I.

When Earl Haven showed up at the rectory door, there was fire in his eyes and his manner with Mrs. Murkin would normally have drawn a rebuke from the housekeeper but she brought him to the pastor’s study without complaint.

“Father, this is Earl Haven.”

“I’m not a Catholic.”

“I am. As doubtless the collar tells you.”

“She’s Catholic. Harriet.”

“Ah.”

“Harriet Dolan,” Mrs. Murkin said, and her brows lifted in significance.

“The girl that’s getting married?”

A groan escaped Earl and he collapsed into a chair. “She can’t marry that idiot, she can’t.”

The reference would be to Leo Mulcahy with whom Harriet had sat in the front parlor not a hour before, making arrangements for their wedding.

“If it’s being Catholic she wants, I’ll do it.”

“Become a Catholic?”

The man’s expression suggested inner anguish. “If she’ll marry me, yes I will.”

Marie stood in the doorway wringing her apron but her expression was not in every way anguished. The housekeeper had a taste for other people’s troubles and she found the various permutations of the relations between man and woman irresistible.

“It will never happen,” she had said an hour before after Harriet Dolan and Leo Mulcahy had finished discussing with the pastor their impending nuptials and had left the rectory. Ahead of them lay months of preparation before the big day. Father Dowling conducted a weekly class for couples preparing themselves for marriage. Harriet and Leo would have to attend those classes.

“They seem very attached to one another.”

“In love with love.”

This was not like Marie, who was one of the last romantics, something she concealed beneath a crusty exterior. Father Dowling wondered if she were seeking to deflect trouble from Harriet and Leo by predicting it; there were depths to Marie’s Irish superstitiousness that the pastor did not pretend to fathom. But Marie shook away this explanation, like a pitcher not getting the right signal from his catcher.

“She’s taking him on the rebound.”

“From what?”

“From whom.”

But Marie had intuited little more than this fact. She did not then know who the third party might be, it was simply something that Harriet had said. Now, with Earl Haven collapsed in a chair in the rectory study and unable to suppress his groans, Marie had clearly made an identification.

“Have you proposed to Harriet?” Marie asked.

“She knows.”

“But have you asked her?”

“I was going to.”

“Apparently Leo Mulcahy got there before you,” Father Dowling said.

Marie glared at the pastor and Earl doubled over, as if in pain. Suddenly, he looked up and his expression changed. “He can’t afford to marry her!”

“Two can live as cheaply as one,” Father Dowling said. Although this was an article in Marie’s somewhat plagiarized creed, the housekeeper again glared at him. But then she asked Earl in a soothing voice what he meant.

The question restored Earl to the land of the living. Once his attention had been diverted from his broken heart, he spoke with succinct authority of the business in which both he and Leo Mulcahy were engaged.

There are amazingly inventive ways for people to earn their daily bread and one would have had to lack soul not to respond to the entrepreneurial creativity represented by Boxers Inc. The idea had been Earl’s and it involved cutting himself in on the thriving business of the package delivery systems that had proven to be such competition for the U. S. Postal Service. Usually these giants had their own depot, at or near the airport, where the client not large enough to be visited by one of the pick-up trucks might go to send off his packages. Earl had opened a storefront in a mall, the first Boxers Inc., which had served as a clearing house for the various national deliverers — UPS, Federal Express, two or three others — making their services convenient for the occasional non-commercial user. A birthday present, something for a son or daughter at school, the odd item that must be elsewhere in a finite period of time. Boxers provided packaging as well as a clearing house for package delivery. At intervals throughout the day, the packages were taken to the depots of the great delivery systems. Earl had declined the offer to have trucks pick up the packages. It was important for the client to see what Earl was doing for them, thus justifying the modest fee he charged which, added to the payments from the deliverers, made Boxers Inc. a money making enterprise. With success came the urge to expand. Earl set Leo Mulcahy up in the business.

“He didn’t have a nickel,” Earl said, almost with contempt. “I didn’t either, when I started, but then I started from scratch. Leo’s location in the Naperville mall would be the replica of the original Boxers Inc.”

“You lent him the money?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

The whistle came from Marie. “How much does he still owe you?”

“With interest, twenty-seven five. Only Leo could take such a simple idea and mess it up.”

“He’s in debt $27,500?”

“My accountant could kill me.” Earl stood, and there was an unattractive expression on his face. “I am going to collect that money now.”

Father Dowling, at his desk, listened to Marie as she accompanied Earl down the hall to the front door. The housekeeper cajoled, threatened, pleaded and, in the end, prophesied.

“Harriet will never forgive you!”

“She would never forgive herself if she married that idiot.”

Life was full of mystery, Marie Murkin felt, and in this she was certainly not alone, but she took the common point to uncommon lengths. To identify the mystery was in some degree to have overcome it. But like everyone before her, she was utterly baffled by the men to whom some women were attracted and of course vice versa. The most improbable combinations formed before one’s eyes, defying every law of probability. Father Dowling often cited a seminary definition of man as a rational animal and of course he did not have to explain to her that the phrase was meant to cover women as well as men. But the truth was that it applied to neither men nor women, not when it came to affairs of the heart. Marie was not being cruel when she thought of Harriet Dolan as, well, what she was, and how any man, let alone two of them, could make fools of themselves over the girl, Marie did not understand. Nor did she regard this as merely the limitations of her own abilities. She defied anyone to explain how a girl hardly more than five and a half feet high, with a round plain face, abundant if nondescript hair worn in the current bag lady style, a narrow little mouth and the body of a boy could turn the heads of both Earl Haven and Leo Mulcahy. It made no sense, not even when you acknowledged Harriet’s smile that transformed her face, crinkled her eyes behind the lenses of her glasses, and was admittedly infectious.

“I hope I’m doing the right thing,” the girl had whispered to Marie, when Leo was alone with Father Dowling on the occasion of their first visit.

“How long have you known him?”

“All my life.”

“That’s good.”

“And his whole family,” she added significantly.

“Ah. And he is in business for himself?”

“It’s his partner who knows things.”

Of course a girl was nervous and said odd things when she was on the brink of marriage but Marie found this particularly enigmatic. Until Earl Haven showed up at the rectory door. If Leo was a fine specimen of a man, and he was, Earl Haven was even more so, and his near despair at the thought of Harriet marrying Leo did nothing to detract from his attraction. One of the advantages of age was that Marie could deal with handsome men as she never could have when she was young and they were the same age. All the more did she marvel at the way Harriet had wrapped Leo and Earl around her finger, effortlessly manipulating them. She sent Leo to the rectory as soon as she learned that Earl had been there.

“It’s none of his business,” Leo almost shouted. His anger added to his imposing presence. He was a larger man than Earl, dark haired, craggy— a term that was much used in the novels Marie read. Earl on the other hand was blonde — golden locked, Marie’s author might have said — slim and graceful with the clear blue eyes of a dreamer. Yet he apparently was the business whiz and Leo, in looks the practical man of action, was inept, losing money running a business that, according to Earl, ran itself.

“I understand you and Earl are in business together.”

“He leant me some money, Father. Now he wants it back. I don’t have it. It’s sunk in that lousy business I was talked into starting.”

Talked into by whom, Marie wondered. But she did not have to wonder long. Leo’s expression had softened.

“I did it for Harriet. I was happy enough working for Midwest Power.”

“Why not give up the business and go back to work for Midwest Power?”

Marie could have cheered this suggestion from Father Dowling. She found herself being tugged from side to side in this matter. On the one hand, she did not like to think that a couple would come talk to the priest about getting married, make arrangements for instructions, and then just drop it. On the other hand, if she were Harriet, her choice would certainly have been Earl Havens. But again she was mystified by the fact that little Harriet had her choice of these two paragons.

“I lost my seniority when I quit.”

“That could not have been much at your age?” Marie said.

“They gave me a going away party.” It seemed clear that Leo had left Midwest Power in such a way that any return would be demeaning. “I can’t pay Earl back, not now, I’m losing money.”

“He’s just bluffing,” Marie assured Leo. “Besides, if you don’t have it...”

“He could take over my business.”

Leo’s situation was not enviable. He was stuck with a business that was losing money and his partner was demanding repayment of a loan and threatening to take over the business if Leo did not come up with the money. And all this out of spite because Leo had won the hand of the girl Earl loved. Father Dowling would not have thought of Harriet’s as a face that would launch a thousand ships. But she was incentive enough for both Leo and Earl.

“I’ll talk to Earl,” Father Dowling said.

Hope leapt momentarily into Leo’s eyes then faded away. “He won’t listen to you.”

“Let’s find out.”

Peanuts wanted to return some videos he had purchased from a catalog and Tuttle took him to the Boxers Inc. store in Naperville to send the merchandise back.

“You know the place?”

“It’s just like the ones in Fox River.”

Peanuts didn’t know them, but how often did he need someone to pack up and return merchandise for him? Tuttle assured him that Boxers Inc. was reliable.

“What’s wrong with the Post Office?”

“Don’t get me started. What’s wrong with the videos?”

“I’ve already seen them.”

“You’re returning them just because you watched them?”

“Not these. I’ve already seen these. They’re not what I ordered.”

Peanuts had ordered several dozen old episodes of the Untouchables.

“I like Frank Nitty.”

“Who doesn’t?”

Tuttle meant the actor. He wasn’t sure what Peanuts meant. No matter, they were at the mall and Tuttle was searching for a parking spot as close as possible to Boxers Inc.

“There’s an ambulance,” Peanuts observed.

“I noticed the light.” Tuttle was also noticing that it seemed to be stopping traffic right in front of Boxers Inc. This could mean anything, of course. It may or not concern Boxers directly, then again it could be a customer fallen ill. Naperville was beyond the jurisdiction in which Peanuts was an officer of the law and a policeman out of his jurisdiction feels like an im poster. But then Peanuts felt like an imposter in Fox River. His sinecure in the local constabulary was due to the influence of his family. When he was on duty he was given tasks of minimal responsibility. This suited Peanuts fine. He was not an ambitious man and was not personally proud, though fiercely loyal to his dubious family

“I don’t have to send these back right now.”

“As long as we’re here,” Tuttle said. He had maneuvered his car through the lot and now drew up to the curb behind the ambulance. “I wish we had a squad car.”

If Peanuts had been driving they could have turned on the warning light and given a little goose to the siren, arriving in style and authority. As it was, an overweight cop signaled imperiously for Tuttle to drive on. Tuttle put the car in neutral and hopped out.

“I got here as quick as I could,” he said to the cop, silencing the order he was about to bark.

“Who are you?”

Tuttle took off his tweed hat and extracted a calling card from the crown. While the cop was reading it, Tuttle circled him and saw that the commotion was indeed inside the Boxers.

“That’s Officer Pianone in the passenger seat.”

Tuttle breezed on past them and swept into the door of Boxers Inc. He did not need any explanation of the scene before him. The store was alive with officers and plainclothesmen and paramedics. A young man in a white coat got up from a crouch and looking at a cop crossed his eyes and drew a finger across his throat. The paramedics were prepared to turn matters over to the medical examiner. Tuttle pressed on through to where the body lay on the floor. A man. Leo Mulcahy! Tuttle had the feeling that he had been brought providentially to this scene.

“His name is Leo Mulcahy,” Tuttle said in a raised, authoritative voice.

Heads turned to look at him.

“The deceased is a friend of mine. What happened?”

What happened to Tuttle was that he was collared by two officers and hustled outside and into a patrol car. He tried to wave to Peanuts as he was hustled across the walk to the car but the reflection on the windshield made it impossible to see Peanuts. In the back seat of the Naperville squad car, Tuttle was bracketed by a uniformed officer and a plainclothesman.

“Who are you?”

“You’re making a great mistake.”

“You want to talk to a lawyer?”

“I am a lawyer.”

The plainclothesman who had a face still bearing the traces of teenage acne, narrowed his eyes. Outside the car, the cop to whom he had given his card, tapped on the window. It was rolled down and Tuttle’s calling card was passed in.

“This you?” the detective asked.

“Tuttle the lawyer.”

“You say you know the dead guy?”

“What happened to him?”

Tuttle posed a problem for his captors. His manner disarmed them and yet they were disinclined to admit to having made a mistake. It was easier to act as if they had pressed Tuttle into service as an informant.

“I was afraid something like this would happen,” Tuttle said, letting out a little line, getting in deeper. He hoped Peanuts had enough sense to put his car in a parking space. Peanuts could catch a nap in the back seat then and derive some benefit from this failed effort to return the unwanted videos. As for Tuttle, he was asking himself what kind of bill he could send the Naperville police after they solved the murder of Leo Mulcahy.

Cy Horvath drove out to the Fox River mall and parked where he could look at the front entrance of Boxers Inc., which was described in the writeup Cy had downloaded from the web page of the Tribune as the flagship of Earl Haven’s little empire. This was the first store Haven had opened and which he had used as a model for the others he had then opened in the area. The store in Naperville where the body of Leo Mul cahy had been found was a spin-off that had been jointly owned by Haven and the deceased.

Cy got out of the car and wound his way among parked vehicles, crossed the access road and pulled open the door of Boxers Inc. There were people waiting at the counter, there were customers availing themselves of the pack-it-yourself facilities, there was soothing music oozing through the place. All in all, a picture of pastel prosperity. Cy looked around and then decided that Haven’s office would be down the hall past the computers and faxes and copying facilities. A diminutive woman whose blonde hair seemed shaped like a helmet looked up in surprise. The nameplate on her desk said Rose Hanlon. Cy told her he wanted to see Earl Haven.

“Oh, he’s over in Naperville.”

“At the store there?”

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Lieutenant Horvath..”

“Lieutenant?”

“Fox River Police.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“Do you know Leo Mulcahy?”

Her expression changed. “Why do you ask?”

“Isn’t he Earl Haven’s partner in the Naperville store?”

She looked at him with growing disapproval. “If that were so, why would it be of interest to the Fox River police? Or are you asking personally?”

“Leo Mulcahy was found dead in the Naperville store an hour ago.” No need to tell her that he had been strangled to death with a scarf.

Her gasping intake of air set her chair in motion and she backed away from him. Her eyes were round as dollars and her lips trembled.

“Dead?”

“Yes.”

“That’s impossible! He was a young man. His health was good.”

“How well did you know him?”

“How well did I know him?” she repeated.

“The Naperville police would like some help in their investigation. This looks like something that spans our jurisdictions. When did Mr. Haven go to Naperville?”

“He always went over there on Wednesdays.”

“A regular visit.”

“Yes.”

“He hadn’t heard of what happened to Mr. Mul cahy?”

“He must have been there already.”

After she said it, she seemed to regret having said it. “I understand that there had been a falling out between the two men.”

“I’m not sure I should talk about such things.”

“Rose, a man has been murdered.”

“Murdered! Oh my God.” Tears welled into her eyes and then she was sobbing helplessly. Cy took a chair and waited. He let her cry as long as she wanted to and that turned out to be a long time indeed.

“You did know Leo Mulcahy.”

“Of course I knew him. We were engaged to be married. Some years ago.”

“You and Leo Mulcahy?”

“Yes.” Her chin lifted, as if he had doubted her word.

“You broke off with him?”

She thought for a minute. “It wouldn’t have worked out.”

Phil Keegan had called the St. Hilary rectory while Cy was checking out the Tribune web page. The call from Naperville reminded the captain of something he had heard from Father Dowling. But it was Marie Murkin he talked with. Leo Mulcahy? He was soon to marry Harriet Dolan. Now, talking with Rose Hanlon, Cy wondered if Leo’s one time fiancee knew of his marriage plans.

“Do you know Harriet Dolan?”

An angry expression formed on Rose Hanlon’s face. “Whatever happened to Leo Mulcahy is her fault.”

Phil Keegan was in the study with Father Dowling, telling him what he knew of events in Naperville, and Marie was listening in. The picture seemed clear. Earl Haven had been driven half mad by the thought that the woman he loved intended to marry such an ass as Leo Mulcahy.

“The Wednesday visit to the Naperville store was apparently a regular event,” he said.

“Have you talked with him yet?”

“Earl Haven? He can’t be found.”

“Who has looked for him?”

“Cy.”

Phil as much as said that very little mystery remained as to what had happened to Leo Mulcahy. Not only was Earl Haven the prime suspect, he was the only suspect.

“He left a trail as wide as the Interstate. Half a dozen people noticed him arrive at the Naperville store. Two people who were in the store have told us of a fierce argument between two men. The argument was the kind that would almost inevitably lead to blows.”

“Did anyone witness a fight?”

“Haven told Mulcahy he was stupid. He told him he could not run a penny lemonade stand. He just threw insults at Mulcahy.”

“What was his reaction?”

“He laughed.”

“Laughed.”

That was when Haven cleared everyone out of the store. “Being laughed at got to him, that was obvious. Mulcahy was hit on the head, probably with a scotch tape holder made of heavy metal. But it was the scarf that did it.”

“Scarf.”

“He was strangled with a scarf. It was not a pretty sight.”

“Did anyone see Earl leave?”

Phil took the cigar from his mouth, studied it, then returned it to his mouth, clamping it between his teeth.

“Of course we’re just assuming the man was Earl Haven.”

Whatever the ostensible reason for the quarrel, it seemed obvious that Harriet Dolan was the real explanation. Earl’s anger was more easily explained by the fact that he had lost Harriet than that he had lost money.

Harriet Dolan was unconvincing in the role of tragic woman. Surrounded by the sisters of Leo Mulcahy, she looked around her as if seeking a cue as to how she should behave. Her fiance was dead and the man who killed him had professed his love for her and was now the object of a police search. Any of Leo’s sisters was more attractive than Harriet but none of them had been the cause of such a romantic tragedy. It seemed assumed that Harriet would be broken hearted by events and from time to time she dabbed at her dry eyes with a handkerchief. She might have been concealing the little smile that kept forming on her thin lips. Of course it had not really dawned on her that Leo was dead and that Earl had killed him.

“She is in shock,” one of the Mulcahy girls said to Marie Murkin.

“Who could blame her?” the housekeeper replied, but her eye was on Harriet and her tone was not as definite as her words. The chair next to Harriet was offered to Marie and she took it. She patted the girl’s arm and sighed.

“You have lost them both.”

Harriet looked at her.

“Leo and Earl.”

“I didn’t encourage him,” Harriet protested, and rubbed the forming smile from her lips.

“It’s not your fault.”

But Harriet was distracted by the arrival of a young woman who turned out to be Rose Hanlon, accompanied by her brother. Their arrival created an awkwardness and when Rose approached her, Harriet grew apprehensive, but Rose just took her hand and shook her head in silent disbelief at what had happened. Steve Hanlon stood unobtrusively against a wall. Everyone seemed to be waiting for Rose to say something, but she held her silence. Finally she drifted off to the side of the room and joined her brother.

“She is affected as much as Harriet,” a Mulcahy girl whispered to Marie.

“Why would she be?”

“She and Leo were engaged, you know. Informally.”

Marie Murkin looked at Rose with new interest. The young woman had begun to weep and was being comforted. The contrast with Harriet was eloquent.

Earl Haven was located in a cabin north of town overlooking the Fox River, a summer place that afforded relief from the Midwestern heat. His car had been parked sideways on the narrow gravel drive and he had appeared in the picture window armed with a shotgun. Phil Keegan had prudently decided to address Earl by bull horn from the road. It added to the drama that Earl replied through a bullhorn of his own, one he had made notorious as a fan of the local high school football team.

“Come on out, Earl. We don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

“I haven’t hurt anyone.”

“No reason not to come out then, is there?” Phil looked around, obviously pretty proud of that retort.

When Father Dowling arrived Phil and Earl were still exchanging one liners. Roger Dowling stood beside Cy Horvath.

“What are they talking about, Cy?”

“Football.”

“Football!”

“Earl played for the Fox River Reds. His touchdown pass record to Steve Hanlon who played wide receiver will never be broken.”

“How long has this been going on?”

Cy thought twenty minutes. Phil and Earl were discussing a game against Naperville played in the misty past when Earl had first become the toast of the town.

“Don’t spoil it now, Earl. Face up to this.”

“Do you think I killed Leo?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Earl. We’ve got to straighten it out. Do you have a lawyer?”

Suddenly, through the no man’s land between the police cars and the cabin door a short figure, arms raised, one hand waving a greyish handkerchief, waddled toward the door of the cabin.

“It’s Tuttle,” Father Dowling said.

“Who else?”

A more successful lawyer can wait for clients to come to him. Tuttle was always on the alert for poor devils in need of legal representation and he had been riding in a squad car with Peanuts when he switched the radio dial from Rush Limbaugh and picked up the report of Earl Haven holed up in his riverside summer cottage. Immediately they were on their way to the scene. Tuttle had jumped out of the car, listened for a few minutes and, when his opportunity came, seized it.

His breath came in rapid gasps and he had a stitch in his side before his hand closed over the knob of the front door. He panted for a moment and then lifted his free hand toward the knocked. In doing this, his hand turned the knob, the door opened and he tumbled inside, literally sprawling across the uncarpeted floor of the cabin. The windows overlooking the river blinded him with their brightness and he got to his knees and looked blinking about.

“Who are you?”

“Can you pull those blinds?”

“Are you a reporter?”

“No!” Tuttle rose to his feet in indignation. He might be at the bottom rung of his chosen profession but he had not sunk to the level of those purchased pens who hung around the press room of the court house.” I am Tuttle the lawyer.” He found his tweed hat and put it on his head. It was like resuming his true persona.

“Oh yeah.”

“My advice is that you make no statement whatsoever. We will march out of here, they can book you, but I will do the talking.”

“”There’s nothing to say.”

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t hurt Leo.”

Tuttle remembered the scene at the Naperville Boxers Inc. He had not seen Earl there. He could not remember anyone else who had. Rose Hanlon, Earl’s secretary, had unwisely told the police that Earl had gone to Naperville.

“That could work.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, I was at the store in Naperville when the cops were investigating. It couldn’t have been long after...”

Something in Earl’s eye caused Tuttle to stop. He did not want to antagonize a potential client.

“What time were you there?”

“I never got there. I got caught in traffic, a jack-knifed semi blocked the road, and finally I just turned around and started back to Fox River. I heard about it on radio, and that I was being sought. I headed here.”

“Why?”

“Look out there. I feel like a treed squirrel.”

But why would an innocent man run? Tuttle did not ask this question. A lawyer can often represent his client better if he lets innocence remain a presumption. Knowing too much can be a burden.

“Earl, we’re going out there. We’re going to open that door and march right out to the police, those cameras, everything. You can’t stay here forever.”

Earl looked as if he wanted to argue about it, but suddenly his shoulders slumped. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

“Let me look at you first.”

Tuttle stood in front of Earl and squinted his eyes, imagining what he would look like on television.

“Why don’t you take off your cap.”

“You going to take off your hat?”

“Okay, leave it on.” Tuttle took the door handle, inhaled, and pulled. Silence fell. Tuttle stepped outside first, his eyes shaded by the brim of his hat, and located the television cameras. When Earl came out, Tuttle took his elbow and they walked right at the cameras. Tuttle kept up a non-stop patter as they walked, a lawyer advising his client. Earl looked bewildered but that wasn’t bad. It could be mistaken for innocence. All this was being taped. It would be like running a commercial on television. Tuttle moved even closer to his client. He didn’t want to be focused out of the picture.

Phil Keegan and Cy Horvath came forward to meet them.

“Remember, Earl,” Tuttle said, addressing the media. “You don’t have to say a thing.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Earl protested. “I’ll say that.”

There was an unbaptized part of Marie Murkin’s soul that took mordant pleasure from the spectacle of Harriet Dolan being deprived of two men, either one of whom had been too good for her. But the fact — or alleged fact, as Tuttle always insisted in speaking to the press — that one of those men had killed the other out of insane desire for Harriet was something it was difficult to accept cheerfully. Harriet rose to her tragic role during the funeral of Leo Mulcahy, sitting in the front pew with the Mulcahy girls, for all the world as if she were a widow. But it soon became clear that Harriet had no intention of going into deep mourning.

“Does she intend to wait for Earl?”

“Ask Phil Keegan about that.”

“Does she confide in Phil?”

“She hasn’t even been to visit him in jail.”

“Well, after all, he is accused of killing her fiance.”

There was no point in trying to explain it to the pastor. One needed a woman’s intuition to maneuver through the intricacies of the matter. It was Marie’s fear that while she might ignore him while he languished in jail awaiting trial, Harriet would be all too prominent in the court room once proceedings began. What a magnet she would be for the press. The woman whose fiance the accused had killed because she had spurned him. It was almost too much to bear.

Marie noticed that Harriet came regularly to Mass on Sunday and had to acknowledge that she did nothing to draw attention to herself, not coming late nor leaving early, dressing in a subdued way. Marie was on the verge of thinking that she had misjudged Harriet when she ran into her as she was leaving the mall.

“Hello,” Harriet replied warily in response to Marie’s greeting.

“I’m Marie Murkin, housekeeper at St. Hilary’s.”

“Of course I recognize you.”

Marie would have liked to chat with the girl but the moment was not propitious. They parted and Marie started for her car. When she got in, she noticed that Harriet was still standing near the door, looking out over the lot. Had she forgotten where she had parked? But then her expression changed as a car drew up to the curb. Harriet, radiant, pulled open the door. Marie had started her engine and managed to drive forward to where she could get a good glimpse of the man behind the wheel of the car that had come for Harriet Dolan. At first she did not recognize him, but then she did.

Steve Hanlon.

Earl Haven’s trial proceeded with slow inevitability and the apparent fate of the accused could not be ascribed simply to the want of skill on the part of his lawyer. Indeed, when Father Dowling asked Amos Cadbury what he thought of Tuttle’s performance, the patrician lawyer, dean of Fox River attorneys, thought for a moment.

“I am only surprised that the prosecution has not called those who said they saw Haven at the Naperville store that morning.”

Amos was right. At the time any number of people claimed to have been eye witnesses to a quarrel between Earl and Leo.

“Maybe they don’t need that evidence.”

“You may be right.”

“It looks bad for Earl.”

“His chances of acquittal are not good.”

“Poor fellow.”

“Perhaps he is guilty.”

“Perhaps?”

But apparently it was simply the caution of the lawyer. Father Dowling had spoken with Earl Haven and while he was privy to no confidential matters so far as Earl’s soul went — as a non-Catholic Earl would not ask to confess his sins — he had the distinct feeling that he was speaking with an innocent man. Or at least with one innocent of the crime of which he was accused. Earl’s story about never having gone to the Naperville store on that fateful morning had been difficult to sustain in court. The traffic jam Earl said had decided him to return to Fox River could not be verified. Earl has spoken of a jack-knifed semi, but no police report corroborating the incident had been discovered. Earl said he had never actually seen the semi, but a similar delay three weeks before had been caused by a jack-knifed semi. Tuttle was able to verify that and he produced police reports, subpoenaed half a dozen drivers, proved it beyond the shadow of a doubt. But, as the prosecutor pointed out, that had nothing to do with the traffic on the day Leo was killed. Tuttle then turned to the undisputed negative fact that no one had seen Earl in Naperville that day. The prosecutor did not counter with eye witnesses. It was soon clear why.

“Ah, but he left proof of his being there,” the prosecutor said. A long gray scarf was introduced into evidence. It had been twisted around the neck of the hapless Leo Mulcahy. The scarf was definitely Earl’s. It had his name in it.

“I lost that scarf,” Earl cried. “I haven’t seen it for years.”

“Lost it? No, you didn’t lose it. But you did leave it behind at the scene where you killed Leo Mulcahy!”

Earl was doomed. The jury withdrew to consider their verdict. Within an hour they were back. They found Earl Haven guilty of causing the death of Leo Mulcahy and with malice aforethought.

“He will be an old man when he gets out,” Father Dowling observed to Marie Murkin.

“The poor man.”

“There will be no point in the young lady waiting for him.”

“There will be no danger of it either.”

“Oh?”

Listening to Marie Father Dowling sat very still. It was as if she had suddenly been given the key to recent events. It was unclear that Marie saw the full significance of what she was saying. He said nothing at the time and the housekeeper eventually returned to her kitchen, a little embarrassed at having passed on such gossip. Father Dowling remained at his desk for half an hour, thinking. He got out a piece of paper and prepared to write on it, but did not. He did not need to make a list of what he knew in order to arrive at a conclusion.

He got up and put on a coat and said on his way through the kitchen, “I’m going out, Marie. Would you call Phil Keegan and Cy Horvath to come over tonight.”

“For supper.”

“What a wonderful idea.”

The one time wide receiver of the Fox River High School Reds had an office in the same mall in which Earl Haven had opened the original Boxers Inc. Stephen Hanlon was an accountant, a bald man in a blue shirt and striped tie who sat coatless behind his desk, his unblinking eyes concentrating on figures and columns and the quantification of the romance of commerce. He greeted Father Dowling and asked him to be seated. His eyes never left his collar.

“How I marvel at anyone who can do that,” Father Dowling exclaimed when Steve Hanlon answered his question as to what he did in this bare and orderly office.

“Who keeps the books at St. Hilary?”

“I keep one set.”

The pale brows rose above pale eyes.

“No mortal knows enough to keep a complete account, does he, Steve?”

“There is no mystery about a good set of books.”

“Income and outgo, plus and minus, add and subtract?”

Steve Hanlon nodded.

“What sort of balance can there be for taking another life?”

Perhaps if his life had gone differently Steve Hanlon might have become a Trappist. He seemed comfortable with silence. His eyes were all but expressionless as he looked across his neat desk at Father Dowling.

“Was it jealousy, Steve?”

Silence.

“Did it anger you that your old quarterback had teamed up with Leo Mulcahy.”

The fan of Hanlon’s computer purred evenly. A digital clock on the wall measured time not quite noiselessly.

“Of course it wasn’t that, was it? It was what Leo had done when he jilted Rose.”

Steve rose as if he were managed by invisible wires. His hand closed on a large smooth stone that did service as a paperweight.

“You use what’s at hand, don’t you? How did you happen to be wearing Earl Haven’s scarf?”

“You’re guessing, I know. But if you can guess, so can others.”

“That seems a reason for not compounding your troubles, doesn’t it?”

Steve stood there, the rock gripped menacingly in his hand, but he was thinking. What Father Dowling had said was entered into one column, his mind went on to the next. After a moment, he sat down. He put the large stone where it had been and placed his hands on the arms of his chair.

“You’re right. It was Rose. She loved him. She still does.”

“Does she know?”

“Of course not.”

Another item was entered in the ledger in Steve’s mind, and Father Dowling feared that he had put himself in danger by the question. But Steve simply looked at him. Finally he said, “What do you want me to do?”

“Come to dinner at the rectory?”

For the first time Steve Hanlon reacted to what Father Dowling had said. His mouth opened in surprise.

The drive to and from Joliet was not a long one and Father Dowling did not remain long at the prison. Steve Hanlon seemed to appreciate his visits, but he simply did not have the gift of conversation. Besides, his talents had been put to work in the business office and, while he was no longer a free man, he was free to engage in the accounting that had always made up a large part of his life. Only one thing had truly bothered him. He had kept the books for Boxers Inc. and picked a quarrel with Leo Mulcahy over his terrible business sense when he heard that his sister’s old fiancé was engaged to marry Harriet Dolan, sacking his old quarterback.

“Please explain to Rose, Father,” he had said when, having dined with Phil Keegan and Cy Horvath at the rectory table, he had told the detectives what he had done in Naperville.

“You invited a murderer to dinner?” Phil asked, after Cy had taken Steve downtown.

“Is this a confession?”

“You know what Captain Keegan means,” Marie said, coming in from the kitchen. “When I think that I was urging all that food on someone who had taken a human life.”

“He did have a good appetite, didn’t he?”

“Second helpings of everything.”

“Perhaps he figured out how much he was saving.”

But the personality of Steve Hanlon was not known to Marie or Phil Keegan. His matter-of-fact admission that he had strangled Leo Mulcahy, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin as he told of it, had not exactly promoted digestion. Nonetheless, Father Dowling was certain he had been right in following his instinct and asking Steve Hanlon back to the rectory for dinner. The police were already scheduled to be there.

“He ate a hearty meal before he was condemned,” Phil said. He seemed to have decided to let Marie carry the complaint alone.

“Well, he certainly won’t have to worry about where his next meal is coming from,” Marie said.

Phil Keegan sighed. “I can still see him gathering in a pass from Earl Havens.”

“That will doubtless be Harriet Dolan’s game now,” Marie said. She widened her eyes and then turned on her heel and went into her kitchen.

Earl Haven had always attracted Harriet. Nor had his attraction suffered from the accusation that he had strangled Leo Mulcahy rather than let him marry Harriet. When it seemed that this act of gallantry would cause Earl to spend most of the rest of his life in prison, it was only human that Harriet should become susceptible to the charms of Steve Hanlon. Of course she misread his interest. He had been motivated by anger that Leo had dropped his sister Rose for Harriet. But Harriet’s fickleness had dissolved the charm she had for Earl.

As he drove back to Fox River from Joliet and his visit with Steve Hanlon, Father Dowling checked his watch. Earl Haven would be coming to the rectory for instructions that evening. He professed to be interested in becoming a Catholic.

“Rose has told me to make up my own mind, of course.”

“Of course.”

“We would like to be married at St. Hilary’s.”