“There is, indeed, a statute of limitations on embezzlement,” Koznicki replied, “but the person charged with embezzlement must spend those years in the jurisdiction where that crime was committed. In other words, when Father Keating left this country, the clock stopped ticking. In effect, he became a permanent expatriate. Although I doubt that this troubled him.”
“Okay, so much for embezzlement …” Dunn continued his probe into every facet of what he hoped would be but his first of many homicide investigations. “… what about murder? They hadn’t planned on murder, had they?”
“A moot question, Father,” Koznicki said. “As far as Father Keating is concerned, probably not. But remember, the two of them had carved out their separate roles in this scheme. After their collaboration in setting up the shell companies, the actual manipulation of money was Father Keating’s job. Keeping prying eyes away and patching up loose ends was Miss DeVere’s responsibility.
“Remember that
“Again, even though Father Keating was safely in Bahrain, Guido Vespa was about to disclose a vital ingredient of their scheme to Father Koesler. That would have robbed them of a scot-free getaway. And don’t forget: She had already murdered once.
“But when things started closing in, she must’ve been fearful of being found out: She left the country in such haste that she neglected to dispose of her machine pistol. We found it in her apartment. It is the gun that killed both Salden and Vespa. And it is covered with her prints-and hers alone. She escaped us by a hairsbreadth. If she had been able to control her jealous rage when she found Father Keating with another woman …” Koznicki shrugged. The conclusion was obvious.
“What do you think will happen to her?” It seemed it had to be Father Dunn’s final question.
Koznicki shrugged again. “The rules of evidence, presumption of innocence, and due process in Bahrain are certainly different from ours. If both the victim and the perpetrator were not U.S. citizens, I fear it would be capital punishment for a capital crime. As it is, my guess would be at least an extended prison sentence, perhaps life. And, might I add, I would not be surprised if their prison amenities are far less pleasant even than ours. In other words, a living’ hell.
“And …” Koznicki anticipated a corollary question from Dunn.
“… should she be set free-live out her sentence, be paroled-she would always have to be looking over her shoulder. There are many well-placed local people who would dearly want her to pay for the crimes she committed here. If someday she were to be kidnapped and find herself dumped on the Wayne or Oakland County prosecutor’s doorstep, she very surely would face trial for murder here.
“In other words, by one intemperate action, she went from paradise to despair.”
“Oh … uh … one more thing …” This
“The car?” Koznicki repeated.
“Keating’s car. How come it was found parked near Costello’s house?”
“Truly bizarre,” Koznicki commented, “but fitting neatly into place in this scheme. It was one more ploy to convince us that Father Keating was indeed dead and had been murdered.
“Late the same Friday night that Father left the country, Miss DeVere, wearing gloves, drove Father’s car to where she parked it near the Costello home. After wiping the steering wheel clean of prints-another smokescreen- she walked two blocks to where the taxi she had arranged for was waiting.
“When we found the abandoned car-as inevitably we would-our suspicion of foul play would be confirmed. But we would not be able to link the car to the Costellos or to Rerno Vespa because, on the one hand, they had nothing to do with it and, on the other, Guido assured her that his family would have alibis for the time frame. That he had determined without their knowledge.”
Noting the furrow in Dunn’s brow, Koznicki added, “Much of what we have discovered through our own investigation has been corroborated by statements Miss DeVere has made to the authorities in Bahrain. In her present situation, it is definitely in her own best interest that she be cooperative. She is bargaining now for her very life.”
Father Koesler, who was developing almost a paternal solicitude toward Dunn, smiled. “Satisfied?”
The contented look on Dunn’s face was response enough to Koesler’s question. “Oh, yes. Both with the meal-thank you, Mrs. Koznicki-and the investigation-thank you, Bob Koesler.”
Koesler smiled more broadly. “Look at all the stories you’ll be able to tell your confreres in the Twin Cities about big bad Detroit.”
“That’s true … whenever I get back.”
The smile faded. “What?”
“I’ve been thinking of renewing my enrollment in the university.”
“What?”
“There’s no end to what a person can learn about psychology. And there’s lots more I can learn about police procedure and crime investigations.”
Koesler understood the unspoken intention. “Listen, Nick, I know what you’re thinking. Now you’re welcome to stay, but you’re mistaken if you think I get involved in these investigations as some sort of avocation. You couldn’t be more wrong. The most exciting thing that’s going to happen at Old St. Joe’s is going to be figuring out how we’ll raise enough money to fix the church roof. I’d be willing to bet that I’ll never be involved in another police investigation.”
Koznicki kept a straight face, but he couldn’t keep the amusement from his eyes, Dunn smiled outright. “I know Guido Vespa tried to teach us that gambling can be harmful to one’s health,” he said, “but, Bob, I’ll just cover that bet.”
