out at all. And all this time she’d thought she was in a win-win situation. She couldn’t lose; none of her candidates could have passed all three tests. But the first two, indeed, had.

The other two she had scheduled for tomorrow. They would not fail her. She had a premonition. Her intuition was very strong on this.

Still, she wasn’t as confident as she had been. Perhaps she would never again be that confident.

“How’d it go this morning?” Lieutenant Tully sipped from a cold beer can.

“Not bad.” His brother slowly swirled the ice cubes in a glass containing a rough blend of gin and tonic. “Not bad at all, considering.”

“Considering,” Anne Marie observed, “that you didn’t even know the deceased outside of meeting him briefly at dinner.”

“True,” Father Tully acknowledged. “But I think I could sense correctly the feeling of those who truly came to mourn at Al Ulrich’s funeral.”

“‘Truly’?” Lieutenant Tully raised an eyebrow. “Who truly came to mourn?”

“I think I know what Zachary means,” Anne Marie said as she worked over the pasta salad. She was preparing dinner as the two men sat at the kitchen table. “We’ve seen it often enough ourselves, Zoo. For lots of the people-maybe most-who attend a given funeral it’s an obligation. They’re friends of the deceased, or of the deceased’s relatives, or maybe business partners. But they’re dry-eyed and present only because they feel an obligation.”

Zoo nodded in agreement. Although he attended few funerals, generally, they were those of fellow police officers. Such occasions affected him deeply. He always felt a sense of pride in the solidarity that drew together an otherwise disparate group of law enforcement officers. Contrasting uniforms of police from other jurisdictions as well as those of state police and, of course, the Detroit police were evident.

It was, as well, a somber reminder of his own mortality and the innate danger of his work.

Father Tully sipped his drink. “I didn’t get the impression that many there this morning were truly grieving. The person who seemed most moved was Al Ulrich’s boss, Thomas Adams.”

“Not the widow?” the lieutenant asked.

“I don’t know for sure. She may just have been numb. Actually, she just didn’t seem to really be there.”

“Not there?” Anne Marie had almost finished the dinner preparations.

“I don’t know; she just seemed to be in her own little world. Maybe it’ll hit her later on. Sometimes it works that way-especially when it’s a spouse. When the other partner is gone, the tendency is to expect him to show up for supper. Or for her to be the first one up in the morning. There’s just a huge hole in a person’s life when someone whose presence is really important isn’t there as he or she always was. Maybe that will happen with Mrs. Ulrich.”

“So,” Anne Marie said, “there weren’t many real mourners at your wake service.”

“Not as such, no. Mr. Adams, as I said. But there seemed to be a pretty general kindred feeling.” Father Tully set his glass on the table. He didn’t want too much alcohol on an empty stomach.

“What I sensed was a feeling of bitter defeat. Most of those at the wake appeared to be discouraged that a much needed program had gotten off to such a tragic start. I mean, just about everyone at least wishes the city good luck. And branching into the inner city is a tangible step toward redevelopment. I think a lot of people were counting on this move by Adams Bank and Trust to be a success. Instead, they end up with a murdered bank manager.

“It hurt the city as well as the city’s image. I think most of the people at this morning’s wake shared that feeling.”

“Here it comes, boys.” Anne Marie brought serving dishes to the table. Neither brother needed to move; they were already at their dining places.

Father Tully led them in a preprandial prayer-a formality his brother thought would not outlive the priest’s visit.

Anne Marie began to fill their plates. “Did you have a chance to talk much with the widow?”

Father Tully hardly knew where to begin. All the food looked so appetizing. “Yes, I did. I thought I’d at least try to console her. But she just seemed to want to talk about her husband’s death and what caused it.”

Anne Marie looked at her brother-in-law inquiringly. “I thought that was open and shut-what Zoo calls a platter case.”

Before Father Tully could reply, Zoo, smiling, said, “It’s something like the Kennedy assassination. There’s the school of thought that Lee Oswald alone killed the President: one shooter, one killer. Then there are the conspiracy theories: it was a CIA plot. Or maybe FBI. Or maybe Cuban. Or maybe a mob hit. Two shooters. More than two shooters. An army!”

“Come on!” The priest winced.

“Okay,” Zoo relented. “So this one doesn’t have that many theories. But my brother here has been worrying over one like a dog with a bone.”

“What’s that?” Anne Marie was genuinely interested.

“It involves three executive vice presidents of the Adams Bank,” Father Tully said.

“Why three?” Anne Marie pursued.

“The way I understand it,” the priest explained, “there is no set ruling on the part of any governmental agency, state or federal, with regard to this. But most banks, especially small banks, segregate the hierarchical duties. And that usually spells out to business loans, mortgages, and financial control-in other words, a comptroller.”

“The employee who gets to manage the new Detroit branch,” Zoo said, “eventually gets rewarded for being so civic-minded. He-or she-gets to leapfrog to right next to the top: an executive vice presidency.

“By simple math, if there are only three VPs at the top, one of them gets displaced. So-and this seems to be the bottom line-find the present VP who is most likely to get bounced and you find the man who took out a contract on Al Ulrich … that about it, bro?”

Zachary chuckled. “Every time you tell that story, it sounds more humorous. I could give it a far more serious delivery. But I gotta admit: that’s the essence.”

The two men laughed. Anne Marie didn’t. “If that theory were true, what about whoever was appointed to take Ulrich’s place as manager?”

“Yes,” Father Tully said, “the new manager-and the only other candidate who was considered for the job-is Nancy Groggins.”

“Well, if there’s any substance to your theory, Zachary, then wouldn’t the same reward system apply for her?” Anne Marie pressed. “And in that case, wouldn’t she be the target for another contract killing?”

“Now, wait a minute,” Zoo said. “The next thing you’ll be saying is that the manager of that bank needs round-the-clock protection!”

“I’ll tell you the same thing that Al Smith is supposed to have cabled the Pope after losing the election: unpack.” Father Tully was chuckling.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zoo asked.

“Two things really,” Father Tully replied. “First, I was surprised to find that the widow, Barbara Ulrich, is maybe the only one in the world who agrees with my theory about a contract murder.

“And second, she feels very strongly that none of the executives would bother with a contract on Nancy Groggins.”

“Why’s that?” Anne Marie asked.

“Because Nancy Groggins is a woman. And, according to Mrs. Ulrich, in Tom Adams’s M.O., no women need apply.”

“What!” Anne Marie exclaimed.

“I have that on Barbara Ulrich’s testimony alone. I’ve got nothing to back it up. But she seemed convinced that her theory was incontrovertible. According to the widow, Mr. Adams believes there is a place for women-and that place is anywhere in his organization except near the upper echelon.”

“So,” Anne Marie clarified, “none of the executives would need to have her killed: she’s no threat to their position because she’s a woman.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Seems to me,” Anne Marie said, “you gave an award to a man unworthy of it!”

Father Tully shrugged and dug into the vegetables. “No one’s perfect. Tom Adams has done a lot for our missions, there’s no doubt of that. Besides, I have reason-plenty of good reason-to believe that Tom Adams lives his life closely patterned on the Bible. And remember: women do not fare all that well in Scripture.”

“Not too badly though,” Anne Marie pointed out.

Father Tully studied the ceiling for a moment. “True enough,” he admitted. “There were some heroic women in the Old Testament: Esther, Ruth ….”

“And in the New Testament,” Anne Marie added. “Mary Magdalene, Martha and Mary, the Blessed Mother, the women to whom Jesus appeared after His resurrection … and so on.”

“Right you are, Anne,” Father Tully said. “But, by and large, it is a man’s story. And besides, Tom Adams is, or seems to be, an extremely faithful son of the Catholic Church. And we all know where women stand in the Church: absolute equality except where it counts-the priesthood … bishops. So he’s got a lot of heavy example there.”

“Conceded,” Anne Marie said.

“I didn’t know this wrinkle, about women not being allowed in the upper echelon of Adams Bank,” Zoo said. “Interesting, but a detour. So Nancy Groggins is not in danger as manager of the bank-not from any of the execs, that is. But you two are overlooking the point that neither was Al Ulrich in danger from the execs. He was in danger from his new neighbors. One of them, stoned on dope, killed him. End of case!”

“Easy, easy, brother.” Father Tully laughed. “If my short-term memory serves, you were the one who brought up my theory a few minutes ago. But you see, I’ve abandoned that theory; I agree with you. In fact, when I talked to Barbara Ulrich about it, I went out of my way to try to convince her to let the police handle it. I told her not to meddle or get involved in something that is distinctly and exclusively police business.

“Now, I ask you, brother, have you ever heard that sentiment before?”

Zoo chuckled as he dug into some pasta. “My very own words. I wasn’t sure you were paying me any mind.”

“Case closed.” Father Tully stabbed an asparagus spear, dabbed it in hollandaise sauce, and nibbled on it.

He noticed that Anne Marie seemed to be toying with her food rather than eating it. “Something wrong, Anne?”

She smiled briefly. “Oh, I was just thinking … your visit with us is almost over. That makes me sad. We’ve had so much fun together. Isn’t there some way you can extend your visit? Maybe you could get a Detroit parish? They seem to be short of priests around here ….”

“Hey,” Zoo said, “that’s a great idea. How much longer can you stay?”

“Until Bob Koesler returns. That’s open-ended, sort of. He could be gone a month. But I’m betting he’ll show up any day now. And I don’t know about getting a Detroit parish. By the way, Anne, is the coffee done?”

She glanced at the counter. “I think so. Let me get you some.”

She poured the coffee. He tasted it. Hot. And good. He had yet to divine Father Koesler’s technique that turned out such unpotable brew. “The major problem with my staying in Detroit on a permanent basis is that I’m a Josephite-an order priest. The Josephites don’t have any benefice in this part of the country. Not a parish, a seminary, or any other operation.

“So, as a Josephite, I’ve got no reason to be here full time. I guess when my time’s up, I’ll just have to return to Dallas.”

“Wait a minute,” Zoo said. “It seems to me we’ve been through this before. A couple of years ago there was this priest who belonged to some missionary outfit … can’t think of the name just now …”

“Maryknoll,” Anne Marie supplied.

“That’s a foreign missionary order,” Father Tully said.

“You know about them?” Zoo asked.

“Sure. They’re distinctively an American order-as are we. Except that they aim at evangelizing in places like China and Africa and South America. What was a Maryknoller doing here? If he found a way to stay, maybe there’s hope for a transient Josephite.”

“I’m not sure how that worked,” Zoo said. “You’d have to ask Father Koesler.”

“Or me.” Anne Marie smiled. “I remember the priest. He was on sort of a sick leave from his Latin American assignment. He got mixed up in a homicide case. He was cleared, of course, and then he decided to stay here. He went through some sort of Church process. He’s still here, so I guess he was successful in becoming a regular fixture. Now he’s pastor of a southwest Detroit parish.”

Father Tully had emptied his plate. “He must’ve gone through excardination and incardination. I assume that when he came to Detroit, he still belonged to Maryknoll. He was incardinated in that religious order. Evidently he wanted to belong to Detroit, for whatever reason. In effect, he had to belong to somebody-in this case, either Maryknoll or the Detroit archdiocese.

“It’s something like passing the baton from one runner to the next in a relay race. Only in this case it’s a priest who’s being passed from one organization to a diocese. Maryknoll agrees to free up this priest-and excardinates him. The Archdiocese of Detroit agrees to take him and authorizes him to function as a priest here-incardination. That must be what happened in the Maryknoller’s case.”

“So,” Zoo said, “what’s stopping you? Get on the stick and start the process going.”

“There’s only one problem with that, Zoo: I like being a Josephite.”

Silence.

Clearly, neither Anne Marie nor her husband had considered that there could be a contest between keeping this newly formed family together and their brother’s religious, order. “You mean you’d rather belong to your order than stay with us? At least within visiting distance of us?” Zoo asked.

Father Tully compressed his lips in concentration. “That’s a tough one. I’ve been wrestling with this the whole time I’ve been here.

“It was one thing to learn about your existence from Aunt May. That was exciting. And I couldn’t wait to meet you. But the reality of being with you has been so much more than this. In no time at all, I’ve come to love you-twice as much because we’ve missed so much of each other’s life.

“All I can tell you is … I’ve been thinking and praying about this. I haven’t reached a decision yet. But I’m trying to. And it’s not that I don’t love you … or even that I love you more-or less. It’s that I loved my order before you came along.

“But when I do decide you’ll be the first to know.”

“We appreciate that.” Anne Marie wiped away a tear.

Father Tully grinned. “But I still think there’s something fishy about those three execs ….”

“Leave it, brother,” Zoo said. “Intuition fits better on the womenfolk.”

They laughed and started stacking dishes.