going to have to wrap this up. “Earlier today, I was in the late bishop’s office. Have you ever been there?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a simple, modest office. I would have expected that a bishop would have had something much more elegant.”
She smiled more unreservedly, with a sense of pride, Tully thought.
“But,” he continued, “I was struck by the photos on the walls of the office. You know the ones I mean?”
She made no response whatsoever. It was as if he had not posed the question.
“I think,” Tully said, “that the bishop is in every picture. Which is not surprising in itself. But just about everybody else in these pictures—at least all I managed to see—they were all prominent people, well known in this area.” He paused.
“So?”
“So, I was wondering just who the bishop had come to Detroit to save or serve—whichever way you want to say it.”
She said nothing.
“There weren’t any ‘ordinary’ people in any of those photos. Just the rich and famous.”
“Do not the rich and famous have souls?”
“I’m not in position to be an expert on souls and salvation. I’m just a cop with a problem. The problem is that a prominent citizen of the city of Detroit was murdered yesterday and it’s my job to find out who did it. Bishop Diego seems to have been a focal point for two local groups. One is the Latino community who expected him to spend pretty much his every effort on their behalf. The other group was the Catholic movers and shakers who had his interest just about all the time.
“Now, it’s pretty likely that somebody in one of these groups, for whatever reason, wanted him dead. One group, his own people, if you will, feel betrayed and accuse him of being ambitious. The other group has his complete attention. But maybe one or more of this group doesn’t appreciate his involvement with them … your husband, for instance.”
“You are intimating that my husband could have killed Ramon?”
“Could he?”
She reflected on this for a few moments. “He could not believe in his wildest imagination the type of relationship that Ramon and I had. Michael sees only one use for women. Most of his closest friends are similarly limited. If anyone were to tell them that Ramon and I communicated on a purely spiritual level, they would laugh themselves sick. But that’s what really happened. It was on the specific urging of Ramon that I stayed with Michael.”
“Your husband claims that your relation with Bishop Diego caused you to stop speaking to him … caused you even to sleep in a separate room.”
Maria snorted delicately. “What came first, the chicken or the egg?”
“But, would you agree with your husband that your relationship was on shaky ground—or thin ice—at about the time that Bishop Diego got here, and that it subsequently deteriorated?”
She thought for a moment. “I’d have to admit that, wouldn’t I? I’ve already let pass that we are no longer talking, and that we’re sleeping in separate beds.”
“Your husband hasn’t asked for a divorce?”
“I think he thinks he can win me back.”
“Can he?”
“No.”
“But he won’t take no for an answer?”
“Apparently not.”
“Going back to my original question: Could your husband have killed Bishop Diego?”
She turned her head to the window. With her eyes shaded by the glasses, it was impossible to tell what possible message might be communicated through her gaze. “If he were …” She hesitated. “If he were … I think something would have had to have happened. Something like drink. Michael would have had to be drunk—not comatose drunk, but very high. Or using drugs. And I don’t think he’s ever been on drugs. Not more than a marijuana cigarette on occasion.” She turned back to Tully. “So, yes, under certain circumstances, I guess he could have.”
“Do you think he did?”
“I don’t know. I sincerely hope he did not.”
“You care about your husband, then?”
“It would ruin his life. And it would not do wonderful things for my life either.”
CHAPTER
NINE
“What do you think, Manj?”
Without taking his eyes from the road, Mangiapane shook his head. “I dunno, Zoo. I’d hate to live with that broad and have to keep my hands off her.”
“There’s that.”
“Drive a guy nuts.”
“Nuts enough to commit murder?” Tully was asking himself as well as Mangiapane.
“I think so.”
“Notice she said she thought he’d have to get loaded to off somebody.”
“Yeah.” Mangiapane started to smile. “And he said he went from Carson’s house to a bar.”
“Wasn’t that helpful of him to tell us that? Now, if anybody in that