Fatal Connections

Chapter 33

In the final analysis, any fears running through my mind about running into the cops at the memorial service were shouted down by my intense curiosity over who else would show up there. And besides, Morgan and Sully might infer my guilt under either approach—going or not going. Given my life lately, I consigned myself to the notion that this might be a no-win scenario.

I dug through my closet for anything low key and appropriate that I could wear to the service. My problem is I don't give a damn about clothing. That makes it hard to judge what's right for any situation that doesn't involve a uniform.

I did own one decent suit, bought on special and worn all of once for a fancy-pants rich client who ended up firing me anyway. Never liked the thing and swore I'd never wear it again. I kept meaning to give it away, but now that I looked at it, the jacket could be paired with a set of dark slacks. Add a suitably drab top and I'd be dressed for the occasion and hopefully go unnoticed.

I finished up the day by working on various cases. This included writing a short report on the offshore accounts I had found for the Case of the Deadbeat Debtor. That sounded like the name of a show my grandparents would watch.

I also thought about calling Adams to let him know what I'd found in Troy Fairchild's receipts. He said he had never heard of Troy, but apart from Adams' agenda, I wondered why Troy was hanging out at The Void. If there was any connection between Troy's reasons and Adams' affairs, it might be worth sharing what I knew. Hopefully, he'd share back.

Adams answered on the second ring. "Uh-huh," he grunted, when I revealed why I had called.

"I don't know what kind of thing you're working on," I said. "But since my man on the run chose to hang out at The Void, I'm wondering whether our cases connect."

"I doubt it."

"How can you be sure?" I asked.

He paused for a very long five seconds. "Sorry. Need to know only."

"But I do need to know."

"No, you don't." I couldn't see Adams, but I could visualize the smirk on his face. And that pretty much settled that.

The following day, I again debated the wisdom of going to the service. I wasn't sure what to expect of the turnout, but I assumed it wouldn't be small. Too many people to make it worthwhile? Then again, I could fall back on my experience in assessing crowd situations. And hope my Spidey sense was sharp enough to zero in on the one bad actor among a hundred complete strangers.

Before I dressed, I did some asanas to increase my flexibility and calm myself. My back continued to complain. Again, I struggled not to think about my hidden Oxy. I tried to breathe deeply and exhale slowly. In and out. Patience.

I also tried my damnedest not to think about that Adams dude. The way he'd said those words "Need to know only." Those weren't the words of a private investigator. Possibly those of a cop. Maybe a Marine. Or maybe . . . something else.

I arrived at the church, which looked like an upscale hotel with a steeple. Lots of glass and angular beams. I aimed to be just late enough to slip in unnoticed. Of course, the lot was jammed, so I spent even more time looking for a place to park. And then there was the walk, which couldn't have been much more than a mile or ten.

Given the amount of media attention on the day I found the Harcourts' bodies, I was surprised that I didn't see at least one or two news vans somewhere around. Maybe they were waiting for the reception.

The door opened noiselessly as I entered the church, and no one was around to notice my arrival. The spacious foyer had glass walls through which sunlight splashed across the tile floor. A woman spoke with a faint but audible voice from somewhere within.

I didn't have to go far to find the source. Crossing the foyer with the stealth of a cat, I stood by one of two sets of padded double doors. The voice continued to filter outward. I cracked the door and took a peek at the seating area for the congregation. Large enough for at least 500 people. And it was nearly at capacity.

The woman spoke from behind the pulpit. A breathtaking stained-glass window rose behind her. Above that was a wide picture window of clear glass. Obviously, there was no way I could identify and investigate 500 people. But I figured it might be most efficient to determine who was sitting up front, as well as who was sitting in the back row. And I wondered if there was any way at all that I could possibly get photos of all those people without calling attention to myself.