“Yes, but I’m not a hundred percent on that,” Virgil said. “We found out that Glen Andorra was having a sexual relationship with somebody, but we don’t know who. Sex can be a powerful motivator for homicide. If his death was murder and not a suicide, it might not have anything to do with these church shootings. Even if it doesn’t, though, I believe the gun used in the church shootings came from Andorra. And since we’re talking about murder, whoever killed Andorra is probably the church shooter. It’s just not a hundred percent.”

“He was shot up close, and in cold blood, before anyone was shot here,” Holland said. “I don’t see how a lover would have done both things unless killing Andorra unhinged her.”

“Ah, it’s not his girlfriend, it’s a madman,” Brice said, as he finished the ice-cream cone. He stepped over to a trash can and dumped the cone’s paper wrapper.

“I believe you’re right,” Holland said. “But is that all he is?”

—

I need to talk to you about what you saw when Harvey Coates was shot,” Virgil said to Brice.

“C’mon in the back room,” Holland said.

Virgil and Brice followed him through the store, where a dozen people were lined up at the cash register. “Still going gangbusters,” Brice said.

“I’d cross myself, but you might think I was joking,” Holland said. “I wouldn’t be.”

As they went through the store, several of the customers reached out to the priest:

“Hola, padre.”

“God bless you, Father.”

“God bless . . .”

They settled into the three chairs in the back room, and Virgil asked Brice, “So, what did you see?”

“I was standing on the church steps looking right at him, at Coates. I saw him jerk like somebody had slapped his back, and then he . . . croaked . . . and looked around . . . and fell over. I thought maybe he’d had a stroke or a heart attack, but then people started screaming, but nobody else fell. I ran across the street, and a couple of other men were trying to get him, and themselves, behind an old concrete planter over there in case there was another shot. There wasn’t. One of the other men was from here in Wheatfield, and he had the sheriff’s department on speed dial and he called them and got an ambulance going. Then we just sat there and held some towels against the wounds to keep him from bleeding out. His wife was with him; she’s a nurse, she knew what to do but was pretty panicky and crying . . .”

“Didn’t hear a shot, or anything?”

“Nothing like that,” Brice said, shaking his head.

“Did you notice exactly how he was standing? Whether he was turned one way or the other?”

“No, I didn’t notice. Wardell was curious about that, too, but I didn’t notice.”