Man Who Loved God

Was it possible, he wondered, that this fact-the newly discovered pregnancy, was what Barbara was communicating when she slipped notes to those four men?

Four men!

What was he thinking! Could Barbara Ulrich have juggled four paramours? All executives from the same company? And-even if it was logistically possible-why would she attempt it? The challenge? A psychological need for living on the edge-brinkmanship? If so, evidently one of her four had gone over the brink.

The priest quickly reviewed his impressions of the four he had so recently met. What could she have seen in such a disparate collection of men?

If the father/murderer was one of these four, good luck to Lieutenant Zoo Tully and the Detroit Police Department.

Twenty-Five

Father Tully continued to speculate on his brother’s speculation.

The phone rang. He looked at the instrument. One light was on while another blinked. Mary O’Connor must be on line one. He pushed the button for line two. “St.…uh … uh, Joseph’s.” Rattled for a moment, he couldn’t recall which parish he was representing,

“Father Tully?”

“Tom? Tom Adams? I’m sorry I haven’t returned your call. I just finished Mass.” He didn’t bother to mention that he’d been on the phone with his brother. Why complicate matters? He had intended to return Adams’s call.

“I apologize,” Adams said. “I should have waited for your call. But I’m so worried. Have you heard anything about Mrs. Ulrich? Someone here at the office said there was a rumor that she’d been injured … shot! I’ve tried to get some information, but no one I’ve called seems to know anything solid. Or if they do, they’re not telling me. And I thought that with your connection with the police …”

My connection with the police. Ordinarily my relationship with the police department plus seventy-five cents might get me a cup of coffee, thought Father Tully. However, this was one occasion when Tom Adams was in luck. In this instance, bad luck. “Yes, Tom. I was with my brother when he was called to the scene. I’m afraid it’s bad news, Tom. The worst.”

“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-?”