Father Koesler continued sitting at his desk. He had corrected the slump and was now sitting upright. He eased his arm out of the sling, and with his left hand carefully placed his right forearm on the desk top. He tried to raise the injured arm unaided, but simply could not. He tried to slide it around the desk top and was able to accomplish that. He tried to take heart in this small feat. Every little bit, he thought.
Again he heard the doorbell. He hoped Mary could take care of whoever it was. His long visit with the Costellos had tired him. That was another problem: a lack of stamina.
He heard Mary’s heels clicking toward his office, and his heart sank a little. Mary was well capable of handling most parish matters on her own. She would not subject him to visitors unless it was necessary. She was about to announce the arrival of someone she thought genuinely needed to meet with him.
Speculation ended as she appeared at the door and announced, rather sadly, he thought: “Lieutenant Tully to see you.”
Koesler nodded, thanked her, and waited for the lieutenant’s appearance.
Koesler had not seen or heard from Tully since that first day in the hospital. Tully’s companion at that time, Inspector Koznicki, had been back to look in on him a couple of times. It was possible that Tully was here for the same innocuous reason. But Koesler doubted it. Wincing all the way, he tucked his arm back into its sling.
“Still sore, eh?” Tully said, as he took the chair lately occupied by Carl Costello.
“Yeah,” Koesler said through clenched teeth.
“Have you thought any more about the other night … the shooting?”
How about that, thought Koesler; not even a “How are you?”
“No, Lieutenant. In fact, I’ve sort of tried not to think about it. Although this arm kind of reminds me of it.”
“Well, try to remember it now,” Tully virtually commanded. “Can you remember seeing anyone at all in that area … besides Vespa, of course?”
“How come now, Lieutenant? Why didn’t you ask me in the hospital?”
“Couple of reasons. You were in real bad shape the morning after. And since then, some other things have surfaced that make it important for you to try to remember all you can.”
Koesler obediently tried to picture that night. “No, I didn’t notice anyone. I got there first, so I was looking for Guido Vespa. Since I was actually looking for him, I surely would have been aware if I’d seen anyone else. But even when he got there, I didn’t see him until he addressed me.”
“Did he come up from the rear?”
“Uh … yes.”
“Which way were you facing?”
“Lemmee see … away from the river, so … north.”
“The guy who shot Vespa and you: He wasn’t more than a few feet away. You didn’t see anyone, anything?”
Koesler tried especially hard to remember. As he used to do while trying to meditate in the seminary, he made an imaginary composition of place. He concentrated until that meeting came alive in his memory. It was so dark in that marketplace. There were no lights in any of the nearby structures. Few street lights were working. Even though his eyes had become accustomed to the dark, he could barely make out anything. He could hardly see Vespa. He saw Vespa’s outline. He couldn’t discern any of Vespa’s features. But he clearly recognized Vespa’s voice.
“Lieutenant, I barely saw Vespa. In fact, I couldn’t swear I actually did see him, it was so dark. I did recognize the voice though.”
“So you didn’t see anybody come up behind him while you were talking? Think carefully.”
“I am. I am.” Koesler tried to remember something he couldn’t remember. There was a theory that one could remember forgotten or suppressed details through hypnosis. However, he was not under hypnosis. He doubted it was even possible for him to be hypnotized. “No, I’m quite sure I didn’t see anybody else. You say the killer was only a few feet from us?”
Tully nodded.
“Boy! I don’t know why I didn’t see something. I think I may have been straining to pay close-singular-attention to Guido. It was as if I needed glasses to hear. I couldn’t make out his features, just his form, and the voice. I remember sort of leaning toward him to make certain I caught every word.”
“Did you know there is a tunnel underneath the market?”
“There is?” Koesler was astonished. “Imagine living my whole life in this city and not knowing about a tunnel under the market!”
“It’s possible the killer used the tunnel. But, let’s go on. The moment of the shooting-what about that?”
Koesler was too courteous to call an end to this interrogation. The last thing he wanted to remember was that moment that not only took a life but changed his future by, in effect, disabling him. But he dutifully thought back. “The noise was overwhelming. Everything happened so fast I’m having a difficult time trying to get it to go in slow motion. There was the noise, and Guido seemed to … uh … levitate for a second. Then, it was as if someone hit me in the shoulder, very hard, like with a baseball bat. I never fell so fast or so hard in my life. Or if I did, I was a lot younger and in lots better shape.”
“Okay,” Tully said, “now this is important: What about the sound of the gun?”
“I told you: It was loud-ear-shattering.”
“No, I mean the way the gun was fired-the cadence. Do you have any idea how many shots were fired?”
“Wait a minute.” Koesler thought. “Six … yes, six.”
“How do you know?”
“They came in bursts of three. Two bursts. Like, bang-bang-bang, very close together. Then another bang-bang-bang.”
Tully wore one of his rare smiles. “That ties it.”
“What?”
“Father, you remember the shooting death of that religion writer for the News?”
“Sure, of course: Hal Salden.”
“Interestingly enough, you and Vespa were shot with the same gun that killed Salden.”
“No! How did you …?”
“A hunch. I was investigating the Salden case, so I was familiar with the weapon and the type of bullet used. It was the same as the one used on you and Vespa. The distance was roughly the same, just a few feet away. A couple of bystanders were hit by slugs that passed through Salden. And you, of course, were hit by one of the slugs that went through Vespa. That kind of gun and ammunition is not all that common. And, finally, what started me thinking about a possible connection was religion.”
“Religion?!”
“He was a religion writer and you’re a priest. Probably no one thing got my attention, but when you put them all together. … The killer even set the machine pistol to fire in bursts of three in both shootings.”
Koesler scratched his head. “Boy! Isn’t that incredible? The same person in both shootings.”
“The same gun,” Tully corrected. “And we’re going on the theory that the gunman was the same too.”
“But why? I mean, what does that do to the premise that whoever shot Guido was the same person who gave him the contract?”
“Really messes it up. But we can’t wish it away. It’s reality. There has to be some connection between Vespa and Salden.”
“Could Hal Salden have found out about the threat to Father Keating’s life? That could explain the need to kill Salden.”
“Maybe. If that’s true, that might be the reason Salden was killed several days before Keating disappeared. If Salden learned about the contract, or even suspected it, he could have warned Keating and the guy wouldn’t have walked into what must’ve been a trap.
“Keating drove into the city. Maybe the bookies arranged the meeting. Maybe they told him they were gonna work out something where he could pay it off. It seems pretty sure the guy walked into it blind. He couldn’t’ve had any idea they were gonna kill him or he’d never have gone. If Salden got wind of it, he could’ve screwed the whole deal by warning Keating.
“But, as of now,” Tully summed up, “that’s all guesswork. We gotta get the facts. What really happened with Salden and why?” Tully looked searchingly at Koesler. “I know you’re not feeling too great just now. But every bit of time that goes by means we have less and less chance of breaking this thing. So, would you mind going with me to the News? I want you to look at something. Maybe it’ll mean more to you than it did to me.”
“Oh, Lieutenant, I don’t think-”
“It’s what’s in Salden’s CRT-his notes. Remember? That’s the outside connection: You’re a priest and he was the religion writer.”
They had him again! He also realized that during the Costello visit and now during this conversation with Tully, his injury hadn’t bothered him noticeably. It probably helped to be distracted. Trying to help the police might be just what the doctor ordered.
Koesler agreed to go, asking for a few minutes to make sure all the day’s pastoral matters were covered.