“A doctor,” Patrick managed to stammer. “Is there a doctor?”

“Milly is calling for one now,” someone said. “The police too. They’ll be here soon.”

Patrick nodded, his head still throbbing. He’d been in dozens of ugly boxing matches but never feared for his life before, and it wasn’t over yet. Warm blood pulsed from Liam’s abdomen, soaking through the handkerchief.

“Move aside,” a man said. He stuffed one of Janet’s hand-crocheted pillows against Liam’s gut, pressing it tight and causing another anguished yell.

Patrick stood and stepped away as a wave of exhaustion overcame him. The man who’d brought the sledgehammer was trying to twist away from a pair of brawny neighbors who held him pinned down, but the third man, whom Patrick had knocked out, lay motionless on the floor.

“Better watch that one,” he warned one of the neighbors. “He’s strong and fast.”

“No need,” the neighbor said. “He’s stone dead.”

A horse-drawn ambulance arrived to take Liam to the nearest hospital, and Janet went with them. She’d been sobbing like a banshee but stopped when the hospital orderly said she couldn’t ride in the ambulance unless she controlled herself.

Patrick stayed at the scene, wondering who had a motive to kill Liam Malone. If Liam was the missing heir, it would thrill some of the Blackstones, but others might have a tremendous financial interest in keeping him away.

The house swarmed with neighbors and police officers. The invader who’d wielded the sledgehammer was arrested on the spot, but the dead man still lay on the floor where he’d fallen almost an hour ago. Patrick knew exactly what had happened. A direct blow could break a nose, sending a sliver of bone up into the brain and killing a man.

Patrick cradled his right hand against his sternum as he paced. A couple of his fingers felt broken, but he wasn’t dead like the man on the floor. A photographer from the police department finally arrived to take pictures of the dead man and the rest of the crime scene. The police said Patrick couldn’t leave yet, which meant he had to remain in the same room as the dead man until someone from the morgue arrived to take the body away.

He wished he had a rosary. Saying the rote prayers would help focus his scattered thoughts, because he was too agitated to pray right now. He’d killed a man. He hadn’t meant to, and he’d do it again if necessary, but he was sick over it. That man had a mother. Maybe he had a wife and even children. With a single punch, Patrick had changed their world forever.