“I don’t know. I don’t really know. There’s that adage that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. I have a hunch the same sort of thing can happen with money. What did Jesus say about it being easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven . . . ?
“But, forget the money for the moment. The big thing is that all those people are going to be expecting their own private miracles through the intercession of this Father Robert. And I don’t think they’re going to get them.”
“You think Father Robert is not for real?”
“I don’t know and I’ve got no way of knowing.” He shook his head. “Although I did tell Moe Blair I’d look into it. One thing for sure: I don’t know how long the diocese can let this go on without giving some direction to the faithful. Sooner than later, Cardinal Boyle is going to have to make a judgment on this miracle business. I only know I’d hate to be the one who has to investigate this business. Think of the pressure!”
“Oh, I agree with you completely. I’d hate to have to investigate.”
“Speaking of pressure—and hope and joy and all sorts of positive Christian virtues,” Koesler gave Mary a sly smile, “. . . which council members won’t be at tonight’s meeting?”
“Well,” Mary said, with her own version of a sly smile, “I’ve got good news and bad news . . . .”
“Don’t jump.”
Pringle McPhee didn’t jump, but she did start. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t heard Pat Lennon approach. Pringle had been gazing out the window and paying attention to nothing she was looking at. “I don’t think I’ll jump,” she said. “We’re not up high enough; I’d only hurt myself.”
They were in the city room on the second floor of the Detroit News.
Pat looked concerned. “That bad?”
Pringle turned from the uninspiring sight of Lafayette Boulevard to look directly at Pat. “It’s the whole damn thing. The weather as much as anything. Looks like it’s going to rain.”
Pat knit her brows. “Rain was never that bad.”
“Let’s get some coffee.” As they left the window, Pringle added, “It’s not just the weather, of course.”
“It’s Fred.”
“He’s not sure he can swing that trip for the two of us to New York.”
“What happened?”
“His wife. She wants to go with him.”
“ Does she suspect?”
“I don’t think so. She says she just wants to do some shopping. But he can’t talk her out of it.”
“I don’t blame her. If I were married to somebody with Fred’s money and I wanted to go to New York with him and spend some of that money, by damn I’d go.”
“But we planned it. I was counting on it.”
“Pringle, she doesn’t know about you . . . remember? She’s hardly going to step aside so you and Fred can frolic in the Big Apple.”
“I know. I know. But I was so looking forward to it.”
Pat could think of nothing further to say. She felt sorry for Pringle. But that was seemingly forever the fate of the odd person out in a ménage à trois. She got them both some coffee and led the way back to her desk.
“That was a good piece you did on what’s-her-name—the miracle lady,” Pringle said as she pulled up a chair.
“Anne Whitehead? Thanks. The interesting thing was how much of her sight was restored: not the whole shot; just back to where she was before she went blind.”
“Yeah, that is interesting.”
“If this had been Lourdes, she wouldn’t have been able to hang her glasses on the wall.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
“Did you get an exclusive on that? I haven’t seen any other interviews with her.”
Pat bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Thereby hangs a tale . . . or, almost.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. How did it go with the deputy mayor?”
Pringle became animated. “I think the mayor’s got his ass in a sling this time. You know that money the city got to provide bulletproof vests for the police department? Well, it’s been diverted to a waterfront project that happens to be right at the foot of the Manoogian Mansion—the mayor’s residence.”
“You can substantiate that?”
“Almost. One more source and I’ve got it. I’m waiting for that phone call now.”
Pat fingered her hair thoughtfully. “That’s right,” she said, “you cover the police beat, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh. Why?”
“Know anybody named Tully? Alonzo Tully? He’s a lieutenant . . . Homicide.”
“Zoo? Sure. Everybody knows Zoo. He’s one of the best cops in the department.”
“How well do you know him?”
Pringle looked slightly offended. “Not that well. There’s Fred, you know.”
Pat’s tone suggested impatience. “I didn’t mean that. Is he married?”
Pringle gave it a moment’s thought. “I don’t think so. No, I’m pretty sure not. Maybe he’s divorced,” she added brightly.
“Hmmm.”
“The reason I’m pretty sure he’s not married is because he’s living with somebody.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. She’s a social worker, with the county. I got it from—hey, wait a minute: you and Zoo?”
“Nothing like that. I met him last night for the first time. Seems like a nice guy.”
“As far as I know, he is a nice guy. But mostly a take-charge type. If you hang around cops very much, like I do, you get to know what they’re like from their reputation with the other cops. Most of them are honest and work hard. A few are showboats. There’s even a Dirty Harry or two. But I’ve never heard a bad word about Zoo Tully. He came up the hard way. And on the way up, he established contacts he can cash in now.
“I mean, what can I tell you? He spent some time in vice and what’s he got to show for it but a whole bunch of hookers who have complete trust in him. They’d tell him anything he wanted to know. And that’s the way everybody is with him.
“The other night, for instance: He killed a punk who shot one of his men.”
“I know about that. I read your story.”
“Yes, but then a couple of days later he broke up a robbery, armed—single-handed—and nabbed the two guys who did it.”
“Yesterday? He did that yesterday? I hadn’t heard about that.”
“I wrote it. It’s in today’s paper.”
“He didn’t even mention it. When did it happen?”
“Yesterday, late afternoon.”
“God! That had to be just a few hours before I met him. And he didn’t even mention it.”
“See? I told you. He’s different. Even for a tough cop, he’s different.”
Pat looked away and twisted a strand of hair.
Pringle watched her for a moment. “You would have been lots happier if I’d said he was unattached, wouldn’t you?”
Pat was almost flustered, rare for her. “Don’t be silly. I just met the guy last night.”
“I know Joe Cox is a very good reporter, but, honest, I don’t think he can hold a candle to Zoo Tully.”
“Who asked him to?”
“There’s nothing permanent about an understanding like the one you and Joe have.”
Pat made no response.
“And there’s probably nothing written in stone about the relationship Zoo and his live-in have.”
Reflectively, Pat said, “There’s nothing permanent about anything.”
“See? If Joe hadn’t bugged out on you, you probably wouldn’t have given Zoo any more than the time of day. But Joe’s not here and you resent it. And, from all I know, the same with Zoo. There must be something shady in his relationship or he wouldn’t have ‘met’ you. Kismet. Fate.”
“Say,” Pat looked at her, “just who is supposed to be advising whom here?”
“Pat, you’re my friend, maybe my best friend.
Sometimes an outsider can just see things more clearly than somebody who’s involved.”
“Okay, okay. We’ll just see what kismet has in store.”
Pringle’s phone was ringing. As she hurried to her desk, Pat called after her, “Pringle, what are you doing after work? Maybe we could spend the evening—”
“Can’t. I’m seeing Fred. Maybe tomorrow night.”
Pat shrugged and smiled. What a crazy world. Pringle’s going hell-bent for leather down a dead-end street. Fred has one of those ideal arrangements: the wife, the family, respectability—and a most desirable young woman on the side. Anybody could write the scenario. And at the end, after the fat lady sings, Pringle will be forced to see the light, left with a large share of nothing.
But what of her own status? Pat had to admit that Pringle, even without being privy to the particulars, had been dead on target. If Cox had not pulled that sophomoric stunt, she never would have gone to a singles bar, let along met and become—admit it, gal—infatuated with this cop.
Not that Zoo Tully was not a captivating, attractive man. He very definitely was. She just wished she could pinpoint what made him so special.
But Pringle was right: Pat was simply not the type to cheat—even without a marriage contract. Hell, she wasn’t the type to even flirt. Not when she was in love. So, like it or not, something had happened to her relationship with Joe Cox. Otherwise last night, innocent as it was, would not have happened.
And, damn it, Pringle was probably right in her evaluation of Zoo’s behavior. There was nothing about him, nothing Pringle had told her, nothing she could infer, that indicated, he was more than a one-woman man. So what was he doing in a singles bar? Why had he made contact with her? It had been a pickup on his part, with total and wholehearted consent on hers. Why? Something must have happened in his relationship with his woman.
If so, something had happened to both of them. Perhaps Pringle was right—kismet. Pat’s eyes narrowed. We’ll just have to see where this goes.
Lieutenant Tully had checked with Inspector Koznicki and arranged to take time to bring Alice to St. Stephen’s Monastery. Now he was up to his elbows in paperwork. There was so much paper to shuffle on an ordinary work day that when that day was compressed by personal business, things could get out of hand.
Most of his squad was out solving murders, just as they should. Alone in the squad room with Tully was Sergeant Angela Moore. Both were completing routine reports. So procedurally dull were these reports that both Tully and Moore felt free to converse as they worked. Indeed, Tully had already confided that he was taking Alice to a faith healer this afternoon.
Moore knew of Alice’s illness, and, while she sympathized, she, like Tully, had little confidence in preachers, especially the type who claimed healing powers.
Without looking up, Tully asked, “Any word on Mangiapane?”
Moore continued to check off boxes in her report. “I called earlier this morning. They’re using that ‘as well as can be expected’ line. But then I talked to the nurse on his floor. Lucky I made friends with her yesterday. He’s doin’ fine. They got him up and walkin’ around. Before you know it, we’ll be seein’ his ugly Eyetalian face around here.”
“Good. Good.” At least there was some good news today.
“Just in case you get the false impression that everything today is upbeat,” Moore said, “did you hear the latest about those two turkeys you got yesterday?”
“The R.A.? No.”
“They’re out.”
“That fast.” It didn’t surprise him. For one thing, there was no room in jail. Not that this fact alone would influence a decision to release someone who had just been arrested. Overfilled cells usually squeezed out convicts at the other end of the scale of justice. Due to the lack of room, cons regularly had their sentences commuted to make space for new admissions. However, judges were well aware of the lack of cots. So bail was easier to make than it should be.
“Guess who they came up with for a lawyer?” Without waiting for his answer, she said, “Ken Crockett.”
“Crockett.” Tully accorded the name a sense of respect. “Where’d they get the retainer?”
“I dunno. Maybe they had better luck robbin’ stores before you caught ‘em.”
Tully smiled. “Maybe. But I don’t know how they’d get away with that. Their M.O. yesterday was nothing to write home about.”
“Crockett’ll probably get them dressed up like college dudes. Their first bath in years.”
“Uh-huh. Jury says, ‘How could those nice boys do such a thing?’ and they walk.”
“That’s okay. We’ll see ‘em again. Next time they’ll probably be lyin’ on a slab.”
“Yeah.”
“Better to use a shortcut and take ‘em out right off the bat. Like Dave Powell.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she regretted them. Tully was still tender about having killed the young man. Moore knew it. Momentarily it had slipped her mind. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
They worked on their records in silence for a while. Then Tully spoke. “By the way, Angie, do you know a Patricia Lennon?”
Moore let the name roll around her memory. “Doesn’t ring a bell, Zoo.”
“Reporter at the News. Pretty good.”
“She ever been on the police beat?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Then, like as not I don’t know her. Why? Anything special?”
“No. I met her last night. Just wondered if you knew her.”
Moore’s intuitive reflexes triggered. She knew Tully. She knew the telltale tones of his voice. She was well aware of the value he placed on privacy. These questions were out of character for Zoo Tully. Moore felt sure she knew what he was driving at. She just didn’t know why. He was so completely devoted to Alice. It didn’t make sense.
But he was Zoo Tully, her boss, her friend, and one of the most special people she’d ever known. For him she’d find out.
Abruptly, Moore left the squad room. She found an empty office, dialed several times until the number she was calling was free. She talked longer than she had expected. By the time she returned to the squad room, Tully, having wrapped up all the paperwork he would complete this day, was preparing to leave.
“I got the info on Pat Lennon.”
“Oh?” He hesitated, then finished pulling on his jacket. But he was going nowhere until he heard what she had to say.
“Lennon is maybe the top reporter at the News. Maybe in the whole city. She used to work at the Freep. She left there at a time when a lot of them were moving to the News. She’s divorced. Happened a long time ago. She never remarried. Like I said, by consensus she may be the best reporter in town. If she’s not, then Joe Cox at the Freep is.”
“Him I know.”
“The funny thing is that not only are they the two best reporters around, they live together. Have for years.”
Moore was watching Tully intently. Although he wore his usual prime poker expression, she thought she caught a glimmer of disappointment over the relationship. But she was no longer guessing. She had just learned that Lennon had been asking about Tully.
“This is the kicker: They’ve had a falling out. Sort of a serious disagreement. At the moment, Cox is covering the Mackinac Race. The way things stand now, it’s possible they may never get back together. End of report.” She had watched observantly as she told of their tiff. But this time Zoo remained expressionless.
“Amazing, Angie. Where’d you get all that in a few minutes?”
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “I got to protect my sources.” Then she laughed. “I talked to Mac—Pringle McPhee. She works the police beat for the News.”
“Yeah, I know her.”
“Well, it just so happens she’s a friend of Lennon’s. I’ll admit I lucked out on this one. I figured Mac had to know Lennon. I hadn’t figured they were buddies.”
He thanked her and left. He was run
ning a tad behind on his schedule. He had to pick up Alice at home and get her to the church by noon. He had just enough time to accomplish all that if nothing unforeseen happened. He liked to leave a little margin for error.
As he drove through late morning traffic, he had lots to think about.
After meeting Pat, talking to her, getting to know her at least a bit, he was certain she could not be completely unattached. The good news was that she was not married. The bad news, of course, was that she had been living with someone for a long time. But then, a turn for the better: There might be a breakup.
As he arrived at this thought, he forced himself to back away from it. What was he doing? What was he thinking?
He could never do that to Alice. She was ill—and to a significant extent, helpless. She relied on him almost completely. On top of it all he would freely admit that he loved her.
Still, it had been a long time since they’d been intimate. A very long time. Longer for him than any period he could recall in his adult life. And there were no express commitments between them.
The problem they had both anticipated might try their relationship was his symbiotic attachment to his work. That had been the main cause of the termination of his marriage. It had happened once, it could happen again. He had made certain sure at the outset of their life together that Alice understood the preeminence of his work. The understanding was that if she found it impossible to take second place to his job, there would be a parting of the ways, as amicably as possible. And that was why there was no marriage.
They hadn’t bargained on an illness as encompassing and sustained as that which she was now suffering. They hadn’t bargained on a caretaker relationship. They hadn’t foreseen Pat Lennon’s wandering into his life at this critical period.
Things were happening a little too fast, even for Zoo Tully. He needed time to think. Things were verging on getting out of hand. And he liked to be in control.
Well, what the hell, all he had to do for now was get Al to the church on time. Time enough to consider the rest of it later. Maybe this was a juncture when a firm control of destiny might be impossible. Maybe it was up to fate. Maybe leaving it in the hands of fate was not such a bad idea.
Eminence Page 16
