William Bernhardt - Criminal intent

"Which is a good point in his defense."

Mike chuckled. "Only a lawyer with your imagination could turn that into a good point in his defense."

"Seriously, Mike, think about it. If he planned to kill the woman, why would he do it in his own office?"

"I don't think he planned anything. From what I've been hearing, he has an uncontrollable temper. Explosive and sometimes violent. I'm told he was ordered to get some therapy. I figure the woman came to his office to continue the argument, and he lost his grip and did her in."

"You can't prove any of that."

Mike thrust his fists into the pockets of his trench coat. "Not yet, my friend. But give me a couple of hours."

"You really want Beale, don't you?"

"What I want is the same thing I always want, Ben. You remember what Shakespeare said in the thirtieth sonnet?"

"Oh, stop waving your English degree in my face and just tell me."

" 'All losses restor'd and sorrows end.' In other words, justice." He shrugged his shoulders. "Is that so much to ask?" Once everyone had been thoroughly questioned, names and addresses had been taken, and all had been cautioned not to leave town, most of the guests and the wedding party disappeared. No speed was too great when one was escaping a horror of this magnitude, Ben supposed. Only a few of the church diehards remained; some who had been at the wedding, and a few, Ben noted, who showed up as soon as they heard about the new tragedy. Ben thought he should stay as long as Father Beale did, in part, to lend his support, and in part, to make sure the man didn't say anything he shouldn't.

To suggest that Beale was not at his best would be a pitiful understatement. He was shaken, spiritually ruptured, to a degree that was immediately evident to anyone who came near him. In that condition, Ben knew even the most innocent man might say something foolish that would haunt him ever after-especially on the witness stand.

"Ben," Beale said at one point, away from the ears of the police officers, "we-we need to talk."

"You're right," Ben answered. "But not here and not now. Tomorrow morning, in my office."

Beale's lips moved slowly, as if finding each word was a major struggle. "I-have a vestry meeting tonight."

"You're not still planning to go through with it!"

"I have no choice. The bishop's review council arrives tomorrow and-and-" He turned away, his head trembling. "We have to appoint someone to replace Kate."

Ben placed his hand on the troubled man's shoulder. "Come on."

Ben found Father Beale a quiet room in the rear of the church where he could try to get a grip on himself, somewhere he would be safe from prying eyes and probing questions. Then he returned to the crime scene, hoping he could overhear some of the remaining interrogations.

Ben spotted Ernestine Rupert, once again on the arm of her nephew.

"Truly, Aunt Ernestine, we should leave. You shouldn't be subjected to this macabre business. Let me take you home."

Ernestine slapped his hand away. "Don't be a ninny, Bruce. I can't leave now, not with all this trouble about. I have a responsibility to the church."

And besides, Ben thought, you might miss something good.

"But Aunt Ernestine, you shouldn't be associating with all these police and-"

"Balderdash. The church needs me. I am becoming a bit parched, though. Would you fetch me a club soda?"

"They don't keep club soda in the kitchen, Aunt Ernestine."

"The convenience store down the street will have it. Please hurry, dear boy."

He let out a long sigh. "Yes, Aunt Ernestine." And disappeared.

Ben spotted two of Mike's lieutenants quizzing Paul Masterson, the choirmaster. He appeared to be quite agitated about something. Probably attributing the murder to the fact that he was forced to play the Wedding March.

Not far away, he saw Christina, and clinging close behind her, Alvin Greene, the Altar Guild guy. Was this love at first sight, or was he just making sure she didn't forget she promised to help clean up?

Ben grabbed Christina's arm and tugged her aside. "Learn anything useful?"

She shrugged. "Lots of church gossip. I don't know how useful it is. But there certainly seems to be a lot going on here at St. Benedict's."

"We'll compare notes later. Jones and Paula?"

"Halfway to Eureka Springs by now."

"Good. I didn't want this to spoil their honeymoon. I'm sure it already spoiled their wedding."

"Oh, I don't know. They're certainly going to have some interesting stories to tell their grandchildren." She smiled. "So what do we do now?"

"Unbelievable as it may seem, there's a vestry meeting tonight, and it isn't being canceled. I have to be there with Father Beale. God only knows what will happen. Why don't you start seeing what you can dig up about Kate McGuire?"

"Anything in particular?"

"Yeah. Why someone might want to suffocate her."

"Ben." Christina gave him a concerned look. "You realize that to most people… this looks like an open-and-shut case."

"That's why God invented defense attorneys, Christina. So people wouldn't be convicted on 'looks.' "

"Still… are you sure you're entirely… impartial on this one? After all, Father Beale was your childhood priest. And technically speaking, still is."

"As a matter of fact, I'm not impartial. I'm totally partial. In his favor. Which is what a defense lawyer is supposed to be, remember?"

"Yes, but-" She reached out tentatively. Her fingers brushed against his hand. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Don't worry about me, Christina. Worry about Father Beale. He's the one who has problems."

"Of course." She slowly withdrew her hand. "It was a lovely wedding, though, wasn't it? While it lasted?"

"If you like that sort of thing."

"I do," she said quietly. "Don't you?"

He shrugged. "It had its moments. But the murder wasn't one of them. Get me the scoop on Kate McGuire, okay?"

"Of course. I live to serve. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Well, now that you mention it… do you suppose there's any of that groom's cake left?…"

Manly Trussell sat at the darkest corner of the long conference table, silently stewing. He hated meetings. And this had to be one of the worst. A lot of people sitting in uncomfortable chairs in a dark basement in a Unitarian church pontificating from ignorance.

These ecumenical committees were always abysmal wastes of time. Why had he ever agreed to be on this one? Perhaps because they were drawing talent from churches all over Tulsa, he thought this would be different? Perhaps because he had allowed himself to be deceived by the fact that it was called an action committee? The term was an oxymoron. All committees ever did was sit around and talk. And talk and talk and talk…

"What's your take on the Sapulpa situation, Manly?"

Hearing his name jerked him back to earth. "What situation is that?"

"Haven't you been paying attention?" The man at the head of the table drummed his fingers. "There's a new rumor that a doc out at that free clinic is performing abortions."

That was his idea of a new rumor? Another reason this committee never went anywhere-the chairman was a blithering idiot. Manly had first heard that rumor months ago. "I think it's a lot of baloney, Craig."

"You don't think it's true?"

"If I believed it, I wouldn't be sitting here."

One of the men on his side of the table laughed. "That's our Manly. The original Danger Boy."

A woman on the opposite side didn't seem as amused. "What are you saying? That if you thought it was true you'd go out there with an AK-46 and blow him away?"

Manly leaned slowly back in his chair. "An AK-46 would be overkill, I think."

The woman flipped. "I can't believe this. I mean, is he serious?"