was very strong on this.
Still, she wasn’t as confident as she had been. Perhaps she would never again be that confident.
“How’d it go this morning?” Lieutenant Tully sipped from a cold beer can.
“Not bad.” His brother slowly swirled the ice cubes in a glass containing a rough blend of gin and tonic. “Not bad at all, considering.”
“Considering,” Anne Marie observed, “that you didn’t even know the deceased outside of meeting him briefly at dinner.”
“True,” Father Tully acknowledged. “But I think I could sense correctly the feeling of those who truly came to mourn at Al Ulrich’s funeral.”
“‘Truly’?” Lieutenant Tully raised an eyebrow. “Who truly came to mourn?”
“I think I know what Zachary means,” Anne Marie said as she worked over the pasta salad. She was preparing dinner as the two men sat at the kitchen table. “We’ve seen it often enough ourselves, Zoo. For lots of the people-maybe most-who attend a given funeral it’s an obligation. They’re friends of the deceased, or of the deceased’s relatives, or maybe business partners. But they’re dry-eyed and present only because they feel an obligation.”
Zoo nodded in agreement. Although he attended few funerals, generally, they were those of fellow police officers. Such occasions affected him deeply. He always felt a sense of pride in the solidarity that drew together an otherwise disparate group of law enforcement officers. Contrasting uniforms of police from other jurisdictions as well as those of state police and, of course, the Detroit police were evident.
It was, as well, a somber reminder of his own mortality and the innate danger of his work.
Father Tully sipped his drink. “I didn’t get the impression that many there this morning were truly grieving. The person who seemed most moved was Al Ulrich’s boss, Thomas Adams.”
“Not the widow?” the lieutenant asked.
“I don’t know for sure. She may just have been numb. Actually, she just didn’t seem to really be there.”
“Not there?” Anne Marie had almost finished the dinner preparations.
“I don’t know; she just seemed to be in her own little world. Maybe it’ll hit her later on. Sometimes it works that way-especially when it’s a spouse. When the other partner is gone, the tendency is to expect him to show up for supper. Or for her to be the first one up in the morning. There’s just a huge hole in a person’s life when someone whose presence is really important isn’t there as he or she always was. Maybe that will happen with Mrs. Ulrich.”
“So,” Anne Marie said, “there weren’t many real mourners at your wake service.”
“Not as such, no. Mr. Adams, as I said. But there seemed to be a pretty general kindred feeling.” Father Tully set his glass on the table. He didn’t want too much alcohol on an empty stomach.
“What I sensed was a feeling of bitter defeat. Most of those at the wake appeared to be discouraged that a much needed program had gotten off to such a tragic start. I mean, just about everyone at least wishes the city good luck. And branching into the inner city is a tangible step toward redevelopment. I think a lot of people were counting on this move by Adams Bank and Trust to be a success. Instead, they end up with a murdered bank manager.
“It hurt the city as well as the city’s image. I think most of the people at this morning’s wake shared that feeling.”
“Here it comes, boys.” Anne Marie brought serving dishes to the table. Neither brother needed to move; they were already at their dining places.
Father Tully led them in a preprandial prayer-a formality his brother thought would not outlive the priest’s visit.
Anne Marie began to fill their plates. “Did you have a chance to talk much with the widow?”
Father Tully hardly knew where to begin. All the food looked so appetizing. “Yes, I did. I thought I’d at least try to console her. But she just seemed to want to talk about her husband’s death and what caused it.”
Anne Marie looked at her brother-in-law inquiringly. “I thought that was open and shut-what Zoo calls a platter case.”
Before Father Tully could reply, Zoo, smiling, said, “It’s something like the Kennedy assassination. There’s the school of thought that Lee Oswald alone killed the President: one shooter, one killer. Then there are the conspiracy theories: it was a CIA plot. Or maybe FBI. Or maybe Cuban. Or maybe a mob hit. Two shooters. More than two shooters. An army!”
“Come on!” The priest winced.
“Okay,” Zoo relented. “So this one doesn’t have that many theories. But my brother here has been worrying over one like a dog with a bone.”
“What’s that?” Anne Marie was genuinely interested.
“It involves three executive vice presidents of the Adams Bank,” Father Tully said.
“Why three?” Anne Marie pursued.
“The way I understand it,” the priest explained, “there is no set ruling on the part of any governmental agency, state or federal, with regard to this. But most banks, especially small banks, segregate the hierarchical duties. And that usually spells out to business loans, mortgages, and financial control-in other words, a comptroller.”
“The employee who gets to manage the new Detroit branch,” Zoo said, “eventually gets rewarded for being so civic-minded. He-or she-gets to leapfrog to right next to the top: an executive vice presidency.
“By simple math, if there are only three VPs at the top, one of them gets displaced. So-and this seems to be the bottom line-find the present VP who is most likely to get bounced and you find the man who took out a contract on Al Ulrich … that about it, bro?”
Zachary chuckled. “Every time you tell that story, it sounds more humorous. I could give it a far more serious delivery. But I gotta admit: that’s the essence.”
The two men laughed. Anne Marie didn’t. “If that theory were true, what about whoever was appointed to take Ulrich’s place as manager?”
“Yes,” Father Tully said, “the new manager-and the only other candidate who was considered for the job-is Nancy Groggins.”
“Well, if there’s any substance to your theory, Zachary, then wouldn’t the same reward system apply for her?” Anne Marie pressed. “And in that case, wouldn’t she be the target for another contract killing?”
“Now, wait a minute,” Zoo said. “The next thing you’ll be saying is that the manager of that bank needs round-the-clock protection!”
“I’ll tell you the same thing that Al Smith is supposed to have cabled the Pope after losing the election: unpack.” Father Tully was chuckling.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zoo asked.
“Two things really,” Father Tully replied. “First, I was surprised to find that the widow, Barbara Ulrich, is maybe the only one in the world who agrees with my theory about a contract murder.
“And second, she feels very strongly that none of the executives would bother with a contract on Nancy Groggins.”
“Why’s that?” Anne Marie asked.
“Because Nancy Groggins is a woman. And, according to Mrs. Ulrich, in Tom Adams’s M.O., no women need apply.”
“What!” Anne Marie exclaimed.
“I have that on Barbara Ulrich’s testimony alone. I’ve got nothing to back it up. But she seemed convinced that her theory was incontrovertible. According to the widow, Mr. Adams believes there is a place for women-and that place is anywhere in his organization except near the upper echelon.”
“So,” Anne Marie clarified, “none of the executives would need to have her killed: she’s no threat to their position because she’s a woman.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Seems to me,” Anne Marie said, “you gave an award to a man unworthy of it!”
Father Tully shrugged and dug into the vegetables. “No one’s perfect. Tom Adams has done a lot for our missions, there’s no doubt of that. Besides, I have reason-plenty of good reason-to believe that Tom Adams lives
