William Kienzle - Chameleon

Tully nodded.

“So,” Koesler said, “only someone with a rather strong confidence in prayer-a strong faith, as it were-would be moved to let the bishop have the time to pray. The killer would be risking detection the longer he held the bishop at gunpoint. It was, after all, right out in the open. Anybody could have happened along. As a matter of fact, if this morning’s newscast was accurate, that’s how the bishop’s body was discovered, wasn’t it? A passerby coming home late last night noticed the body on the sidewalk … no?”

Tully nodded again.

“Well,” Koesler said, “to tell the truth, I can’t imagine either Carson or Fred actually killing anybody-let alone a bishop. But if either were going to do it and the bishop asked for time to pray, I could easily imagine that either one would let him do it-no matter what complications that might cause.”

“Okay,” Tully said. “I guess that makes sense.” More sense than the previously held theory that the murder had been a ritualistic execution, he thought.

This was working out rather well. Koesler had begun by making sense of nonsense. He might be of more help than Tully had anticipated. In any case, at this stage of the investigation, and given the pressure to close the case, Koesler was Tully’s sole guide.

“Now,” Tully proceeded, “let me spell out the basic problem we’ve got here. What we’ve got is a serial killer. He has committed three premeditated murders. Well, make that two-and-a-half, assuming that he aimed for the nun but got her sister instead.

“We know it’s the same person in each instance because ballistics tells us the same weapon was used in each instance.…” Tully’s voice trailed off as a new thought entered the process of analysis. What was it Koesler had said-“… they both are rather deeply religious, even at opposite extremes of the spectrum.” Was it possible …? Granted, ballistics said the same gun was used in each killing; but there was no way of knowing whether or not the same hand had held that gun in each killing. What if … what if two different people-? Tully’s blood turned cold: What if more than one or two people were involved? What if this was some sort of insane conspiracy, with a number of people involved? What good was it to check possible alibis when the one who had committed one murder could easily have ah alibi for the next killing, which oneofhis conspirators had carried out?

Tully’shead was buzzing. Granted the mayor had given the department carte blanche manpower-wise, but, still, did they have enough staff to follow such a widespread lead? Tully sighed. They’d have to; they’d have to have enough staff. They’d have to check this all out.

Tully became aware that Koesler was gazing at him quizzically. He smiled, grimly. No need to muddy the waters as far as Koesler was concerned … at least not yet. “Sorry,” he said, “I got carried away with … well, never mind. As I was saying, we know it’s the same person because ballistics tells us the same gun was used in each killing. He-the killer-also used the same kind of bullet-a slug that’s usually used for target practice. Now the way the killer is using this bullet is up close and into the head. What that does is cause an awful lot of damage. So he’s sure as sure can be that the one shot will cause death.

“It also makes it pretty easy for us to recover me bullets, compare them, and come up with the conclusion that”-he proceeded resolutely-”it’s the same guy doing all the killing. That’s common with a serial killer,” he explained. “He usually wants it known that he’s the same one killing more dian one person.”

Koesler was aware of the phenomenon of the serial killer wanting each of his murders correcdy attributed to him. He’d read about it in newspapers and books. He’d experienced it in some of the cases he’d been involved in in the past. But Tully’s refresher course was welcome.

“The challenge,” Tully continued, “is to find me connection.”

“The connection?”

“He’s, killing blondes, or prostitutes, or coeds, or alcoholic bums, or stewardesses. The secret, the link, is in the perp’shead. He knows why he is choosing the people he selects to murder. Sometimes the connection between the victims is obvious and sometimes it’s not. What we’ve got here is a pretty confusing puzzle.”

Which couldbe even more confusing if we are dealing with more than one killer , was Tully’s added unspoken thought.

“Why has he selected Sister Joan, Larry Hoffer, and Archbishop Foley, that’s the puzzle,” Koesler said, while wondering somewhat at the lieutenant’s uncharacteristic distractedness.

Tully, having concluded that, single killer or multiple killers, the immediate problem was to discover the common denominator, the link, the motif, in these killings, addressed Koesler’s statement. “That’s it: If we could figure out the connection; if we could crawl into the killer’s mind, we could unlock the mystery. If we knew why he selected the nun, Hoffer, and the bishop, we’d know whether or not he was done, finished.”

“You’re saying there may be more murders?”

“Anything’s possible. There may be one or more than one still on his list. Or this may be it. But if this is it, then what was the point? Why these three? What statement was he-someone-trying to make? And on top of that, one of them-the nun-is still alive.” Tully shook his head. “Very confusing.

“Now, what I want you to do, Father, is tell me all you can about these three people and their positions in the Detroit Church. Someplace in who they were or what they did is the secret. We’ve got to unravel that secret and solve it.”

Koesler took a deep breath and offered a quick, silent, but fervent prayer that somehow, as he explained all this to Tully, the elusive secret might come to light.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll start with Larry Hoffer.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Mostly because he’s the one I know least about.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he’s the ‘money man,’ and what I know least about in this world is money.”

Tully almost smiled. He sensed Koesler’s unease. But the matter was far too serious and important for any attempt at humor.

“As far back as I can recall,” Koesler began, “the ‘money man’ has been a layman. There must have been a time when the job was handled by a priest, but I don’t remember that-and I go back along way.”

“Wait,” Tully interrupted, “can you be clearer about your ‘money man’? I mean more specific? What’s he in charge of?”

“Off the top of my head, I couldn’t name all the departments. But, just a minute. I’ve got the directory ….” Koesler rummaged through the desk drawers. “Ah, here it is.” He thumbed through the front pages. “Here we go: Finance and Administration-which is what Mr. Hoffer headed-encompasses the Building Office, the Business Office, Collections and Disbursements, Computer Services, Archdiocesan Development Fund accounts, Development and Church Support, Human Resources, Parish. Finances, Properties, and Purchasing. Which makes, let’s see: ten departments spread throughout three floors of the Chancery Building.”

“A lot of responsibility,” Tully commented. “Know anydiing about the man?”

“Not much, I confess. He became a member of the staff long after I stopped attending staff meetings … I used to attend the meetings because I was editor of the diocesan paper,” he explained gratuitously.

“Anything you can think of might help.” Tully returned to the topic at hand: “Happily married?”

“As far as I know. I’ve never met Mrs. Hoffer, and I knew Larry only slighdy. A fidgety man.”