Until Judgment Day by Christine McGuire

believe. Is it important?”
    â€œProbably not,” Granz assured her. “If it turns out to be, we’ll check Diocese personnel records.”
    Granz contemplated his next question. “The sooner we can eliminate dead ends, the faster we’ll catch the Reverend’s murderer. Where were you between five o’clock this afternoon and now?”
    â€œI’m a suspect?”
    â€œEveryone’s a suspect until they’re eliminated,” Mackay told her. “Of course, you don’t have to answer the question if you don’t want to.”
    â€œI was working at the parish office, putting together travel documents, itineraries, and attending to everything else for their trip to Afghanistan.”
    â€œCan anyone verify that?”
    â€œI was alone all day. Staff get Christmas Eve off to be with their families.”
    â€œI see,” Granz said. “Will you submit to a GSR test?”
    â€œA what?”
    â€œA gunshot residue test to establish that you haven’t fired a gun recently.”
    â€œDoes it hurt?”
    â€œNo, and it only takes a few minutes.”
    â€œI don’t see why you suspect me, but I’ll take the test.” She sniffed, as if clearing mucus from her nostrils would get rid of the indignity as well, then absently tugged at the tops of her support hose. “Is there anything else?”
    â€œJust a couple more questions,” Granz told her. “When you came into the gym, which door did you use?”
    â€œThe side door by the parking lot, as always. The Reverend and my cars are still in the parking lot.”
    â€œYes, ma’am, we parked by them. Was the door locked when you arrived?”
    â€œAbsolutely; the Reverend invariably locked the doors when he was here alone.”
    â€œHow did you get in?”
    â€œI have a key.”
    â€œMay I borrow it, please?”
    â€œMister Miller took it.”
    â€œWhat else does that key fit?”
    â€œNothing, just the side door. It was the Reverend’s private entrance.”
    â€œHow many other people have keys to that door?”
    â€œJust the Reverend and me.”
    â€œHow about the other doors?”
    â€œLots of people have keys.”
    â€œDo his players have keys?”
    â€œNo. Reverend Benedetti had tremendous patience with his boys, but he wasn’t a saint. Sometimes he wanted to escape—teenagers can be very demanding.”
    Granz stood, and Mackay did likewise.
    â€œThank you very much,” Granz said. “If you’ll wait here for a few minutes, I’ll ask Lieutenant Miller to administer the GSR test, then you may go home.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Mackay stopped at the door. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Shotwell.”
    â€œIt’s all our losses, Ms. Mackay.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    They found Miller inspecting the side door to the gym.
    â€œDid you determine how the shooter got in?” Granz asked.
    â€œDamn strange.” Miller scratched his scalp. “No forced entry. Every door and window was locked, including this one, where Benedetti and Shotwell apparently came in.”
    He pointed to the floor. “There’re some dried footprints that lead from this door to the bleachers, up and down the bleacher seats, around the body, then return. I’d say the shooter came and went through this door.”
    â€œThe prints good enough to ID?”
    â€œYamamoto says ‘no’ but he’s a fuckin’ pessimist. Thinks the 49ers won the Super Bowl five times outta sheer luck and ain’t ever gonna win it again. Never heard such bullshit.”
    â€œJazzbo—”
    â€œYamamoto photographed the prints anyway. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
    Granz thought for a moment. “Tell Yamamoto to remove the lock in the side door, send it to DOJ. If the perp picked it, the tumblers’ll show microscopic tool marks, no matter how good he is. Either