Which means were probably dealing with an apprentice of Spectres. Now heres something else youre not going to like. We just got back the preliminary report from the coroner. The corpse had no traces of gunpowder on his hand. Now, thats not necessarily conclusive, since powder can rub off, but it does argue against a self-inflicted wound. What clinches it, though, is the skull fracture.
What? Sam and Gillis said it simultaneously.
A depressed skull fracture, right parietal bone. Because of all the tissue damage from the bullet wound, it wasnt immediately obvious. But it did show up on X ray. Jimmy Brogan was hit on the head. Before he was shot.
The silence in the room stretched for a good ten seconds. Then Gillis said, And I almost bought it. Lock, stock and barrel.
Hes good, said Sam. But not good enough. He looked at Cooley. I want more on Brogan. I want you and your team to get the names of every friend, every acquaintance Brogan had. Talk to them all. It looks like our janitor got mixed up with the wrong guy. Maybe someone knows something, saw something.
Wont the boys in Homicide be beating those bushes?
Well beat em as well. They may miss something. And dont get into any turf battles, okay? Were not trying to steal their glory. We just want the bomber.
Cooley sighed and rose to his feet. Guess its back to the ol widow Brogan.
Gillis, said Sam, I need you to talk to the best man and the matron of honor again. See if they have any links to Brogan. Or recognize his photo. Ill go back to the hospital and talk to Reverend Sullivan. And Ill talk to Dr. Bledsoe as well.
What about the bride? asked Gillis.
Ive pressed the questions a couple times already. She denies knowing anything about him.
She seems to be the center of it all.
I know. And she hasnt the foggiest idea why. But maybe her ex-bridegroom does.
The meeting broke up and everyone headed off to their respective tasks. It would take teamwork to find this bomber, and although he had good people working with him, Sam knew they were stretched thin. Since that rookie cops death in the warehouse blast a week ago, Homicide had stepped into the investigation, and they were sucking up men and resources like crazy. As far as Homicide was concerned, the Bomb Task Force was little more than a squad of techiesthe guys you called in when you didnt want your own head blown off.
The meeting broke up and everyone headed off to their respective tasks. It would take teamwork to find this bomber, and although he had good people working with him, Sam knew they were stretched thin. Since that rookie cops death in the warehouse blast a week ago, Homicide had stepped into the investigation, and they were sucking up men and resources like crazy. As far as Homicide was concerned, the Bomb Task Force was little more than a squad of techiesthe guys you called in when you didnt want your own head blown off.
The boys in Homicide were smart enough.
But the boys in Bombs were smarter.
Thats why Sam himself drove out to Maine Medical Center to reinterview Reverend Sullivan. This latest information on Jimmy Brogans death had opened up a whole new range of possibilities. Perhaps Brogan had been a completely innocent patsy. Perhaps hed witnessed something and had mentioned it to the minister.
At the hospital, Sam learned that Reverend Sullivan had been transferred out of Intensive Care that morning. A heart attack had been ruled out, and Sullivan was now on a regular ward.
When Sam walked in the mans room, he found the minister sitting up in bed, looking glum. There was a visitor there already Dick Yeats of Homicide. Not one of Sams favorite people.
Hey, Navarro, said Yeats in that cocky tone of his. No need to spin your wheels here. Were on the Brogan case.
Id like to talk to Reverend Sullivan myself.
He doesnt know anything helpful.
Nevertheless, said Sam, Id like to ask my own questions.
Suit yourself, Yeats said as he headed out the door. Seems to me, though, that you boys in Bombs could make better use of your time if youd let Homicide do its job.
Sam turned to the elderly minister, who was looking very unhappy about talking to yet another cop.
Im sorry, Reverend, said Sam. But Im afraid Im going to have to ask you some more questions.
Reverend Sullivan sighed, the weariness evident in his lined face. I cant tell you more than I already have.
Youve been told about Brogans death?
Yes. That policeman that Homicide person
Detective Yeats.
He was far more graphic than necessary. I didnt need all thedetails.
Sam sat down in a chair. The ministers color was better today, but he still looked frail. The events of the last twenty-four hours must be devastating for him. First the destruction of his church building, and then the violent death of his handyman. Sam hated to flog the old man with yet more questions, but he had no choice.
Unfortunately, he could elicit no new answers. Reverend Sullivan knew nothing about Jimmy Brogans private life. Nor could he think of a single reason why Brogan, or anyone else for that matter, would attack the Good Shepherd Church. There had been minor incidents, of course. A few acts of vandalism and petty theft. Thats why he had started locking the church doors at night, a move that grieved him deeply as he felt churches should be open to those in need, day or night. But the insurance company had insisted, and so Reverend Sullivan had instructed his staff to lock up every evening at 6:00 p.m., and reopen every morning at 7:00 a.m.
And thereve been no acts of vandalism since? asked Sam.
None whatsoever, affirmed the minister. That is, until the bomb.
This was a dead end, thought Sam. Yeats was right. He was just spinning his wheels.
As he rose to leave, there was a knock on the door. A heavyset woman poked her head in the room.
Reverend Sullivan? she said. Is this a good time to visit?
The gloom on the ministers face instantly transformed to a look of relief. Thankfulness. Helen! Im so glad youre back! Did you hear what happened?
On the television, this morning. As soon as I saw it, I packed my things and started straight back for home. The woman, carrying a bundle of carnations, crossed to the bed and gave Reverend Sullivan a tearful hug. I just saw the church. I drove right past it. Oh, what a mess.
You dont know the worst of it, said Reverend Sullivan. He swallowed. Jimmys dead.
Dear God. Helen pulled back in horror. Was itin the explosion?
No. Theyre saying he shot himself. I didnt even know he had a gun.
Helen took an unsteady step backward. At once Sam grasped her ample arm and guided her into the chair from which hed just risen. She sat quivering, her face white with shock.
Excuse me, maam, said Sam gently. Im Detective Navarro, Portland Police. May I ask your full name?
She swallowed. Helen Whipple.
Youre the church secretary?
She looked up at him with dazed eyes. Yes. Yes.
Weve been trying to contact you, Miss Whipple.
I was I was at my sisters house. In Amherst. She sat twisting her hands together, shaking her head. I cant believe this. I saw Jimmy only yesterday. I cant believe hes gone.
You saw Brogan? What time?
It was in the morning. Just before I left town. She began digging in her purse, desperately fishing for tissues. I stopped in to pay a few bills before I left.
Did you two speak?
Naturally. Jimmys such She gave a soft sob. Was sucha friendly man. He was always coming up to the office to chat. Since I was leaving on vacation, and Reverend Sullivan wasnt in yet. I asked Jimmy to do a few things for me.
What things?
Oh, there was so much confusion. The wedding, you know. The florist kept popping in to use the phone. The mens bathroom sink was leaking and we needed some plumbing done quick. I had to give Jimmy some last minute instructions. Everything from where to put the wedding gifts to which plumber to call. I was so relieved when Reverend Sullivan arrived, and I could leave.
Excuse me, maam, Sam cut in. You said something about wedding gifts.
Yes. Its a nuisance, how some people have gifts delivered to the church instead of the brides home.
How many gifts arrived at the church?
There was only one. Jimmy oh, poor Jimmy. Its so unfair. A wife and all
Sam fought to maintain his patience. What about the gift?
Oh. That. Jimmy said a man brought it by. He showed it to me. Very nicely wrapped, with all these pretty silver bells and foil ribbons.
Mrs. Whipple, Sam interrupted again. What happened to that gift?
Oh, I dont know. I told Jimmy to give it to the brides mother. I assume thats what he did.
But the brides mother hadnt arrived yet, right? So what would Jimmy do with it?
Helplessly Helen Whipple shrugged her shoulders. I suppose hed leave it where shed be sure to find it. In the front pew.
The front pew. The center of the blast.
Sam said, sharply, Who was the gift addressed to?
The bride and groom, of course.
Dr. Bledsoe and his fiancée?
Yes. That was on the card. Dr. and Mrs. Robert Bledsoe.
IT WAS STARTING to come together now, Sam thought as he got back in his car. The method of delivery. The time of planting. But the target wasnt quite clear yet. Was Nina Cormier or Robert Bledsoe supposed to die? Or was it both of them?
Nina, he knew, had no answers, no knowledge of any enemies. She couldnt help him.
So Sam drove to Ocean View Drive, to Robert Bledsoes house. This time Bledsoe was damn well going to answer some questions, the first two being: Who was the other woman hed been seeing, and was she jealous enough to sabotage her lovers wedding and kill off a dozen people in the process?
Two blocks before he got there, he knew something was wrong. There were police lights flashing ahead and spectators gathered on the sidewalks.
Sam parked the car and quickly pushed his way through the crowd. At the edge of Bledsoes driveway, a yellow police tape had been strung between wooden stakes. He flashed his badge to the patrolman standing guard and stepped across the line.
Homicide Detective Dick Yeats greeted him in the driveway with his usual Im-in-charge tone of superiority.
Hello again, Navarro. We have it all under control.
You have what under control? What happened?
Yeats nodded toward the BMW in the driveway.
Slowly Sam circled around the rear bumper. Only then did he see the blood. It was all over the steering wheel and the front seat. A small pool of it had congealed on the driveway pavement.
Robert Bledsoe, said Yeats. Shot once in the temple. The ambulance just left. Hes still alive, but I dont expect hell make it. Hed just pulled into his driveway and was getting out of his car. Theres a sack of groceries in the trunk. Ice cream barely melted. The neighbor saw a green Jeep take off, just before she noticed Bledsoes body. She thinks it was a man behind the wheel, but she didnt see his face.