turned away and pulled Margo aside. “Do you have all you need from the ladies?”
“I think so, Chief. They were a bit early, and chatted for a few minutes out on the steps. Mr. Quantz came around the back of the church from the direction of the manse and greeted them. The front doors here were locked, which was unusual before a Sunday service. They went around and came in a back door. They saw the body as soon as they stepped into the nave. One of them unlocked the front doors to let us in.”
The women were reluctant to leave Quantz, but he assured them that the new widower would be well looked after. They refused a ride in a cruiser, one of them asserting she was still fit to drive her own car home, thank you, young man. She reminded Neil of his Grandma Ida.
When the doors finally closed on the women, Neil turned to Quantz. The man seemed unaware or not to care that his supporters had deserted him. A steady keening sounded through the fingers spread across his face. His body shuddered.
Neil stood in front of him. “Mr. Quantz. I’m Chief Neil Redfern. Are you able to answer a few questions for me?”
Quantz turned his body away, toward the wall. “My Sophie. My Sophie.” He rocked back and forth.
“When did you see your wife last, Mr. Quantz?”
The only answer was a series of sobs that increased in intensity until the tiny vestibule echoed with his grief. He pushed Margo away when she put her hand on his shoulder in an effort to calm him.
Ed Reiner ducked under the tape and dropped his bag. Neil stood up and watched Thea and Oliver trot down the centre aisle and set to work.
“I’ve called the EMTs, Chief.” Margo stepped away from Quantz. “They’re standing by.”
Ed peeled off his gloves and coveralls. He pulled Neil away from Quantz and kept his voice low. “Another one for autopsy. She has a bullet hole above the left eyebrow. No exit wound so the bullet is still in the skull. I’ll take a quick look at the hospital before sending her to London, but I can’t get the bullet for you. Liver temp suggests death occurred twelve to fifteen hours ago.”
Quantz moaned softly. He tried to get to his feet but fell back onto the bench and slammed the side of his head against the wall.
“So, last night between 9:00 p.m. and midnight?”
“Roughly. I’ll try to confirm that before sending her away.” He turned his attention to Quantz. “Husband?”
Neil nodded and watched as Ed rummaged in his bag and pulled out a hypodermic needle and a vial of liquid. He expertly administered the shot before Quantz knew what was happening.
“What is that? I need to be able to talk to him.”
“It’s a benzodiazepine, and you have five to twenty minutes before it takes effect. It won’t put him to sleep, just relax him. I don’t know if he’ll be able to answer any questions.”
Neil instructed Bernie and Margo to restrain Kelly Quantz until he calmed down. The man continued to wail and thrash against the hands holding him. He was incapable of communicating where he lived or when he had last seen his wife.
Fifteen minutes later, Bernie and Margo were sweating and swearing under their breath as they continued to wrestle with Quantz to prevent him from banging his head against the wall. Ed speculated about giving him another dose, but if it came to that, it would be tomorrow before the man was fit to undergo questioning.
Finally, the fight went out of Quantz. His body went limp and his eyelids fluttered, then half closed.
“Mr. Quantz.” Neil spoke loudly. “Can you tell me when you saw your wife last?”
The flaccid lips parted. “Last night?”
“When did you miss her?”
“Didn’t. I’m an artist. Sometimes work all night.”
“So, you worked all last night?”
“Yes. Came to church for the service. Found this.” His eyes closed again, and this time they didn’t reopen, although his eyeballs jumped frantically behind the lids.
Ed leaned over and took the man’s pulse. “You should wait until the sedative wears off, Neil. I don’t think you’ll get much sense out of him now.”
Neil told his officers to take Kelly Quantz home and stay with him. If this was an act, it was a good one, but he wouldn’t rule out a domestic killing at this point.
He turned back to the coroner. “Ed, is there anything else you can tell me about the wound?”
“No powder or stippling marks around the entrance, so it’s a distance wound, from at least three feet away. A small-calibre bullet, a .22 or .32. That’s a guess, though. I haven’t seen a lot of bullet wounds.”
Ed’s phone beeped, and when he checked the display, he said, “Here we go. Baby on the way. I’ll be in touch, Neil.”
Alone in the vestibule, Neil contacted Lavinia. “Send a couple more units to St. Paul’s Church on Balmoral Crescent. I need both sides of the street canvassed. I’ll meet them here. Thanks, Lavinia.”
He paced the steps outside until the units showed up. “Hit each house, and if there’s no response, make a note so you can go back. We need to know if anyone heard or saw anything near the church from six o’clock last night to six this morning.”
He left them to it and returned to the vestibule. At first, he couldn’t see either Oliver or Thea. Then, Oliver’s head bobbed up from between two pews close to the victim’s head. When he saw Neil, he pointed up. Thea was working in the choir loft.
The church grew darker by the minute. Neil looked at his watch and saw it was already four-thirty. He stuck his head into the nave and located a row of light switches. He flipped them all and watched overhead chandeliers and wall sconces light up, bathing the nave in a soft glow that was helpful for now, but would be inadequate in another half-hour.
He paced again, bone-chilled and hungry, hating that he was stuck on this side of the perimeter. If only he could charge into the crime scene like the detectives did on cop shows.
Thea appeared behind the tape. “There’s no sign of disturbance up there, Chief. The lectern is upright in the middle of the loft, and stacks of hymn books are piled neatly on one of the benches. I took plenty of shots of everything.” She stripped off her overalls and other gear. Her dark ponytail swung free and she shivered. “It’s freaking frigid in here.”
“Did you find anything at all, Thea?”
She handed over an evidence bag. A small metal cylinder lay inside. Her eyes shone. “A shell casing. I found it under a bench.”
Neil held the bag up against the light. “It’s too small for a .40 calibre. A casing from a .22 is thinner, so I’m thinking this could be a .32.” Seemed like Ed was right.
“Good job, Thea. What about fingerprints?”
“Hundreds, as you’d expect. But I found a set of handprints, with corresponding fingerprints, on the railing. Like someone had their back to the railing and gripped it. Interesting
