“She’s … dead?”
“At first the police thought it was suicide.”
“Suicide!” Adams seemed dumbstruck.
“That’s what they thought initially. But now they think it was murder made up to appear suicide.”
“She’s dead then.” Adams sounded despairing.
“Yes.”
Tully waited patiently. No response. He waited longer. He thought he could hear sobbing, but very softly. “Tom? Mr. Adams? Are you there?”
Silence. Finally, “Yes, I’m here. There’s” — hope against hope-“no doubt … no doubt at all?”
“None. I saw her.” Another pause. “There’s more to the story, Tom. Mrs. Ulrich was pregnant. It was very early. The baby was no more than a few weeks along.”
Still no response.
“The police are presuming there’s a connection between her pregnancy and her death. They say that when they find the father they’ll have found the killer.”
“What!?” Adams almost shouted. “I’m the father! She was carrying my child! But I didn’t kill her. I wouldn’t kill her. I couldn’t kill her!”
Father Tully could think of nothing to say.
“We were going to be married … at least I asked her-just yesterday. How could you possibly believe that I would kill the woman I was going to marry, much less kill my own child!?”
“Mr. Adams …” Father Tully was near dumbfounded. “I didn’t believe that. I had no way of knowing you were the father!”
Someone must’ve entered Adams’s office or at least come to the doorway; Tully could faintly hear a female voice … something about the afternoon mail; there was a letter marked “personal.”
She must’ve put the mail on his desk. Father Tully heard the sound of papers being shifted about.
“Oh, my God! It’s from her-it’s from Barbara! Father, I’ll call you right back. It’s from Barbara!” He hung up, none too gently.
Absently, Father Tully also hung up. Words swam in his mind: “She was carrying my child. But I didn’t kill her. I wouldn’t kill her. I couldn’t kill her!” Adams’s words were clogging Father Tully’s brain. It was such an odd sensation.
Then the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. And it was as if Father Tully had been unaware he had even been engaged in the game.
He thought about it from this angle and that. He searched his memory for events, people, and what those people had said. At best he had not thought any of these elements might be significant clues that would eventually solve a mystery. But it was all taking shape.
Uneasy, he checked his watch. It was now ten minutes since Tom Adams had hung up, promising to call right back. Father Tully quite naturally assumed that Adams had hung up in order to read Barbara’s letter-a message from the dead.
But reading a letter would not require ten minutes-especially since it was Adams who had desperately wanted to talk to the priest.
What could be the cause for Adams’s not returning the call as promised? What was going on? Tully shuddered as he considered the possibilities. He dialed Adams’s number.
“Adams Bank and Trust; office of Mr. Adams. This is Lucille; how may I help you?”
“This is Father Tully. I was just speaking with Mr. Adams. He said he would return my call right away. Is he there?”
She caught the agitation in the priest’s voice. “No, Father.” Her tone became perturbed. “No. He … he just left his office.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“N … no. He didn’t say. Would you like me to-”
There was no point in continuing this conversation. Time was of the essence. The priest didn’t know what was going on at the bank, but he sensed danger and impending tragedy. He dialed homicide, identified himself, and asked for his brother.
“Lieutenant Tully is on the street.”
“Whereabouts on the street?”
The officer chuckled. “He’s in his car, Father-on the far east side.”
Too far away. He’ll never be able to get downtown in time! Another cop. He had to get another cop. But who? He knew so few. The bread eater-the priest’s mnemonic for one of Zoo’s cops. “How about Sergeant Mangiapane?”
“One second.”
The line clicked; a phone was picked up. “Mangiapane,” a preoccupied voice said.
“This is Father Tully. I need you right away.”
“Oh, hi, Father. What’s the problem?”
“I think it’s a matter of life or death.”
“You want Zoo?”
“He’s too far away. It’s gotta be you.”
Mangiapane hesitated a millisecond. “Okay, Father: Shoot.”
“You’ve got to get over to Adams Bank and Trust headquarters. Mr. Adams’s office. I’ll meet you there-”
“But what-?”
“No time to explain. There’s no time. Just hurry, please-fast as you can!”
“I’m gone!” There was a click answered by the one from the priest’s phone.
Father Tully raced his rented car down Jefferson toward Woodward and the skyscraper that housed the headquarters of Adams Bank. He left the car double-parked on the street amid honking horns and imprecations not ordinarily directed at a man of the cloth.
The elevator seemed to barely move. He struck the wall in frustration. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Should he have taken the stairs? Immediately the thought of a run up twelve flights made him realize he would have left his game on the stairway. When the car finally reached the twelfth floor, he almost hurled himself through the not yet fully opened doors, banging his shoulder in the process. He shook his head as if to shake the pain from his arm.
“Did he come back?” he asked as he hurtled past an astonished Lucille into Adams’s office.
“No … no, he didn’t,” a startled Lucille said to the space recently occupied by the priest. “Father, you can’t go in there!” She followed the priest into the inner office.
“Oh yes, I can.” Tully rifled through papers near the phone on Adams’ desk. “You can call … uh … Nancy Groggins. She was there when he invited me to visit anytime at home or work.”
“Well, that may be-” Lucille was becoming huffy; even if he was a priest, he had no right” You have no right to bust in here.…” Her increasingly angry protestation gained steam.
No letter. There was no letter from Barbara … or at least he couldn’t find it. Then he caught sight of a piece of paper obviously ripped from the desk calendar. It bore a single word, written in big, bold letters, JUDAS!
By now Father Tully was accustomed to Tom Adams’s regular reference to biblical figures and features. Judas was the quintessential traitor. Judas was one of those chosen to be closest to Jesus.
Who would play Judas to Tom Adams? Someone closest to him-one of the executive vice presidents. What did Tom Adams hold most precious? Independence-that his bank remain independent. Who of the three executives would be in a position to sell out the bank? Who, by manipulating figures, could show false profits and losses … lull the president into thinking his bank was secure when it was not? Jack Fradet!
This conclusion was reached in only a few moments. “Where are the executives’ offices?”
Lucille was still sputtering vehemently. “One floor down,” she answered before she realized her upbraiding had been interrupted. But Father Tully was already gone, running toward the stairs. Again he led with his shoulder, pushing against the stairwell door. Open, damn you! Then he realized that he had to turn the knob and pull to open the door. He hurtled down the stairs, taking some two at a time while praying that he wouldn’t trip and topple down the rest of the way.
This time the door did open outward. He burst through it. Another dash down another corridor. His chest heaved; his breath pounded in his ears. There! The nameplate he was seeking.
“You can’t go in there-!” But he was past her and into the inner office.