William Kienzle - Deathbed

“Oh, okay. Give me a moment.”

“Are you ready yet?”

“Wait a minute.”

“Yet?”

“Um-hmm.”

“Now?”

“Oh!”

“Bruce, I think you’re ready.”

“It’s God’s will!”

“God’s will be done!”

Acknowledgments

Gratitude for technical advice to:

Sgt. Roy Awe, Homicide, Detroit Police Department

Ramon Betanzos, Professor of Humanities, Wayne State University

Patricia Chargot, Staff Writer, Detroit Free Press

Jim Grace, Detective, Kalamazoo Police Department

Mary Ann Hayes, R.N.

Timothy Kenny, Deputy Chief of the Criminal Division, Wayne County

Prosecutor’s Office

Patrick McAlinden, Director of Treatment, Western Wayne County Correctional Facility

Sgt. Daniel McCarty, Police Arson Unit, Detroit Police Department

Neal Shine, Senior Managing Editor, Detroit Free Press

Samaritan Health Care Center, Detroit:

Sister Bernadelle Grimm, R.S.M.

Sister Rose Petruzzo, O.P., Director, Department of Pastoral Care Service

Sister Genevieve Shea, S.L.W., Chaplain

Sister Marie Thielen, R.S.M., Vice President for Sponsorship

The Reverend Roland Schaedig, Chaplain

James Culver, Pharm. D., Director of Pharmacy

Donald Grimes, Quality Assurance Coordinator, Pharmacy

Dolly Wasik, Secretary, Pastoral Care Department

Barbara Wineka, Director, Department of Volunteer Services

Mt. Carmel Mercy Hospital, Detroit:

Thomas J. Petinga, Jr., D.O., FACEP, Chairman, Department of Emergency Medicine

Rosemary Clisdal, R.N., Assistant Charge Nurse, Department of Emergency Medicine

William M. Collins, CRNA, Staff Anesthetist, Department of Anesthesia

Vivien Dishmon, R.N., Assistant Head Nurse, Department of Surgery

Scott T. Harris, M.D., Chief Surgical Resident, Department of Emergency Medicine

Willard S. Holt, Jr., M.D, FCCP, Chairman, Department of Anesthesia

Gloria Kuhn, DO., FACEP, Director of Residency, Department of Emergency Medicine

Maureen Loose, R.N., Staff Nurse, Department of Surgery

Bob Mahanti, Surgical Assistant, Department of Surgery

James Patton, Biomedical Engineering Technician

Robert Roussin, R.N., Assistant Charge Nurse, Department of Emergency Medicine

Deathbed copyright © 1986, 2012 by Gopits, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever except in the case of reprints in the context of reviews.

Andrews McMeel Publishing, LLC

an Andrews McMeel Universal company,

1130 Walnut Street, Kansas City, Missouri 64106

This is a work of fiction and, as such, events described herein are creations of the author’s imagination. Any relation to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental and accidental.

ISBN 978-1-4494-2365-0

www.andrewsmcmeel.com

William X. Kienzledied in December 2001. He was a Detroit parish priest for twenty years before leaving the priesthood. He began writing his popular mystery series after serving as an editor and director at the Center for Contemplative Studies at the University of Dallas.

The Father Koesler Mysteries

1. The Rosary Murders

2. Death Wears a Red Hat

3. Mind Over Murder

4. Assault with Intent

5. Shadow of Death

6. Kill and Tell

7. Sudden Death

8. Deathbed

9. Deadline for a Critic

10. Marked for Murder

11. Eminence

12. Masquerade

13. Chameleon

14. Body Count

15. Dead Wrong

16. Bishop as Pawn

17. Call No Man Father

18. Requiem for Moses

19. The Man Who Loved God

20. The Greatest Evil

21. No Greater Love

22. Till Death

23. The Sacrifice

24. The Gathering

Here is a special preview of

Deadline for a Critic

The Father Koesler Mysteries: Book 9

1

There is something special about an execution.

Ordinarily, the condemned is suffering from no fatal disease. No mortal wound has been inflicted. At least not yet. All the vital forces of the body tell it to go on living. It is not time to slow down. It is not time to die.

But some outside force, some external element—authority—decrees that it is, indeed, time to die. And so, by fiat, it is.

That is what is so special about an execution, whether it be legal by way of capital punishment or illegal as in an act of murder. A life is taken before its apparent due course has been completed. One faces eternity prematurely. The ultimate trauma, as it were.

Often, some sort of quasi ceremony is observed. Sometimes the condemned is permitted to pray, to put his or her soul in order. Sometimes the morbid curiosity of the executioner must be satisfied: How will the condemned face death? Sometimes invitations are issued and a procession to the death chamber is formed.

Traditionally, the condemned is given the choice of a final meal. Such was the case with Ridley C. Groendal. Except that he was not aware that this was to be his last supper.

“Ramon,” Groendal said, tucking the napkin over his tummy, “what would you suggest?”

“Monsieur would enjoy the pâté tonight, I am sure.” The waiter exuded a poise that went with his job. After all, the London Chop House was the consensus prestige scene of Detroit restaurants. And its prices reflected that eminence.

Groendal nodded. “Yes, yes, yes. And I think some of your beluga caviar.”

“No . . .” Groendal’s dinner partner murmured to no one in particular.

“. . . and perhaps some Brie,” Groendal continued.

“Incredible,” Peter Harison murmured again.

“Excellent,” Ramon said. “And you, Monsieur Harison?”

“Nothing. If anything, I’ll help Mr. Groendal with his hors d’oeuvres.”

“Of course.” Ramon’s right eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly. “And something from the bar?”

“A double martini, up—chill the gin—with a twist,” Groendal said.

“Ah, the usual. Very good. And Monsieur Harison?”

“Nothing.”

Ramon left them.

“Would you mind telling me whatinhell you’re trying to do?” Harison’s fury was intensified by frustration.

“Not at all, m’dear. Just having a decent meal.”

“Decent meal! With all that fat and salt and cholesterol? You can’t have forgotten you’ve got a heart condition!”

“That’s not the only condition I’ve got.”

“That can’t be helped.”

Ramon brought the drink and hors d’oeuvres.

Groendal took a long sip of the martini. He wanted the drink to provide a mellow glow before its power was diminished by food. “That’s precisely the point, dear Peter: It can’t be helped. So—eat, drink and be merry. For tomorrow . . .”

“That’s precisely the point.” Harison spread some Brie on a portion of matzo. “We want as many tomorrows as we can possibly have. But we’re not going to have many if you let your diet go to hell like this.”

“Patience, Peter. After all, tonight is a special night.”

Ramon returned. “Would the gentlemen care to order? I know you have a performance to attend.”

“Thoughtful, Ramon,” Groendal acknowledged. “Care to join me in the Caesar salad?” he asked Harison.

His companion simply shook his head.

“Very well,” Groendal continued, “I’ll have the Mediterranean salad. And . . . how’s the Yorkshire pudding?”

“Perfect.”

“Of course. Then the pudding with the prime rib, and cottage fries.”

“And for dessert?”

“The coconut cream pie?”

“Excellent as always.”

“Perfect.”

“And Monsieur Harison?”