Blood Ties (26 page)

“So who ran the man down?” Tuttle asked.

For answer, Tetzel printed out a copy of the story he had just sent to his paper. In it he opined that we are often led astray by our insistence that events are part of a causal theory. Something happens, somebody must have caused it. But often the somebody did not intend what the something.

Tuttle looked up from the page. “Are they going to print this?”

It turned out that Tetzel had printed out his initial ruminations before writing his story. Soon he put a copy of that into Tuttle's hands.

When Nathaniel Fleck was struck by a car that jumped the curb on Dirksen Boulevard, sending the author through a window and to his death, it was an accident pure and simple, police investigation indicates. The motorist who fled the scene very likely did not know that his temporary loss of control of his vehicle had resulted in the death of the renowned author.

The story cascaded from that beginning paragraph. In midstory, good citizen Tetzel urged the motorist to identify himself and clear the air once and for all. He, or she, need fear no charge more grievous than leaving the scene of an accident.

Tuttle left the pressroom and the courthouse. Across the street a preoccupied Cy Horvath emerged from the sports bar. Tuttle watched him head for the police garage. He was behind the wheel of his car when Cy emerged, and he followed him.

When they reached the Northwestern campus, Tuttle waited for Cy to get out of the car, which he had parked in a handicapped spot. Horvath entered the building, and a minute later Tuttle followed.

A thin girl with overbite and glasses halfway down her nose regarded him. “Yes?”

“My brother just came in here. A big fellow—”

She was already nodding. “He's with Professor Lorenzo.”

He thanked her and went out to his car. Lorenzo. He would be the husband of the Madeline Lorenzo Tuttle had located for both Bernard Casey and the Dolans, via Martin Sisk. Again Tuttle felt a faint regret for what he had done. The Dolans, inhospitable as they had proved to be, were parents of a daughter who they had taken in as a child born out of wedlock, a noble deed in Tuttle's book. And the young mother must have fought off suggestions that she abort her baby. Another noble choice. For those past events to rise to the surface now threatened the lives of both the adopting parents, the Lynches, and Madeline Lorenzo and her husband. A philosopher. He wondered what grade Lorenzo would have given Tetzel's speculative reflections. Cy's visit suggested that the story was otherwise than Tetzel thought and that Lorenzo was somehow involved.

When the two men emerged and began to walk across campus, Tuttle followed. How unaware the watched are that they are being watched. It was a thought worthy of Tetzel. Nonetheless, Tuttle looked over his shoulder, lest the follower be followed. Of course there was no one behind him.

Lorenzo led Cy to a parking lot, where they examined a vehicle. An SUV! Cy walked around the vehicle inspecting it and then began to scrape some paint from an area behind the huge spare mounted on the back. Aha. Soon the two men headed back the way they had come. Tuttle's pulse was racing. If Lorenzo had now become the object of Cy's investigation, he would need legal representation. Tuttle began to rehearse the approach he would make when he confronted the philosopher.

But excitement drained from him as he followed Cy and the professor, and his earlier distaste returned. It helped, perhaps, that he had already profited sufficiently from Martha Lynch's desire to find her real mother. Somewhere his sainted father seemed to be suggesting that he stay out of it now that he was out of it. Tuttle was not given to abstract generalization. When he thought of the Lorenzos and Lynches it was on analogy with the warm household in which he had been raised on the South Side. The family is sacred. By the time he slipped behind the wheel of his car, Tuttle had decided against ambulance chasing, at least for the nonce.

Cy was standing with the professor at the door of the building. What would the detective say if he knew he had been observed? Satisfaction with his own cunning was sufficient reward for this excursion.

Lorenzo punched Cy's arm, and Cy got into his car. He backed up, coming right at Tuttle. His back bumper struck Tuttle's front bumper, jolting his ancient car.

Cy stuck his head out the window. “Tuttle? You can follow me back, too. I wouldn't want you to get lost.”

When Cy pulled away, there was a metallic complaint from Tuttle's car. He put it in gear and followed Horvath back to Fox River. From time to time, he looked in his rearview mirror, but no one was following him.

9

The marriage of Martha Lynch and Bernard Casey was the social event of the year at St. Hilary's. There were three bridesmaids—one rather elderly, Willa—and, complementing them, three Notre Dame classmates of Casey's. The bride, of course, was beautiful, and she and the groom looked like the ideal little statuettes atop their wedding cake. Father Dowling said the nuptial Mass and witnessed the vows of the young couple. In the front pews on the groom's side of the aisle was a great complement of Caseys, headed by Bernard's parents, and opposite them were the Lynches, joined in the front pew by Henry and Vivian Dolan, Maurice, and his perhaps fiancée, Catherine Adams, a lovely little hat atop her cropped head. Two pews behind the family was the imposing figure of Amos Cadbury. Of course, Catherine Adams did not come forward at communion time, nor as it happened did George Lynch. In a back pew a woman whose mantilla not only covered her hair but put her face in shadows followed the ceremony with tears in her eyes. She might have been a sister of the bride. She, too, remained in her pew while communion was being distributed.

Afterward, everyone adjourned to the erstwhile school, which had been transformed for the reception. In one corner of the former gym, a quartet played background music before the guests sat down to partake of the veritable banquet the Lynches had provided.

Marie Murkin was in seventh heaven and was willing to share responsibility for the occasion with Edna Hospers, director of the senior center. In truth, neither woman had done a thing; all preparations were made by people sent in by the Lynches. Father Dowling circulated, feeling somewhat superfluous now that his role had been played.

“He broke his fast,” Marie whispered in his ear. “Dr. Lynch. Mrs. Lynch told me.”

“Why would she have done that?”

“I have no idea. Of course I noticed he hadn't taken communion and asked if he was non-Catholic.”

This was not the time or place to scold Marie for her unpardonable behavior. She hurried away from his expression, and he resolved to read the riot act to her later in the rectory. Imagine, putting such questions to the mother of the bride. But he knew his anger would cool and he would not speak sharply to Marie. When he wasn't wondering what he would do with her, he wondered what he would do without her.

Eventually, everyone was seated, the bride and groom at a raised table, flanked by their parents, the others at the twenty or more tables arranged around the room, relatives and friends, luminaries of the legal and medical professions. Father Dowling took the microphone and said the grace. Now he could slip away without offense. Indeed, without being noticed. Marie and Edna were seated at a table featuring frequent visitors to the senior center. Before he reached the door, there was the sound of silverware striking glass, an insistent sound. The bride and groom kissed to great applause. Father Dowling left and soon was settled in his study with his pipe lit.

Not so long ago, Henry Dolan had spoken to him in this room of the anxiety created in his family by his granddaughter's intention to discover her birth mother. Well, Martha's wish had been fulfilled, and the Lynches and Dolans were intact. Madeline Lorenzo's attendance at the wedding had been self-effacing, and of course she had not come to the reception. Her family, too, had apparently been unaffected by Martha's desire.

The doorbell rang, and for a moment Father Dowling resented the disruption of his solitude, but he rose and went to the door. Amos Cadbury stood there.

“I saw you leave, Father, and thought I might stop by.”

“Wonderful, Amos. Come in, come in.”

Amos had had a glass of champagne at the reception before the food was served. He accepted Father Dowling's offer of some Irish whiskey.

“Powers,” he said, impressed.

“I thought Phil Keegan might like it, but he prefers beer.”

“It is the best of the best.”

“Oh, I had my share, Amos.”

The venerable lawyer nodded. No need to expatiate on that. He lit a cigar and sipped his Powers, a picture of contentment. “I could not help thinking what possible disasters the Lynches have been spared.”

“And the Lorenzos.”

“Of course.”

“She was there, Martha's mother.”

“Was she?”

“There, but unobserved.”

“That, of course, was as it should be. Doubtless Martha knew she was present.”

Amos frowned. “It is Maurice Dolan's behavior I find irksome. More than irksome. Whatever the nadir into which the law has fallen, I hate to see it made a mockery of. Imagine, the two of them confessing to a crime they could not have committed.”

“Each thought the other had.”

“Perhaps. Until their vehicle was ruled out, I was of the school that held they had hit on a way to get away with murder by confessing to it.”

Father Dowling was of the school that believed Maurice had performed an altruistic act, meant to shield Catherine Adams. That she had replied in kind made him think more highly of her. Of course, he could understand Amos's professional resentment.

“May the past be the past at last,” Amos said.

Father Dowling lifted his coffee mug in response to Amos's raised glass.

“Of course, there is still the unexplained death of Nathaniel Fleck.”

“The local paper has decided it was simply an accident.”

“But has Cy Horvath?”

Amos smiled. “God help that driver if Cy still has anything to go on.”

Father Dowling had heard from Phil Keegan about the negative results of testing the paint sample taken from young Lorenzo's SUV. It seemed that Cy's last suspicion had proved unfounded.

“I think he was glad about it,” Phil said. “Of course, with Cy you're never sure. He is not a demonstrative man.”

It was difficult not to share Amos's wish that the past be the past at last.

10

On the following Wednesday, the staff and volunteers of the Women's Care Center came to the noon Mass at St. Hilary's, and afterward there was a luncheon in the gym, utilizing the tables rented by the Lynches, which were still in place. The group filled five tables. Father Dowling was impressed and remarked on it to Louise, the director of the center.

“And this is not everyone, Father. Not all the volunteers, certainly. For example, Dr. Lynch could not come.”

“Dr. Lynch.”

“Such a wonderful man. He gives us several hours a week.”

“Counseling?”

“Yes. The fact that he is a doctor makes him very effective.”

“I should imagine.”

“And now he has given us a vehicle as well.”

“He has.”

Louise lowered her voice. “Not an ideal one for our purposes. It is one of these huge tanklike things. Not easy for expectant mothers to get in and out of.”

“That was very generous of him.”

“Would you like to see it? I drove it here.”

The SUV was in the parking lot next to the school. Father Dowling circled it, making appropriate remarks. The only flaw was a crease in the right front fender, with some missing paint.

“Dr. Lynch said he would pay for that if we made arrangements.”

They went back inside. Father Dowling noticed a novel protruding from the bag that hung from Louise's shoulder. It was a copy of
The Long Good-bye.

“Are you enjoying it?”

“I hate it.”

“So why are you reading it? It isn't Lent.”

Again she dropped her voice. “The author came by the center one day. He wanted the identity of one of our mothers. From years ago, before I came to the center. Of course I told him nothing.”

“Nathaniel Fleck visited the Women's Care Center?”

“Isn't that a strange name?”

“Do you remember who he was looking for?”

“I wouldn't listen. I tried to stop him saying anything, but he was most persistent. I think he must have been that child's father. Well, Dr. Lynch came to the rescue.”

He listened to her describe the firm way in which Lynch had followed the man into the parking lot, then away, gone off with him somewhere.

“He never came back?”

“Oh, no.”

Father Dowling looked at Louise. Hadn't she read of Fleck's death on Dirksen Boulevard? But surely she would have made the connection with her unwanted visitor if she had. Doubtless it is a small percentage of people who are aware of or interested in what is regarded as the news of the day. Yet Louise was trying to read Fleck's novel. It might have seemed inevitable that she must learn that Fleck had not only been a visitor at the center and the author of the novel but that he had been killed on Dirksen Boulevard when an SUV drove onto the sidewalk to hit him.

*   *   *

The following day, Marie opened the door to George Lynch, and as she led him to the pastor, she gushed about how wonderful the wedding had been. Then he was in the doorway. Father Dowling rose to greet him and got him seated, and Marie went merrily away.

“I've come to thank you for my daughter's wedding, Father. Everything was as we wished.”

“And as you arranged, George. I had little to do with it.”

“It must have put you to extra expense. Please let me cover that.”

“I am as likely to bill the Women's Care Center for the Mass and lunch they had here yesterday.”

“Surely I can make a donation to the parish.”