Gnosis

was one of Dantzler’s all-time favorite movies, and certainly his favorite Cagney performance.

Dantzler was enough of a movie buff to know every serious actor from Brando on down idolized Cagney. The legendary director Stanley Kubrick rated Cagney as one of the five greatest movie actors of all-time, and with good reason. Cagney never let you down. Energy and truth were at the heart of Cagney’s acting. No matter the situation, or how lame the dialogue, he was always believable. For Dantzler, ten minutes of the marvelous Cagney was preferable to the endless, numbing hours of barking, biting, and screaming constantly found on the major cable networks. It wasn’t even a close contest.

After Cagney went up in flames, Dantzler turned off the TV and relocated to the kitchen. For the next half-hour he waded through a stack of unopened and long-neglected mail, separating the important (bills, bank statement) he had to address from the unimportant (credit card offers, various coupons, the Watchtower), which accounted for the ninety-five percent he could deep-six without bothering to open.

With the mail taken care of, Dantzler thought about finding another movie to watch. But the chances of running across a worthy follow-up to Cagney were slim to none. Instead, he decided to take another look at the obituary information Eric had gathered. It was tedious grunt work, and his previous studies had yielded nothing helpful, but he felt compelled to pore over the information one more time. Or ten more times, if necessary. After all, according to Eli, this stack of clippings was where the answer to the mystery could be found.

All Dantzler had to do was find it.

Two hours later, having gone through every obit notice in the three folders, he was still batting a solid zero. There was simply nothing linking anyone mentioned in any of the obits to the Eli Whitehouse case. If, indeed, Eli’s secret was hidden within these pages, it was beyond Dantzler’s grasp.

When Dantzler set the three folders aside, he noticed a fourth folder, one not nearly as thick as the others, lying on the table. At first he was puzzled; the folder seemed to appear almost out of nowhere. Then it dawned on him what he was looking at. The folder with the female obituaries he had asked Eric to check out. Staring at it, he realized he had never studied its contents.

Could it possibly be?

Dantzler opened the folder and took out the stack of newspaper clippings, photographs, and notes Eric had written. Slowly and methodically he began reading the obits, which had been arranged alphabetically by Eric, beginning with Adcock, Shirley.

More than halfway through the stack, having uncovered nothing of interest, Dantzler turned the page and picked up the next obit notice.

And there it was, plain as day, exactly like Eli said.

Holy shit, Dantzler muttered out loud, his heart pounding like a timpani drum. Holy shit, he repeated.

He looked away, then back down at the newspaper clipping, blinking several times to make sure that what he was looking at was no sleep-deprived vision. It wasn’t; this was the real thing. Hands trembling, suddenly wide awake, adrenaline pumping, he picked up the single piece of paper.

And began reading.

RICHARDS

Mary Magdalene Richards, 54, loving wife of Johnny Richards, departed this life on April 7, 2010, after a brief illness. Known to everyone as Maggie, she had a strong devotion to family, a great appreciation of the arts and a love of Nature’s beauty. Maggie was born on June 18, 1955, in New York City, where she met and fell in love with her husband, whom she married in 1976. She worked in the HR Department at the VA Hospital for many years, eventually retiring in 2005. Maggie is survived by her husband; two sisters, Annabella Donetti of New York City and Gabriella Terranova of Atlantic City, N.J.; six nieces and three nephews. Funeral services will be held at Kerr Brothers Funeral Home in Lexington on April 9 beginning at 10 a.m. Burial will be in the Lexington Cemetery. Donations on behalf of Maggie Richards may be made to the Markey Cancer Center.

Dantzler had been right. Eli’s whispered dictate held the key that unlocked the mystery.

Think of Jesus’s empty tomb.

Mary Magdalene.

The only woman mentioned in all four Gospel accounts of the women discovering the empty tomb, and the first woman to see the resurrected Jesus.

Eli had given the perfect clue. Mary Magdalene. And now, Dantzler had finally uncovered it.

The pieces fell into place, the jigsaw puzzle solved.

Mary Magdalene Richards.

Johnny Richards.

The shooter.

*****

Three-thirty in the morning and too wired to sleep.

Dantzler paced, plotting strategy, putting together his next move, mentally constructing his plan of attack. He was buzzed, alive with excitement, anxious for daylight to break. Anxious to go for the jugular.

To put away a four-time killer.

To free Eli Whitehouse.

During crucial times like this, Dantzler often approached matters from a tennis player’s perspective rather than from a detective’s point of view. He saw the case through a tennis player’s mental lens. In so doing, his understanding of what it took to win was elevated to the highest level, just as it was when he squared off against a talented foe. Crunch time is my time. That had always been his mantra. When the match was on the line and the outcome still in doubt was when he played his finest tennis. It all came down to will; the player with the strongest will usually emerged victorious. And Dantzler always felt his will was stronger than that of any opponent. The instinct for dominating a foe was as much a part of him as the blood flowing through his veins.

He detested losing. It wasn’t an option.

As with countless tennis matches throughout his life, he now faced one of those pivotal moments where the outcome would likely be decided by how he played his next shot. Everything was riding on his next move, his next piece of strategy. He hadn’t arrived at match point-he hadn’t come that far just yet-but his next barrage of shots, if executed perfectly, could decide the outcome in his favor.

The trick now was to make no mistakes. Every shot, every move, had to be executed to perfection.

This wasn’t pop-the-cork-and-spray-the-champagne-time, but it was close. While there was still much to be accomplished before the flag of victory could be flown, he now held the upper hand. This much he was certain of: he had the slight edge necessary for putting away a worthy opponent. For the first time, he felt in control of the match.

Dantzler smiled.

Victory was now within his reach.

*****

By six-fifteen Dantzler had showered, dressed, downed a bowl of cereal, and made phone calls to Laurie, Milt, and Eric, ordering them to be in the War Room no later than seven-thirty. He offered no specifics other than to let them know there had been a major break in the Eli Whitehouse case. This bit of news was tantalizing enough to rouse the sleepy detectives to life.

Dantzler stood on his deck and watched the sun begin its upward ascent, a bright orange globe carrying with it the promise of a glorious day. A mist hovered over the lake like an ethereal guardian angel. Crickets and loons and frogs sang in unison. The air was still and cool.

For any Homicide detective, answers are always accompanied by questions. In some ways, finding the answer only serves to heighten the riddle. Dantzler now had his answer-Johnny Richards. But exactly