Even during a school term, with a full complement of students, Marygrove’s campus was rarely this busy.
Particularly bustling was Madame Cadillac Hall, overflowing with police, the media-print, radio, and television-as well as the students who had signed up for the writers’ workshop. Gawkers and the curious lined the iron fences that surrounded the grounds. Police were stationed at regular intervals to keep bystanders off campus.
The story of the murdered rabbi had broken last night, reported on the late TV and radio newscasts and the early morning editions of the
Inspector Walter Koznicki did not need a directive from Mayor Cobb to clean up this mess forthwith. He got one anyway. Lieutenant Alonzo Tully didn’t need a similar directive from his boss; he didn’t get one. Just the promise of all the police manpower he needed. Everyone in authority wanted this one locked up as quickly as possible.
There had been police task forces on the local scene before, lots of them. And Tully had participated in several. This was the first time he had been in command of one. It was a singular feeling. He had never been in charge of hundreds of soldiers in war either. But he surmised the two experiences were not all that different. On this field and in the heat of battle, he found he was not bad as a modern major general.
His troops were being efficiently utilized and he had done a credible job at delegating complementary responsibilities. Some of the officers were interrogating the workshop students, both those living on and off campus. Others were combing nearly every inch of Madame Cadillac Hall with deliberation and meticulousness. Still others were going over the scene of the crime: the dining room used by the workshop’s faculty. What remained of the faculty, minus the deceased Rabbi Winer, had been interrogated at length and in great detail last night. The panel members remained under a loosely structured surveillance-with the exception of the Reverend Klaus Krieg. Because he refused to stay in one securable place, he could not be protected in any absolute way. But in the number and quality of officers used, the police approached perfection.
Tully, through his delegates, was keeping abreast of what was going on in all areas of this investigation. In his mind, the most important detail, headed by Sergeant Angie Moore, was the group inquiring into the backgrounds of Augustine, Benbow, and Sister Marie. Due to the questionably unwarranted bitterness they exhibited toward Krieg, these three had to be the prime suspects at this point in the case.
It was natural, then, for Tully to feel a particular anticipation when he spied Angie Moore hurrying down the corridor toward him. Her haste telegraphed the message that her squad had uncovered something of moment.
With Tully was Father Koesler. His presence in the inner circle of this investigation was due, in part, to Inspector Koznicki’s invitation.
“Got somethin’?” Tully greeted Moore.
Moore nodded perfunctorily at Koesler. Under more casual circumstances she would have greeted him warmly. Now she was strictly business. “Yeah. We started calling people last night, till it got too late. Then we started again early this morning.”
“And?”
“And Benbow’s got-or at least had-one on the side.”
“A mistress?” Tully wasn’t sure Koesler understood what Moore meant, and he wanted to make sure there was no communication breakdown.
“Uh-huh.”
“How long’s it been going on?”
“Years.”
“How notorious?”
“Hard to tell. The first several calls we came up dry. Phoned some of his friends, a few parishioners whose names he gave us. Nobody knew anything except they were concerned about his being involved in any way in an act of violence. Then we got a break. One of the parishioners-I think her type used to be called ‘a pillar of the Church’”-she glanced at Koesler.
“They still are,” he said.
“Anyway,” Moore continued, “this gal was hesitant at first. It was her hesitation that gave us the idea that she knew something. So we dug a bit and she finally opened up. Actually, she was just dying to tell us.
“This involves a gal Benbow was counseling. From there it turned into an affair.”
“Before,” Tully said, “you said Benbow ‘had’ this affair. It’s over?”
“Apparently. See, it was this lady who led us to another and another and another-all gossipy types-who filled in some details. Seems Benbow tried to keep it under wraps, took precautions, hardly ever appeared with her in public. But snoops who want to know generally find out. That’s what happened here. That’s why we think it’s not widely known. My guess is most-almost all-of his friends and parishioners are in the dark on this one. But those few who do know are sure of themselves. One of the informants claimed it was all over, that it ended abruptly after Benbow took a trip. From another person who knew nothing of the affair, we learned that that trip was to P.G. Enterprises in California.”
A restrained smile spread over Tully’s face. “So, Krieg found out and threatened to reveal Benbow’s affair- scared him enough to make him end it.”
“That’s what we figure. It’s the only way it makes sense. Shortly after that trip, Benbow stopped visiting the woman completely. Then, for the first time, other men began seeing her, taking her out, visiting her. A little while back, she married one of them.”
“With Krieg’s connections,” Tully said, “he undoubtedly could have found out with his own resources alone. But if that many people knew, it certainly would have been easy for him. So what kind of stick did Krieg hold over him?”
“We figure,” Moore said, “that pulling this out of the closet probably would have ended or seriously compromised Benbow’s writing career. . at least as far as the religious aspect of it was concerned. Probably the Episcopal Church is not as quick with penalties as the Catholic Church, but I doubt they would look the other way when it comes to notorious adultery.”
“Hmmm, the whole ball of wax,” Tully said. “How about his wife?”
“Always the last to know, Zoo,” Moore said. “Far as we can tell, she still doesn’t know. Or, if she does, according to all accounts, she gives no indication she does.” Pause. “So, what do you want to do with this one?”
After a moment’s reflection, Tully said, “Nothin’ just now. There’s no point in it. We already know how Krieg would react. The same way he did when we confronted him with Rabbi Winer’s secret past: ‘Who, me?’ But the pattern is holding true. Two for two. It looks like Krieg was blackmailing these writers to get them to sign a contract with him.
“As far as that theory goes, so far so good. Both Winer and Benbow had secrets that could ruin them if anyone revealed them. I think Krieg threatened both of them. It’s the only thing we know of so far that would explain why they hated him. Now, if we find something similar in the past of the monk and the nun, it’s gonna be a little tight for Krieg to deny the whole thing. And we will have four people with enough motive to commit murder. Any luck with the other two, Angie?”
“Not yet, Zoo. I’ve got a team working on each one. We’re in touch with Augustine’s monastery, going through the various monks and the abbot, of course. Nothing of any significance so far. Before he joined the monastery he worked in a New York ad agency-one of the big ones. But there aren’t too many left there who remember him. It was a long time ago. Lots of the people who worked with him are either retired or dead. But we’re staying with it.
“The nun is a little tougher. She’s been all over the place. Taught at something like twelve schools in this area. Chicago too. Took postgraduate courses at different colleges. Again, all over the place. Now she’s got that job in Florida.”
“The thing is, Angie,” Tully said, “with what you found out about Benbow, the odds go up fast that there’s something in the backgrounds of the other two. There’s gotta be something. If Krieg could find it, by damn we ought to be able to. So, hang in there, Angie, and keep me plugged in. Need any more help?”
