Thursday 7:02 A.M.
Paul was helping Jeff make Eggs Florentine the next morning. He said, “Ben told me things didn’t go well with Ardis.”
Jeff sliced an English muffin in half, placed both ends in the toaster slots, and shoved down the handle.
“She’s not very good at chess,” was the boy’s only comment.
That evening was the prom. There was no school and all Brian’s finals were over. The teen ran chores to pick up his tux and the corsage. He spent an inordinate amount of time texting. Paul didn’t ask about what. He hadn’t asked that question since the boy was in sixth grade. Paul managed to catch an hour’s nap while the boy was out.
Molton called with the news around three that he’d made no progress getting through the Church walls. In the vernacular, they’d all lawyered up. Molton also reported, “A number of people have spent hours with that spreadsheet you’ve made. Especially the Cook County State’s Attorney.”
Turner took a guess. “He doesn’t like Vern Drake.”
“It seems that in the last election our Vern endorsed the current State’s Attorney’s opponent and was the biggest donor to that opponent’s campaign. The current State’s Attorney is not Vern Drake’s best friend. He’s had a team in here. The FBI’s had a team in here. Hell, we even have a new copier.”
“How’d that happen?”
“Everybody wants copies of everything, hard copies and electronic copies. They tried using our machine. Ha! Within half an hour they wheeled in a brand new one. I’m told we get to keep it.”
“Maybe there are miracles. Are they going to arrest all these people?”
“Layers of lawyers on both sides. Remember, our guys are just getting all this information. Any number of people may be indicted in any number of jurisdictions. It’s a mess, and the Church’s lawyers have been in making demands.”
Turner sighed. “But still no killer.”