The Amateur

Gunderson looked at me, and a tear escaped down his cheek.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just got off the plane. They called me last night, in L.A., I've been up all night."

We talked, there, next to the dead body. I described the bullets, the gun, the two churches, and the lack of gunshot noise. I asked about his wife. Was she killed at church? No, in her living room, shot through the window. Was she connected in any way with Martha or Ralph Petersen? Not that he knew of. How about Pilgrim Psychiatric? Was that an alcohol treatment center? She worked at Outreach House II, they handle alcohol patients too.

We tried to think of any other possible connections.

One man, two women. Two outside churches, one not. One alcoholic, one volunteer at an alcohol treatment center, one worker at another center.

We exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet. He looked about to fall over when someone opened the door and called his name.

"Later" he said to me, "when I can think".