“The way Groggins told it, each of these executive VPs is very nervous and equally determined that he will not be the sacrificial lamb. But if each thinks the new manager has a chance to unseat a current VP, that could be a motive to murder whoever was chosen … couldn’t it?”
Lieutenant Tully made a hmmmm sound, which segued into what could have been taken for “Maybe.”
“But,” he countered, “what good would it do to waste a bank manager if there are other candidates in the wings eager and willing to step in? Case in point: Nancy Groggins. She’s the runner-up to Ulrich, no?”
“Yes.”
“And there she is right now, taking over for Ulrich. Seems to me she might just as well have been the first choice.”
“But,” said Father Tully, “our story has just begun. Who knows what comes next? Maybe Mr. Adams will have second thoughts about keeping this hazardous branch open. Maybe this buys time for whoever planned Ulrich’s murder. Maybe-please God no-Nancy Groggins is the next planned target.
“And,” the priest continued, “if one of the VPs
“And, if this is true, then no robbery was intended. The killer was paid to commit murder. And the ludicrous attempt to hammer the vault open was-what do they call it in mystery novels? — a red herring. Whoever set this all up wants the police to be looking for someone stupid enough or drugged enough to think he could open a heavy vault with a hammer. Whereas his goal was accomplished as soon as he shot and killed Allan Ulrich. The rest of it was just to throw you off the track.”
Zoo was happy his brother hadn’t said “throw
Father Tully pondered. Initially, he had not dared hope that his brother might agree to consider this hypothesis to its natural conclusion. “Well,” he said finally, “Groggins did provide me with a brief sketch of each VP. None of them is a leadpipe cinch to be expendable. But the way I understand it, this is the lineup:
“There’s Martin Whitston, in charge of commercial lending. He’s a no-nonsense manager. He knows what he wants and he gets it. He even looks the part: if you asked central casting for a powerful character brimming with self-confidence, they could send you Martin Whitston without benefit of makeup.
“Then there’s Jack Fradet, the comptroller. A bean counter. But essential to the organization. He’s got what’s frequently referred to as ‘the overall view.’ He can tell whether the bank as a whole is developing, declining, or holding steady. He looks bookish. Out of everyone at the party” — he turned and grinned-“outside of Groggins and me, that is-Jack Fradet seemed the most out of place. He shouldn’t be at a party; he should be at the office on a tall stool at a tall desk, his feet not touching the floor, posting numbers in a ledger.
“I was told that Jack Fradet is highly trusted. In effect, he knows where all the skeletons are buried. Adams Bank and Trust has been almost his only employment. I think he has every intention of being buried in one of the bank’s vaults.
“Finally, there’s Lou Durocher. He’s Tom Adams’s prime protege. It seems as if Adams decided something along the lines of Henry Higgins. Just as Professor Higgins takes a woman of no social grace off the street and transforms her into a lady-a ‘princess’-just so, Tom Adams took Lou Durocher, a man with very little self- confidence, and tried to build a new backbone. So far, I guess, it-the experiment-hasn’t worked out all that well.
“Basically, Mr. Durocher is in charge of mortgage and lending, and isn’t accomplishing what he needs to. He’s prone to make mistakes-mistakes that are awfully easy for even his subordinates to see.
“Nor can he hide his defects behind any sort of false front. His gestures are sort of tentative. He’s a bit shifty-eyed.
“Alone among the wives, Mrs. Durocher-Pat-is the only one who is the antithesis of her husband. Lois Whitston is a go-getter. Marilyn-Mrs. Fradet-kind of disappears, like a shadow of her husband. Whereas Pat Durocher is sort of aggressive. Very outgoing, and seems to have a lot of self-confidence.
“And” — Father Tully turned back to his brother-” that’s about it.”
Zoo smiled. “You were very busy at that party. I don’t think a trained spectator-even a cop-could’ve done better.”
The priest shrugged. “It wasn’t that difficult. Practically nobody paid any attention to me. Outside of Joel Groggins, no one at the table said one word to me. So Groggins kept busy-since no one was talking to him either-by giving me thumbnail sketches of the guests. While he was doing that, I was free to sort of study them and the way they related to one another.
“Once Groggins started talking about the reward that was practically set apart for the new bank manager, it was just natural to try to guess who would be axed to make room for the new kid on the block.
“Now, with Al Ulrich dead, I can’t help but wonder which one of these VPs would be the logical suspect. It would have to be the one who was most certain that he was going to get the ax … no?”
“What’s your guess?”
“That’s the rub … Adams’s corporation seems to be doing quite well-for its size, that is. Moving someone out of a top management position simply to reward a faithful employee doesn’t sound like good business to me. Why would you bust up a winning combination?
“Of the three, two VPs are doing exceptionally well. But it’s conceivable that Al Ulrich-or, now, Nancy Groggins-could replace either Martin Whitston or Jack Fradet very nicely.
“To me, the weak link is Lou Durocher. He’s not living up to the demands of his position. I think an objective spectator would necessarily put the finger on Durocher.
“But that would mean that Tom Adams would have to abandon his experiment. It might even go against his concept of his religion. And that, I am positive, Adams would be most reluctant to do.
“Finally, the bottom line is that this is Tom Adams’s call. And after the flipflop he pulled in going from his selection of Nancy as new manager to an overnight switch to Ulrich, I haven’t a clue as to how his mind works.”
“Maybe,” Zoo said as they pulled up in front of St. Joe’s rectory, “somebody knows exactly how Tom Adams’s mind works.”
“Somebody? Who?”
“If your theory is correct, the person responsible for Al Ulrich’s death.”
Twelve
Barbara ulrich perched on the edge of a straight-back chair. Appropriately, she wore black.
All was quiet at McGovern and Sons Funeral Home on North Woodward in Royal Oak. The establishment’s appointments, down to the deep pile carpets, were chosen for the absorption and muffling of sound. Further, besides Mr. McGovern, no one was visible but Babs and Marilyn Fradet.
Good old Marilyn. Married to a bank comptroller who probably thought of his wife in terms of her chemical net worth of some ninety-two cents.
Marilyn alone, of all the bank’s hierarchy and wives, had come to Barbara’s side when news of Al Ulrich’s tragic death was broadcast.
Of course life went on. Nancy Groggins, as Al’s successor-temporary or otherwise-was undoubtedly up to her ears in the grand opening. And the others: Lou, Martin and Jack, plus Tom Adams of course, were being questioned by the police and interviewed by the media.
But here it was, late afternoon on a beautiful spring day, and none of them had so much as called to offer condolences.
On the other hand, all of the above were well aware of the fractured state of the Ulrich marriage. Maybe it was foolish to expect a call.
It was nice of Marilyn to come along-even if she was precious, little company.
