Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower: Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower

She frowned at him. “You mean…it was just a theoretical wife?”

He nodded.

So he wasn’t married. That piece of information made her flush with a strange and unexpected gladness. What on earth was the matter with her?

She looked away, afraid that he might see the confusion in her eyes. “You, uh, said you needed to talk to me.”

“It’s about the case.”

“It must be pretty important if you went to all the trouble of tracking me down.”

“I’m afraid we have a new development. Not a pleasant one.”

She went very still. “Something’s happened?”

“Tell me what you know about the church janitor.”

She shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t know him at all. I don’t even know his name.”

“His name was Jimmy Brogan. We spent all yesterday evening trying to track Brogan down. We know he unlocked the church door yesterday. That he was in and out of the building all morning. But no one seems to know where he went after the explosion. We know he didn’t turn up at the neighborhood bar where he usually goes every afternoon.”

“You said was. That his name was Jimmy Brogan. Does that mean…”

Sam nodded. “We found his body this morning. He was in his car, parked in a field in Scarborough. He died from a gunshot wound to the head. The gun was in the car with him. It had his fingerprints on it.”

“A suicide?” she asked softly.

“That’s the way it looks.”

She was silent, too shocked to say a thing.

“We’re still waiting for the crime lab report. There are a number of details that bother me. It feels too neat, too packaged. It ties up every single loose end we’ve got.”

“Including the bombing?”

“Including the bombing. There were several items in the car trunk that would seem to link Brogan to the bomb. Detonating cord. Green electrical tape. It’s all pretty convincing evidence.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“The problem is, Brogan had no explosives experience that we know of. Also, we can’t come up with a motive for any bombing. Or for the attack on you. Can you help us out?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about the man.”

“Are you familiar with the name Brogan?”

“No.”

“He was familiar with you. There was a slip of paper with your address in his car.”

She stared at him. His gaze was impenetrable. It frightened her, how little she could read in his eyes. How deeply the man was buried inside the cop. “Why would he have my address?” she asked.

“You must have some link to him.”

“I don’t know anyone named Brogan.”

“Why would he try to kill you? Run you off the road?”

“How do you know he did it?”

“Because of his car. The one we found his body in.”

She swallowed hard. “It was black?”

He nodded. “A black Ford.”

Chapter Five

SAM DROVE HER TO THE MORGUE. Neither one of them said much. He was being guarded about what information he told her, and she was too chilled to ask for the details. All the way there, she kept thinking, Who was Jimmy Brogan and why did he want to kill me?

In the morgue, Sam maintained a firm grip on her arm as they walked the corridor to the cold room. He was right beside her when the attendant led them to the bank of body drawers. As the drawer was pulled out she involuntarily flinched. Sam’s arm came around her waist, a steady support against the terrible sight she was about to face.

“It ain’t pretty,” said the attendant. “Are you ready?”

Nina nodded.

He pulled aside the shroud and stepped back.

As an ER nurse, Nina had seen more than her share of grisly sights. This was by far the worst. She took one look at the man’s face—what was left of it—and quickly turned away. “I don’t know him,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked.

She nodded and suddenly felt herself swaying. At once he was supporting her, his arm guiding her away from the drawers. Away from the cold room.

In the coroner’s office she sat nursing a cup of hot tea while Sam talked on the phone to his partner. Only vaguely did she register his conversation. His tone was as matter-of-fact as always, betraying no hint of the horror he’d just witnessed.

“…doesn’t recognize him. Or the name either. Are you sure we don’t have an alias?” Sam was saying.

Nina cupped the tea in both hands but didn’t sip. Her stomach was still too queasy. On the desk beside her was the file for Jimmy Brogan, open to the ID information sheet. Most of what she saw there didn’t stir any memories. Not his address nor the name of his wife. Only the name of the employer was familiar: the Good Shepherd Church. She wondered if Father Sullivan had been told, wondered how he was faring in the hospital. It would be a double shock to the elderly man. First, the bombing of his church, and then the death of the janitor. She should visit him today and make sure he was doing all right…

“Thanks, Gillis. I’ll be back at three. Yeah, set it up, will you?” Sam hung up and turned to her. Seeing her face, he frowned in concern. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” She shuddered and clutched the mug more tightly.

“You don’t look fine. I think you need some recovery time. Come on.” He offered his hand. “It’s lunchtime. There’s a café up the street.”

“You can think about lunch?”

“I make it a point never to skip a chance at a meal. Or would you rather I take you home?”