Cry From The Grave
Chapter 15
Stunned by the news of Dean Hibbler's death, the Reverend Nicholas Fisher was most accommodating to Ballack and Tori when they requested he stay at Emmanuel Episcopal Church after his sermon preparation was finished. Given the short transit from Zakhary's office to the church, Ballack had no desire to burn minutes by getting tethered into the Sprinter, so he told Tori he'd boldly rocket across Big Bend Boulevard in his powerchair and meet her by the sanctuary.
While Tori parked the van, Ballack's phone jangled with Hull reporting the news about the discovered knife and the location, along with the additional details provided by Charlie Brugner. Ballack thanked him for the update and asked him to text a follow-up on what Grimshaw might find out regarding the blood.
"That's a relief," said Tori when Ballack relayed the information as they moved into the church. "Establishing guilt without a weapon would have been sticky. Any idea when Sheilah will figure out the DNA match?"
"No clue. Plus, there's no guarantee it means Carter is at the center of the storm," said Ballack. "Looks like preacher man is waiting for us there by the altar."
The rector beckoned them to follow him into the vestry, where an oak table sat in the center. Fisher took his seat at the head of the table. Ballack swept to the side and took some time suctioning his trach. Tori sat opposite Ballack and crossed her legs while keeping a steady eye on the rector, who waited until Ballack was finished with his respiratory necessity.
"Thank you both for coming," Fisher began, "and I'm glad Father Giles was astute enough to request the Special Investigative Division. This is a devastating loss for the hospice, and Dean was..." He paused, wiping his eyes and trying to get his breathing under control. "God help us, I can't believe this is happening. Please go ahead. I'm obviously taking this badly."
"That's no shame," said Ballack. "We are here for information only. Two things came to our attention earlier when we were over at St. Matthew's. One is that Father Giles claimed to be with you here at the church from nine-fifteen until a few minutes prior to ten. Evidently--though he didn't outline what it was--he needed to speak with you about something. We understand that he headed over to the hospice immediately after that. Is that your recollection?"
"It is," began Fisher. "I actually got here myself around seven-fifteen, which is about a quarter-hour before our organist got here to prepare for services tomorrow. His name is Philip Dunne. I can give you his contact information if you need it. I usually finish my sermon preparation here on Saturday mornings and then around nine-thirty I'll go to a coffeehouse west of here for a cup of joe. Obviously, Rory put a monkey wrench in that itinerary with his visit this morning, but his needs outweighed my own."
"And you went to the coffeehouse immediately after he left?" Tori asked.
"No, I needed to finish my sermon, so I turned my phone off and unplugged the office line for an hour. Because my talk with Rory bugged me so much, I couldn't get very far on my work, but I felt it was good enough to head out for my coffee. The weather looked nice enough this morning--obviously not so much now--so I rode my bicycle to Adobe, leaving around eleven. Rory had a wretched time getting hold of me, since my phone was off and it was almost noon before I turned it on and saw he'd left four messages."
"And where were you when you received the news?"
"When I got back here," said Fisher. "Rory told me to stay put as it was likely you'd want to speak with me. Plus, there was nothing I could do at the time."
"Not even to comfort those who were upset?"
"That's why we have a chaplain there. They are Rory's flock, not mine."
"In the spirit of speaking with you," Ballack said, "as you said that's what we'd do, let's go with this: You're the diocesan liaison to St. Matthew's Grove. Give me that job description."
"Just to report to St. Matthew's what the diocese thinks about them and bring the Grove's needs to my superiors. It's been a recent post, within the last three years. The Diocese of Missouri has partially funded the hospice, but we have decreased the stipend each of the last five years. The bishop saw fit to have me serve in that capacity, given that I am personally close to Father Giles and geographically close to St. Matthew's. Over time--to make a long story short--we began exploring the possibility of allowing the hospice to come under the umbrella of another organization."
"Hence, your love fest two days ago with Father Giles, Mrs. Andrews, and Dr. Hibbler."
"You obviously have learned much," said Fisher. "Yes, and while I wish that conversation could have turned out differently, I knew from the start that it would be ugly on several levels. Rory would not like the idea of losing his chaplaincy position, and Isabel could arguably run the hospice--and the transitional period before takeover--better than Dean would, although bylaws require an M.D. to serve as executive director. We had several complaints about interpersonal conflict from patients and relatives. To be honest, I felt like this was a way to wash my hands of this fiasco. St. Matthew's Grove cannot survive in the present hospice universe. It is too small, offers little in the way of required service, and the personnel is stretched to the max. All we have to offer is location and lower rates. I think everyone sees that but many are hanging on to nostalgia and hoping we can continue as is. The present tragedy certainly means the doors will close for good."
"We know Hibbler was seeking out other corporations to take over St. Matthew's," said Tori. "This opposition to him...was that because of Hibbler himself or was it a distrust of the outside companies?"
Fisher gazed out the window overlooking the cloistered rear garden. "To be honest--and this is not casting aspersions on them--they disliked Dean's role the most. He tended to get a lot of perks and attention based on his past reputation as a brilliant psychiatrist."
"And where was that?" Ballack asked.
"The Delmar Psychiatric Clinic in University City," Fisher responded. "In fact..." And then he stopped, as if calculating his next move would be a dangerous one. "In fact, that was what Rory Giles came by to discuss this morning. He brought to my attention a newspaper clipping from years ago when Dr. Hibbler was forced from the clinic over increasing complaints and a threatened lawsuit. Rory didn't tell me what to do, but in my view, he was asking how in our right mind we could let Dean advance these negotiations when he had failed so miserably in the past."
"So the he-did-fail, he-could-fail, he-will-fail-again argument, eh?"
"Yes, I am aware of the fallacy of modality, Detective," said the rector with a trace of irritation.
"As am I," Ballack replied. "Or Father Giles might have just been asking how Hibbler snared the position at St. Matthew's Grove to begin with."
Fisher nodded, but no words were forthcoming. He looked at Ballack.
"Reverend Fisher," Ballack said directly. "The newspaper clipping, please."
"You can't be serious."
"You'd be wrong."
"Reverend," said Tori gently. "Do you think this will implicate Father Giles in some way?"
Fisher rolled his eyes, placed his hands on his knees, and then slowly rose from his chair and traversed the room, leaving the door open behind him as he left the vestry. In a few minutes, he returned with a Post-Dispatch article from July 2000.
"Keep it," he said. "I have no more need of it. I'll just be blunt and tell you up front there is no way Rory could have done anything."
"We'll judge that for ourselves," Ballack answered, "but thank you for complying anyway."
They were pulling out of the church lot when Hull texted Ballack in his usual all-capital-letters manner.
"GRIM TOOK KNIFE. REZ IN 24 HRS @ EARLIEST. CHKED HIB HOUSE. IN ORDER. NO B&E OR EVID OF THEFT. AT HANSPARD APT NOW. GOING NOWHERE. TOUCH BASE OVER DINNER?"
Ballack called Hull, all the while mulling that he should have the detective's number on speed dial.
"They couldn't do the DNA chip test for four-hour results?" Ballack complained as soon as Hull answered.
"I requested it, but Sheilah said it would likely be a no-go," replied Hull. "Hang on, and I'll step outside...There. Missy's still jawing with Hanspard. The blood on the knife has to be Hibbler's, and we were there while the team dusted for prints."
"Which showed?"
"Nothing. Literally nothing on the handle."
"All the more reason to believe the knife is the murder weapon, as if there was any doubt given the blood on the blade. Seems like whoever used it wiped the prints from the handle or wore gloves."
"Plenty of gloves around that facility," Hull noted.
"So why is the chat with Hanspard going nowhere?"
"He was with his girlfriend all morning. They went to St. Genevieve and did a wine tour. He said she had the receipts from all their purchases, but he went to his Facebook page where he posted pictures and all the timestamps checked out."
"That's just from when they posted the pictures, not necessarily when they were there. But if she has receipts, she has them. Just confirm."
"Will do. He did say she's pretty finicky about finances and tends to do this."
"Did he squeal about closed-door politics at St. Matthew's? Any wisdom on whether Hibbler was in anybody's cross-hairs?"
"None," said Hull. "He was either hiding something or else exhibiting what Missy calls typical male cluelessness about water-cooler gossip."
"Okay, we can discuss the rest in a bit. Where are you in relation to St. Matthew's? We're coming from across the street after talking to Fisher."
"Just off Brentwood. We can swoop down and meet you in Webster. Were you thinking about an early dinner?"
"I think everyone is. None of us had lunch. But I'm not the expert on where to go in the area."
"How about the Roadhouse?" Tori quickly interpolated. "Old Orchard Avenue south of this end of Lockwood, just west of I-44."
"Did you hear that?" Ballack asked Hull.
"Got it. perfect," replied Hull. "When we finish up here, we'll see you there. Go ahead and grab a table for four." He hung up.
Ballack settled back in his wheelchair as Tori turned right on Lockwood when he remembered something. "Tor, I'm sorry. Can you double back to Webster? I think I saw a mailbox down by the East Academic Building. I forgot this. I need to put this in the mail today."
"What about the post office?" implored Tori.
"One thing I know about Webster Grove is there is no P.O. Closest one is in Shrewsbury near Kenrick-Glennon. Just quickly. For me."
Two minutes later, they were back on campus. Tori reached across to take the envelope from Ballack. He drew back.
"Just unlock me and let me do this myself," he said. "We've got time before Missy and Zane get to dinner."
But Tori had seen the recipient's address
"You're pathetic," she muttered, shaking her head. "I'll take care of this, but you should know better."
Ballack watched her head toward the mailbox, defiantly grinding his teeth to detract from the lump in his throat.
"And you went to the coffeehouse immediately after he left?" Tori asked.
"No, I needed to finish my sermon, so I turned my phone off and unplugged the office line for an hour. Because my talk with Rory bugged me so much, I couldn't get very far on my work, but I felt it was good enough to head out for my coffee. The weather looked nice enough this morning--obviously not so much now--so I rode my bicycle to Adobe, leaving around eleven. Rory had a wretched time getting hold of me, since my phone was off and it was almost noon before I turned it on and saw he'd left four messages."
"And where were you when you received the news?"
"When I got back here," said Fisher. "Rory told me to stay put as it was likely you'd want to speak with me. Plus, there was nothing I could do at the time."
"Not even to comfort those who were upset?"
"That's why we have a chaplain there. They are Rory's flock, not mine."
"In the spirit of speaking with you," Ballack said, "as you said that's what we'd do, let's go with this: You're the diocesan liaison to St. Matthew's Grove. Give me that job description."
"Just to report to St. Matthew's what the diocese thinks about them and bring the Grove's needs to my superiors. It's been a recent post, within the last three years. The Diocese of Missouri has partially funded the hospice, but we have decreased the stipend each of the last five years. The bishop saw fit to have me serve in that capacity, given that I am personally close to Father Giles and geographically close to St. Matthew's. Over time--to make a long story short--we began exploring the possibility of allowing the hospice to come under the umbrella of another organization."
"Hence, your love fest two days ago with Father Giles, Mrs. Andrews, and Dr. Hibbler."
"You obviously have learned much," said Fisher. "Yes, and while I wish that conversation could have turned out differently, I knew from the start that it would be ugly on several levels. Rory would not like the idea of losing his chaplaincy position, and Isabel could arguably run the hospice--and the transitional period before takeover--better than Dean would, although bylaws require an M.D. to serve as executive director. We had several complaints about interpersonal conflict from patients and relatives. To be honest, I felt like this was a way to wash my hands of this fiasco. St. Matthew's Grove cannot survive in the present hospice universe. It is too small, offers little in the way of required service, and the personnel is stretched to the max. All we have to offer is location and lower rates. I think everyone sees that but many are hanging on to nostalgia and hoping we can continue as is. The present tragedy certainly means the doors will close for good."
"We know Hibbler was seeking out other corporations to take over St. Matthew's," said Tori. "This opposition to him...was that because of Hibbler himself or was it a distrust of the outside companies?"
Fisher gazed out the window overlooking the cloistered rear garden. "To be honest--and this is not casting aspersions on them--they disliked Dean's role the most. He tended to get a lot of perks and attention based on his past reputation as a brilliant psychiatrist."
"And where was that?" Ballack asked.
"The Delmar Psychiatric Clinic in University City," Fisher responded. "In fact..." And then he stopped, as if calculating his next move would be a dangerous one. "In fact, that was what Rory Giles came by to discuss this morning. He brought to my attention a newspaper clipping from years ago when Dr. Hibbler was forced from the clinic over increasing complaints and a threatened lawsuit. Rory didn't tell me what to do, but in my view, he was asking how in our right mind we could let Dean advance these negotiations when he had failed so miserably in the past."
"So the he-did-fail, he-could-fail, he-will-fail-again argument, eh?"
"Yes, I am aware of the fallacy of modality, Detective," said the rector with a trace of irritation.
"As am I," Ballack replied. "Or Father Giles might have just been asking how Hibbler snared the position at St. Matthew's Grove to begin with."
Fisher nodded, but no words were forthcoming. He looked at Ballack.
"Reverend Fisher," Ballack said directly. "The newspaper clipping, please."
"You can't be serious."
"You'd be wrong."
"Reverend," said Tori gently. "Do you think this will implicate Father Giles in some way?"
Fisher rolled his eyes, placed his hands on his knees, and then slowly rose from his chair and traversed the room, leaving the door open behind him as he left the vestry. In a few minutes, he returned with a Post-Dispatch article from July 2000.
"Keep it," he said. "I have no more need of it. I'll just be blunt and tell you up front there is no way Rory could have done anything."
"We'll judge that for ourselves," Ballack answered, "but thank you for complying anyway."
They were pulling out of the church lot when Hull texted Ballack in his usual all-capital-letters manner.
"GRIM TOOK KNIFE. REZ IN 24 HRS @ EARLIEST. CHKED HIB HOUSE. IN ORDER. NO B&E OR EVID OF THEFT. AT HANSPARD APT NOW. GOING NOWHERE. TOUCH BASE OVER DINNER?"
Ballack called Hull, all the while mulling that he should have the detective's number on speed dial.
"They couldn't do the DNA chip test for four-hour results?" Ballack complained as soon as Hull answered.
"I requested it, but Sheilah said it would likely be a no-go," replied Hull. "Hang on, and I'll step outside...There. Missy's still jawing with Hanspard. The blood on the knife has to be Hibbler's, and we were there while the team dusted for prints."
"Which showed?"
"Nothing. Literally nothing on the handle."
"All the more reason to believe the knife is the murder weapon, as if there was any doubt given the blood on the blade. Seems like whoever used it wiped the prints from the handle or wore gloves."
"Plenty of gloves around that facility," Hull noted.
"So why is the chat with Hanspard going nowhere?"
"He was with his girlfriend all morning. They went to St. Genevieve and did a wine tour. He said she had the receipts from all their purchases, but he went to his Facebook page where he posted pictures and all the timestamps checked out."
"That's just from when they posted the pictures, not necessarily when they were there. But if she has receipts, she has them. Just confirm."
"Will do. He did say she's pretty finicky about finances and tends to do this."
"Did he squeal about closed-door politics at St. Matthew's? Any wisdom on whether Hibbler was in anybody's cross-hairs?"
"None," said Hull. "He was either hiding something or else exhibiting what Missy calls typical male cluelessness about water-cooler gossip."
"Okay, we can discuss the rest in a bit. Where are you in relation to St. Matthew's? We're coming from across the street after talking to Fisher."
"Just off Brentwood. We can swoop down and meet you in Webster. Were you thinking about an early dinner?"
"I think everyone is. None of us had lunch. But I'm not the expert on where to go in the area."
"How about the Roadhouse?" Tori quickly interpolated. "Old Orchard Avenue south of this end of Lockwood, just west of I-44."
"Did you hear that?" Ballack asked Hull.
"Got it. perfect," replied Hull. "When we finish up here, we'll see you there. Go ahead and grab a table for four." He hung up.
Ballack settled back in his wheelchair as Tori turned right on Lockwood when he remembered something. "Tor, I'm sorry. Can you double back to Webster? I think I saw a mailbox down by the East Academic Building. I forgot this. I need to put this in the mail today."
"What about the post office?" implored Tori.
"One thing I know about Webster Grove is there is no P.O. Closest one is in Shrewsbury near Kenrick-Glennon. Just quickly. For me."
Two minutes later, they were back on campus. Tori reached across to take the envelope from Ballack. He drew back.
"Just unlock me and let me do this myself," he said. "We've got time before Missy and Zane get to dinner."
But Tori had seen the recipient's address
"You're pathetic," she muttered, shaking her head. "I'll take care of this, but you should know better."
Ballack watched her head toward the mailbox, defiantly grinding his teeth to detract from the lump in his throat.
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