Thirty-Eight
“OK, WHAT DO WE HAVE on him?” Dan asks.
We’re gathered in Helen’s office the next day. Nate took Gladys home and, given her fragile, emotional state, stayed in her apartment during the night—on the couch, after he called to ask me if it would be all right. She’s there, still looking desolate, but determined. Nate is seated next to her, holding her hand. Dan and Helen spent the previous day going over all the evidence they had, while I stayed at the Rectory alternating between working on parish business and praying Rosaries for everyone involved—Gladys, Richard, and Chad.
“That’s the problem,” Helen says, looking exhausted. “We’ve been over everything, checked everything. We’re all sure that he did it, but there’s nothing solid to tie him to either the accident that killed G
