which she did not volunteer. She attended Mass every Sunday with you and your

brother in tow. And your father occasionally. She also came several times a week

to pray and perform her rosary. And she was a regular at the confessional.” At

this last comment Knox shifted uncomfortably in her seat. If Rooney noticed this

he didn’t comment. “So it would not have been unusual for her to show up at the

church on any given day, or any given time?” asked Puller. “No, it wouldn’t.

However, I wasn’t expecting her that night. If I had been I would have told the

police.” Puller nodded, slowly taking this in. He knew this probably was the

case, but he still had had to pursue this lead. “In your discussions with her

did she seem happy? Were there problems with my father?” Rooney held up a hand.

“Although I’m no longer an active priest I will carry the sanctity of my

conversations with my parishioners to the grave. So I’m afraid I can’t discuss

such matters.” “Even if we’re trying to find out what happened to her?” said

Knox. “I’m afraid so. Exceptions soon destroy the rule.” He looked over at

Puller. “But I can tell you some of my conclusions without revealing anything

that I discussed with her.” Puller sat up straighter. “Any information is more

than we have now.” Rooney took a drink of his lemonade and leaned back in his

chair. “Your mother, I believe, understood your father better than any person on

earth. She understood the almost ferocious ambition that he displayed over the

years.” “Based on what?” asked Puller.

 

Rooney settled his gaze on him. “Without getting into specifics, she often

referred to the Puller family history. A generation removed from your father’s,”

he added and then looked expectantly at Puller.