backed off and I intend to stay backed off. Besides, the thought of being of service to the Detroit Police Department never would’ve occurred to me if it hadn’t been for you.”
“Me?! What did I have to do with it?”
“Just that when my brother learned that not only was I on the scene, but that you were gone … far, far away in a distant land” — Tully made Koesler’s vacation spot sound like the prelude to an episode of
“Well, I am surprised,” Koesler said. “I didn’t realize I’d had that sort of impact on your brother. I’ve just helped out a little from time to time-usually when there was some Catholic ingredient in an investigation. But you and I went over that when we first met-”
“I know. But as soon as my brother learned you’d gone, it was as if Detroit’s only doctor had left the city and an epidemic of some sort was about to strike.
“Believe me, Bob … please, please believe me: I am not now, nor do I expect to be an expert religious resource for the police department-in this or any other city.”
“Good. That’s a good resolution.”
“But” — Tully’s tone was impish-“I do have a solution for this murder case that is completely outside the police investigation.”
“You’re incorrigible!” Koesler laughed and hung up.
Sitting in the chapel of McGovern Funeral Home, Tully smiled as he recalled the conversation. Immediately he composed himself and reverted to a serious mien as he returned to his people watching.
A good-sized crowd was gathering. As he expected, he knew almost none in the group. Then a tall, slender black man, bald, with neatly trimmed facial hair, swept down the aisle, trailing a couple of men who had to be bodyguards. It was a safe guess that this was Donald Aker, mayor of Detroit.
Father Tully experienced a momentary flush of pride in being of the same race as this dynamic leader who believed so completely in his once-beleaguered city.
The mayor paced himself expertly as he moved toward the bier and the widow. He greeted those within reach. He smiled, but a restrained smile befitting the gravity of the moment. Pound for pound, thought Tully, this was as skillful a working of a room as he’d ever witnessed.
It seemed as if the mayor spent considerable time comforting the widow. In reality he was in and out in no more than a very few minutes.
He and his entourage exited the same way they’d entered-the mayor continuing to work the room as he moved out. Undoubtedly he was headed toward the bank that, but for a gun, would have been opened by the now deceased. Today was the official opening. Within minutes, Mayor Aker would be working a crowd at the newest branch of Adams Bank and Trust, where a minute of silence would be observed in memory of its martyred manager.
Then, as if in a rite of pageantry, a procession entered at the chapel’s rear. All were stylishly attired in dark mourning garb.
First came Joel Groggins, unaccompanied. He shook hands with the widow, who, even if not dressed as expensively as the others, easily was the most attractive of the many attractive women present. Groggins touched Mrs. Ulrich’s arm as he spoke with her.
Father Tully guessed Groggins was needlessly explaining his wife’s absence. Naturally, Nancy’s presence was required at the bank she’d inherited from Al Ulrich.
Next came Lou and Pat Durocher. Pat’s face was shadowed behind the black mesh of a semi-veil. She and Barbara turned their faces at an angle from each other and kissed air.
While Pat paused to view the body in the open casket, Lou said something to Barbara, in response to which she nodded vigorously. Tully couldn’t know or even guess what had been said. But he noted that Lou Durocher seemed somehow rumpled without actually being rumpled. Could he be nursing a hangover?
Then came Jack and Marilyn Fradet. Marilyn, considerably more at home with the widow than Pat had been, put both hands on Barbara’s shoulders, and they stood facing each other. Whatever Marilyn said caused Barbara to smile.
Marilyn viewed the body briefly, then moved to a reserved chair.
Jack, again evidently uncomfortable out of working attire, seemed awkward as he stooped to whisper something. It had to be only a whisper because he leaned almost against Barbara’s ear while speaking. Barbara turned her head in his direction and whispered something in return. Jack then seated himself next to his wife. He made no effort to view the body.
Next, Martin and Lois Whitston took their turn.
Lois gave Barbara a reserved hug, patted her shoulder, said something briefly, glanced hastily at the body, and went to her chair.
Martin addressed Barbara vigorously. His voice was clearly more audible than his predecessors’. Tully could see some of those seated nearby lean forward as if trying to listen in.
Barbara hastily grabbed Martin’s arm, cutting off any further speech. Quietly she said a few words. He nodded, left her side, and moved to the casket. He appeared to be praying. Maybe he was, thought Father Tully. Just because the priest assumed Whitston had no religious affiliation didn’t mean Whitston couldn’t pray-or even that he had no religious affiliation.
Finished, Whitston seated himself.
Last came Tom Adams. Of everyone here, Adams seemed most moved by this death. He was the antithesis of the robust host of his award dinner. Then he’d been very much in command; now he seemed somewhat lost.
As Whitston left Barbara, Adams made no immediate move to come forward. It was several seconds before he finally stepped up to her.
Now it looked as if the widow was consoling the mourner rather than vice versa. Adams’s shoulders shook. He appeared to be fighting back tears. It was most affecting.
A memory stirred in Father Tully. The award dinner: Tully recalled watching Barbara Ulrich slip some sort of missive to each of the men in this hierarchy. Jack, the comptroller; Lou, the mortgage man; Martin, in commercial lending; and Tom, the CEO.
Now the same cast had shared something with Mrs. Ulrich.
Tully wondered about that. Especially since Barbara suspected that one of them had arranged for her husband’s death-a suspicion she’d shared with the priest. He had advised her to follow his brother’s admonition: to let the police do the police work. He fervently hoped that she would take his advice.
What must be going through her mind? What passed between her and her suspects just now? Did it have something to do with the notes she’d given to them at the dinner?
He glanced at his watch. A few minutes after ten. Mr. McGovern closed the doors, a signal that the service, such as it was, would begin.
Father Tully stepped up to the bier. He looked briefly at the corpse. Traditionally, those who attend viewings make comments that run from a simple, “My condolences,” to the least common denominator, “He looks so natural,” to the ridiculous, “He never looked better.”
As far as Tully was concerned, the American Indians, among other peoples who lived with nature, had the best method of dealing with human remains: wrap them in a hammock, suspend it from two tall trees, and allow the birds and other animals to fold the deceased back into nature.
That method was not likely to become popular in today’s society.
Personally, Tully thought the mortician had done a workmanlike job on Al Ulrich. He looked, in slumber of course, just as he had when the priest had met him for the first and final time last week.
Father Tully anticipated no problem in delivering this eulogy. Once he had introduced himself, a priest only lately arrived from Dallas, everyone would accept that he’d had little opportunity to know Al Ulrich other than fleetingly. It was easy to be credible while speaking vaguely about a deceased whom one had known only in passing.
He would make no apologies for being a Catholic priest who had been invited to deliver this eulogy. At the same time he did not want to exclude those in this gathering who were not Catholics-Protestants, Jews, or even
