Blood Ties (24 page)

Jacuzzi said he would rather hear it from Maurice than read the book.

“I'm glad Nate isn't here to hear you say that.”

In
The Long Good-bye,
Fleck had told the story of a man who, years after the event, is plagued by memories of a girl he got in trouble. As he broods about it the conviction grows that somewhere in this world there is a child he fathered, a child who would now be twenty and more. He is determined to find the child. His mistress tries mockery to dissuade him, pleads with him, threatens him. To no avail. He tells her it is all over. If it takes the rest of his life, he intends to find his child. “That was the reason for Fleck's trip back here.”

“So it wasn't just a fictional story?”

“What is fiction but the truth disguised. I'm quoting Nate.”

“And Catherine followed him.”

“And I came along. Her big hope was that Nate would be unsuccessful and things could go back to where they were.”

“Leaving you out in the cold?”

Maurice pointed at Jacuzzi and nodded. “Bingo.”

“Did Fleck find his child?”

“Only its mother. And she would tell him nothing. Of course, that only strengthened his determination.”

“Who is the mother?”

At this point, Maurice Dolan's volubility stopped. “What difference does it make?”

“You don't know?”

Maurice looked at Jacuzzi. “Nate didn't confide in me. Why should he?”

The stenographer read his statement back to Maurice. He listened with great interest, making minor corrections and additions, and that was that.

Jacuzzi took Cy into the hallway. “Book the son of a bitch.”

“Can you use his confession?”

“In court? Of course not, but he gave you a road map for your investigation. You did tell him he could call a lawyer?”

“I told him.”

Maurice was on the phone to Amos Cadbury when they went back into the room. An officer was posted outside.

Someone had alerted Tetzel, and the reporter for the
Fox River Tribune
got in to see Maurice. Thus it was that Maurice's confession was splashed all over the pages of the afternoon newspaper.

4

Maurice's confession earned a small mention on the local television news, and credit was given to the
Fox River Tribune
for the story. Mark Lorenzo found a copy of the paper and brought it home, and he and Madeline read it with their heads together. Their three younger sons were occupied elsewhere in the house, two doing homework in their rooms, Joel, the youngest, watching baseball in the rec room in the basement. Stephen, of course, was in his campus residence.

“He kept us out of it,” Mark said, and Madeline squeezed his hand.

“So far.”

She looked at him. No need to say it. Catherine Adams would hardly be so discreet when the police talked to her. The bomb that had been slowly ticking for several weeks was about to go off.

“What can we do, Mark?”

“I'm going to talk to that detective who came to my office, Horvath.”

“What good will that do?”

“He's a good man.”

“Maybe if we do nothing…”

“It will be better if I talk to him.”

“We'll have to tell the boys.”

He thought about it. “Maybe.”

He called the Fox River police and left a message for Cy Horvath. They were at the dinner table when he called back. Mark went into the kitchen to talk with him.

“You've solved your crime,” Mark said.

“We have a confession.”

“I wonder if we could get together.”

“Did you read the account in the local paper?”

“Yes.”

“That's all he said.”

“He's her uncle, isn't he?”

“He was asked who the woman was Fleck came back to see and just clammed up.”

“Has Catherine Adams said anything?”

Horvath got his point. Mark asked again if they could talk. They arranged to meet at a sports bar across from the courthouse in Fox River in an hour.

“You work nights?” Mark asked.

“I'll be there.”

Mark was more than ever convinced that Horvath was a good man. He called Stephen and asked to use his car.

“The Neon's still in the garage?” Stephen asked.

“I haven't picked it up yet.”

“You ought to get a real car, Dad.”

“Why, when I can use yours?”

Luck was with him, and he found a parking space right in front of the bar. No need to pay the meter at this time of day. Horvath stood at the bar with a pint of Guinness before him, watching the ball game. He acknowledged Mark's arrival, then asked, “What'll you have?”

“That looks good.”

When his Guinness had settled, they took their glasses to a booth. Horvath looked receptive.

“You can understand my concern, Lieutenant.”

“I understand.”

“If Catherine Adams is interviewed, she's likely to mention my wife. I told you what she's like.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Mark looked at the creamy foam on his Guinness. “I don't know.”

“Maybe you should talk with her.” That made more sense than coming to Horvath, but Mark was glad to have a chance to talk with the detective.

Horvath described the way Maurice Dolan had told his story. “He ought to write fiction himself,” Cy said.

“Don't you believe him?”

“What is fiction but disguised truth?”

Mark stared, and what served as a grin came over Horvath's usually impassive face. He explained the origin of the remark.

“I don't know where I can find Catherine Adams.”

“She's staying with the Dolans.” He explained who the Dolans were. “You want to go over there, I'll come along.”

They finished their beer and went outside. Horvath said he would drive them to the Dolans.

“Let me just be sure my car is locked,” Mark said.

Horvath looked at the SUV. “I thought you drove a Neon.”

“This is my son's.”

“They ought to be outlawed.”

Horvath expanded on his opinion of SUVs on the way. “Anyone driving a sedan with one of those behind him gets the full benefit of the headlights right in his rearview mirror because of the height of the vehicle.” Horvath spoke with conviction if not passion. They arrived at the Dolans', and he swung into the driveway.

The man who came to the door was Henry Dolan. Cy Horvath began to identify himself, but the doctor waved him in. “I know you.”

Dolan seemed to think Mark was another detective, and Horvath did not explain. All he said was “This is Lorenzo.”

Vivian Dolan was a basket case. She looked at Horvath with hatred when she understood who he was.

“Catherine Adams is staying here, isn't she?” Horvath asked.

“She went off to the hospital as soon as we heard. Amos Cadbury says Maurice's confession is useless.”

“He means it can't be used in court.”

“You can't convict a man just because he says he's guilty.”

“That's right.”

Henry Dolan seemed relieved at Horvath's ready assent. Momentarily. “Is there something else?”

“Physical evidence.”

“My God.”

“You say Catherine Adams is at the hospital?”

Vivian suddenly spoke. “She intends to be at his side no matter what!”

Outside again, Horvath said. “You want to come with me to the hospital?”

“Yes.”

*   *   *

The officer stationed in the hall intercepted Horvath. “They've been trying to find you.”

“Yeah?”

“Go on in. You'll see why.”

Maurice Dolan, in a robe, sat stiffly in a chair. Catherine Adams was on the edge of the bed. She turned when they entered, Cy first.

“I'm Horvath.”

“Finally! Did you take down this idiot's so-called confession?”

“You mean Maurice Dolan?”

“Don't listen to her, Lieutenant. She's overcome with nobility.”

“Oh, shut up.” She stood and faced Horvath. “I rented that car. It was in my name.”

“I know that.”

“Well, know something else. It wasn't Maurice who ran down Nathaniel Fleck. I did. And by God I'm glad I did.”

5

The hitherto unsolved hit-and-run on Dirksen Boulevard had now been solved, unfortunately because two people had confessed to it. Phil Keegan was not amused.

“You'd think the two of them planned it this way. One confession meant to neutralize the other.”

“Can't it be resolved?”

“There is some physical evidence, but that would only confirm the identity of the vehicle.”

“Would?”

“The lab sent it downstate when they weren't happy with the results. But as I say, it won't matter much. They both claim to have driven the vehicle.”

The present hope was to locate one or the other somewhere else when the hit-and-run had happened. Cy Horvath was working on that. Meanwhile, Father Dowling went down to St. Joseph Medical Center, stopping first to talk to Father Higgins.

“As soon as I heard, I went up and urged him to make his peace with God,” Higgins said.

“And?”

“He said not yet.”

Make me chaste, Lord, but not yet? According to Maurice's confession, he had killed Nathaniel Fleck to rid himself of a rival in his pursuit of Catherine Adams, but by confessing he had ensured a long separation from her if he were convicted. Well, perhaps not too long, if Kilkenny's machinations were successful.

“Did you talk to Catherine Adams?”

“She's not Catholic.”

Father Dowling went up and was let into the room by the police officer on duty. Maurice Dolan was alone.

“Ah, Father Dowling, come in.”

“Father Higgins says he has spoken with you.”

“I'm afraid I shocked him.”

“That's unlikely.” It never seemed to occur to laypeople that priests were privy to every breach of the Decalogue. Often, the most hair-raising stories were whispered through the confessional grille. They were almost a relief from the routine peccadilloes of the frequent confessors. “So you have confessed?”

“Not to Father Higgins.”

“Don't you think that would have been a good idea?”

“It's been too long to enter into it lightly.”

“Waiting can be risky when you have a weight on your soul. Of course, now you have competition in the matter.”

He threw up his hands. “Dear Catherine. She would do anything for me.”

“Even confess to murder?”

“The charge won't be that severe, I'm told.”

“By Kilkenny?”

“Amos Cadbury's myrmidon.”

“The police fear that the two of you, you and Catherine Adams, are playing a game.”

“I suppose it can seem that we are.”

“Are you?”

“Catherine is, at any rate. Nate Fleck had been the fly in the ointment too long. A recurrent rival. Pretending to cut her off forever was inspired, and she rose to the bait. I decided to do something about him.”

“Then Catherine has a motivation equally strong, if not stronger.”

“A woman spurned? She always did live in a fantasy world. We had quite an argument when she came to visit me. Even then I didn't dream she would do what she has done. Unfortunately, that detective, Horvath, showed up and she told her story.”

“So Fleck's latest novel is the key to it all.”

Maurice Dolan became suddenly serious. “Father, I don't know if you realize the commotion that has been going on in my family.”

“Because of Martha?”

“Yes. She has to be kept out of this! I have to warn Catherine not to bring her into it. If she does, if she causes even more anguish than there now is…” He paused. “You'd have to know Martha to understand how I feel.”

“But I do know her. She plans to be married at St. Hilary's.”

“Ah, that's right. I met the young man. Very midwestern, but nice. I wonder if Sheila understands enough to be worried. Something a lot worse than she feared would result from Catherine's telling the whole story. That is why the police mustn't take her seriously.”

Was Maurice Dolan's motive to be found here, if his confession were false—the protection of his niece, Martha?

“Is Catherine Adams still staying with your parents?”

“Isn't that ironic?”

“In what way?”

“They may have taken an adder into their nest.”

Father Dowling spent some time with the young man, to no pastoral effect, and on his way back to the rectory stopped at the Dolans. He was admitted by an elated Henry Dolan.

“Have you heard, Father?” he asked in the front hall. “It seems Maurice was just telling a story.”

Catherine Adams was in the living room, seated on the couch with Vivian. Sheila Lynch, too, was there.

Although Catherine had confessed, she had been neither arrested nor indicted. This made her angry. “What more can I tell them? I rented the car. I told them Maurice had gone off God knows where and that I had arranged to meet Nate in Fox River. That's how I knew where to find him.”

“You actually ran him down?” Vivian said in awed tones.

“I only meant to scare him.”

“What had he done to you?”

Catherine now addressed herself to Father Dowling. “If that yo-yo of a prosecutor would read Nate's last novel, he would have it all.”

“I read it,” Vivian said. “Or tried to. Sheila passed it on to me. Did you read it all, Sheila?”

“Yes.”

Catherine said, “Well, it's not just a story. Nate was fixated on the idea that he had to do something about his illegitimate child of long ago. He came back here determined to find the woman in the case. Nothing I said could deter him.”

“I wonder if he found her,” Vivian said.

“Of course he did.”

Sheila's interest in what Catherine was saying intensified, but there was silence in the room.