She approached Ankenazy, a slight smile on her lips. Then she caught sight of Tully and the smile froze.
Pat was obviously completely surprised. It was one of those rare times when she had no comment whatsoever.
Tully tried to gauge the situation. Was this some sort of sick gag? Coming on the heels of the De Vere column, he wondered if someone was putting him on. If so, Pat Lennon was not in on the game. Her surprise seemed most genuine. Either that or she deserved an Oscar.
Ankenazy? Again, he gave no indication that this was a setup on his part.
Perhaps it was a coincidence. Odd; he’d been so obsessed with the gossipy item, his memory so filled with Lennon-and now, here she was.
“Pat’s worked with Hal in the past.” Ankenazy completely overlooked any sort of introduction; for whatever reason he obviously felt none was necessary. “She’d be as good as anybody to help, or answer questions. I’ve got some stuff to get organized. So, if it’s okay with you …”
Tully had expected to be shuttled off to someone else. He had dropped in without an appointment and could not have counted on Ankenazy’s being available or even being in. But Pat Lennon? Coincidence? Miracle? Or, always possible, some sort of joke?
“You got a few minutes, Pat?” Ankenazy asked.
“Sure.”
“Lieutenant Tully here is investigating Hal’s death. He gets carte blanche on any of our resources-library, files, whatever.” Excusing himself, Ankenazy left them.
“Well, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?” So she was going to be formal. Maybe, under the circumstances, not a bad idea. However, he wouldn’t match her with Miss or Ms. Even without their previous association he would have gone immediately to a first-name basis.
“I want to get inside Salden’s head,” Tully said, without preamble. “I’m pretty certain this was not a random shoot. Somebody wanted him out. Any ideas, Pat?”
“About who killed him?” She folded her arms and shook her head. “He was a nice guy. What can I say? Sometimes he was kind of hard on this or that religious leader. But-not like that. I can’t imagine any of them … no.” She shook her head again.
From what little he knew of them, Tully thought she might be selling religious leaders a bit short. He could well imagine some threatened religious figure getting violent. Who knows; the investigation might turn up something along that line. And if such a thread were to be uncovered, Tully would be ready to follow it up.
“Maybe it’d help if I knew something more about him,” Tully said. He remained seated at Salden’s desk.
Lennon shifted her weight to her left side and leaned against the desk. The position accentuated the lovely curve from her narrow waist over the full hip to her knee. Tully appreciated the view, one of nature’s masterpieces.
“I’ll try to give you a thumbnailer.”
“As detailed as possible, please.”
“Okay,” Pat agreed, “something more than a thumbnailer.” She pulled up a chair and sat down. “Hal started as a copy boy, right at die bottom, some twenty years ago, long before I got here. He worked his way up to the sports desk and covered most of the local teams. Before his next move, he was the main writer on the Tigers. Then he moved to the city desk. Again he specialized in the local angle-city hall, the council, the mayor, Lansing. He was really very good at everything he did. The next move logically would have been his own column. It’s what many of us would like. But he turned it down-to just about everybody’s surprise-and asked for the religion beat.
“Of course, in a way, he did get his column, because a personal column sort of goes well with that territory. But the way he covered religion was the same as he covered everything else-thoroughly and professionally. It sure as hell enhanced the value of religious news. It wasn’t the Saturday throwaway anymore. I worked with him quite a bit from time to time and I was always proud to be associated with him.”
“Sports, the local scene, and religion,” Tully summed up. “And no enemies?”
“Some,” Lennon admitted. “But if they were at all fair, they had to grant that Hal was objective and evenhanded. Anyway, if you’re going to do a job as a reporter, you make enemies. We all do. But we don’t expect them to get violent, and 99-plus percent of the time they don’t.
“So there’s a bit more than a thumbnailer on Hal. Not much of a eulogy. And I feel his loss lots more than I’m expressing. But … there you are.”
Tully was caught off guard. He had detected no strong emotion in her review of Salden’s career. And there was no sign of misty eyes. But he believed her. She probably had been deeply moved by Salden’s death. She had to be damn good at controlling her emotions.
“Okay, thanks,” Tully said. “One last thing: I was trying to find out what he might have been working on, some of his notes. But …” He indicated the partially open desk drawers.
“The notepads?” She smiled. “Those are mostly history. We do take notes, of course, but we usually transfer them to our baskets.” She gestured toward the CRT. “That’s the basket.”
“Ankenazy mentioned that. But it’s just a blank screen.”
Lennon got up. “If you’ll let me in there, I’ll see if I can’t remember his password.”
The desk, the chair, the CRT did not offer much room to maneuver. As Tully stood and tried to trade places with Lennon, they brushed against each other. Lennon’s body probably was no softer than any other well-proportioned woman’s, but it did indeed seem so. And there was a fragrance that was more than the subtle dab of perfume with which Pat routinely started her day. It was her scent, and it was so distinct he could remember being conscious of it even years back.
Lennon was afraid she might be blushing-something she couldn’t remember having done since high school.
It was all so awkward. Three years ago, they had parted friends. Lennon had been aware that Tully’s companion had recovered her health, and Tully had to have known that Joe Cox had returned repentant and forgiven. Lennon and Tully’s relationship had been a classic friendship where in either would respond to a need of the other. It was just that over these past few years, such a need had not arisen.
Both Lennon and Tully, though neither expressed it, would have enjoyed this fleeting collaboration had it not been for Lacy De Vere’s column item. And though neither expressed it, both felt like telling Lacy De Vere to go to hell.
“Lemmee see now,” Lennon said, “I think I remember Hal’s password.” She tapped the keys and spelled out, HOLY FATHER.
Nothing happened.
She shrugged, tried again, and typed, HOLY SMOKE.
The screen lit up.
“He was a joker,” Tully observed.
“He had a sense of humor,” Lennon amended. “I’ll rummage through here. I’ve done it before when working with Hal, though not often. If you think he had a peculiar sense of humor, wait’ll you try to figure out his unique shorthand. We’re inside his mind now. But I haven’t the slightest idea of what we’re going to find.” She tapped more keys.
“I knew there’d be something under ‘miracles.’ It was one of his favorite slugs. The only other person in the media that I know of who shares Hal’s fascination with offbeat religious phenomena is Nelson Kane over at the Free Press. The two of them used to \get together from time to time, usually at the Anchor Bar, and try to top each other.
“That’s what this story is. Hal told me about it when it came in over the wire. It involves a teenage girl who is allegedly possessed by the devil … not that original a story. The essence of it wasn’t weird enough all by itself to attract Hal’s interest, except for one detaiclass="underline" The girl allegedly had a habit of levitating. She would drift off her bed and float up to the ceiling. For that reason, the priest appointed to exorcise her had to be very tall-so he could get her down from the ceiling.
“I can almost hear Hal topping Kane’s image-of-Christ-in-the-hot-dog-bun story with the king-size exorcist. He would have had such fun with that one.”