“A most interesting possibility,” commented Toussaint, whose face bore an interesting grin.
The others looked at him with varying emotions.
But all had to agree it was indeed a most interesting possibility.
“Anyone for more tea?” inquired Father Koesler.
Gratitude for technical advice to:
DETROIT
Sergeant Roy Awe, Homicide, Detroit Police Department
Ramon Betanzos, Professor of Humanities, Wayne State University
Margaret Cronyn, Editor, The Michigan Catholic
Lucille Duquette, Promotion Department, WXYZ-TV
Jim Grace, Detective, Kalamazoo Police Department
Sister Bernadelle Grimm, R.S.M., Pastoral Care Department, Samaritan Health Center
Timothy Kenny, Principal Trial Attorney, Wayne County Prosecuting Attorney’s Office
Orlin D. Lucksted, Special Agent, F.B.I.
Sergeant Daniel Mccarty, Homicide, Detroit Police Department
Thomas Petinga, M.D., Director of Emergency, Mt. Carmel Mercy Hospital
Rudy Reinhard, World Wide Travel Bureau Noreen Rooney, Editor, TV Listings, Detroit Free Press
Andrea Solak, Assistant Prosecutor, Wayne County Prosecuting Attorney’s Office
Neal Shine, Senior Managing Editor, Detroit Free Press
ROME
Kathleen McNamara Betanzos, Tour guide
LONDON
Richard Cohen, Divisional Director, Hodder & Stoughton
IRELAND
Sean Gallwey, Superintendent, Garda Siochana, Dublin Castle
Thomas J. O’Reilly, Superintendent, Garda Siochana, Phoenix Park
With special thanks to Chris and Mary Murray, Tom Murray, Gerald and Patricia Murray, Dom Murray, Eileen Keirns, Margaret Gallagher, Gertie McDonagh, R.N., Sean Tansey, and the people of Gurteen, County Sligo.
Any technical error is the author’s.
Shadow of Death copyright © 1983, 2012 by Gopits, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever except in the case of reprints in the context of reviews.
Andrews McMeel Publishing, LLC
an Andrews McMeel Universal company,
1130 Walnut Street, Kansas City, Missouri 64106
This is a work of fiction and, as such, events described herein are creations of the author’s imagination. Any relation to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental and accidental.
ISBN 978-1-4494-2362-9
www.andrewsmcmeel.com
William X. Kienzle died in December 2001. He was a Detroit parish priest for twenty years before leaving the priesthood. He began writing his popular mystery series after serving as an editor and director at the Center for Contemplative Studies at the University of Dallas.
The Father Koesler Mysteries
1. The Rosary Murders
2. Death Wears a Red Hat
3. Mind Over Murder
4. Assault with Intent
5. Shadow of Death
6. Kill and Tell
7. Sudden Death
8. Deathbed
9. Deadline for a Critic
10. Marked for Murder
11. Eminence
12. Masquerade
13. Chameleon
14. Body Count
15. Dead Wrong
16. Bishop as Pawn
17. Call No Man Father
18. Requiem for Moses
19. The Man Who Loved God
20. The Greatest Evil
21. No Greater Love
22. Till Death
23. The Sacrifice
24. The Gathering
Here is a special preview of
Kill and Tell
The Father Koesler Mysteries: Book 6
1
The fires of hell.
Why did he invariably think of hell whenever he encountered fire? It didn’t matter whether it was a house afire, a fire under a pan on the stove, or a campfire. Always hell. It must be all those years in parochial schools and the good old Baltimore Catechism, he concluded.
“Why,” the Catechism would ask, “did God make you?”
“In order,” the Catechism would respond, “to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world and to be happy with Him forever in the next.” And little Frankie Hoffman and all the other little Catholic kids would memorize not only the Catechism’s answers, but its questions also. It was only many years later, when Mr. Francis Hoffman became a junior executive in a major automotive company in Detroit, that he reidentified his personal goal in life: to become chairman of the board of his company—of The Company. And to do whatever might be necessary to get there.
“We call this our ‘batch,’ Mr. Hoffman,” explained Amos Culpepper, the black manager of the glass plant. “It’s got all the ingredients used in making glass, plus a goodly amount of cullet—glass that’s discarded along the way in the process.”
Hoffman stared at the grayish powder being almost imperceptibly pushed into a fiery furnace that was radiating enormous heat. “How hot is it in there?”
“Oh,” Culpepper answered, “anywhere from 2,450 to 2,800 degrees.”
Hoffman gave a low whistle. Once, he had forced himself, because he thought he had needed the discipline, to view a cremation. Till now, he had never experienced a similarly intense heat. If one approached the furnace too closely, the waves of heat were enough to literally take one’s breath away. “What would happen if you put a man’s body in there?”
Culpepper chuckled. “Someday soon somebody would be looking out of a car through him.”
Hoffman experienced a shudder. He had begun this day with an ominous feeling that had intensified as the day wore on. Breakfast had culminated in an argument with Emma, his wife. And it had not helped that for days he had been dreading this assignment given him by Charlie Chase, his immediate superior. He had complained to just about anyone who would listen about having to review the operation of The Company’s glass plant. He would get Chase for this. Oh, yes, he would.
In the meantime, and for some inexplicable reason, the blast furnace was making Hoffman extremely nervous. He moved away from the batch and around to the side of the furnace where the heat was only slightly less intense. The considerable entourage that accompanied this VIP moved with him.
“This is your first visit here, isn’t it?” Culpepper said.
Hoffman nodded.
“That’s why I’m taking you through our process step by step, right from the beginning.
“Now, this area here is what we call the tin bath. The mixture is liquid now, and in this phase, it conforms to the perfectly smooth surface of the tin.”
The heat, though less than that at the open furnace, was rapidly becoming unbearable. Hoffman led his entourage farther into the plant. “God, this is hot! When do you shut it down?”
Culpepper shook his head. “Never.”
“Never!”
“Shut it down and the walls’d break up. Runs twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Furnace lasts six, seven years; then we rebuild it.”
It was Hoffman’s turn to shake his head. He was beginning to understand why the plant’s annual budget was in excess of $35 million.
“Now,” said Culpepper, “this is where the glass is stretched and sized.”
“What are those things? They look like anti-aircraft guns.”