Page 86 of Precise Justice

The light went on in Bivens head then she said, “Oh, my God. So that’s where you’re going with this. Robbie as a suspect.

“I’m not sure I want to answer that,” Bivens said.

“Barbara, I hope you don’t mind me calling you that,” Lucy said. “Barbara, we’re past that. You’ve admitted Robbie was never a client. She’s an adult now. Tell us what you know.”

“We don’t want to but we will if we have to. We’ll get a subpoena and force you to answer our questions under threat of perjury,” Melissa said not knowing if that was true or not.

After another twenty seconds or so of silence, Bivens answered. “Yes, I did not approve. Priscilla knew this. I’ve never spoken to Robbie about this. But, yes, I got the impression that the trans procedure was Priscilla’s idea. She wanted a daughter. She said this more than once.

“As far as what Robbie did or did not want, again I never spoke to her about it.”

“What about the husband, Blake, Robbie’s father?”

“Priscilla hardly ever spoke of him. When she did, it was almost contemptuous. I, we, got the impression she treated him like dirt. Then, as Priscilla told it, he became a man and took care of everything the night Robbie tried to commit suicide.”

Both detectives almost came out of their chairs with this revelation.

“The night Robbie did what?” Lucy asked.

“You didn’t know? Get her medical records from Fairview Southdale. Robbie tried to kill herself with pills. Blake saved her life.”

Bivens then told them about the volleyball game and the injured girl. When she finished, her phone buzzed. Her efficient assistant was calling at a preconceived time to give Bivens the excuse to stop it.

Back in the car and alone, Lucy said, “Robbie tried to commit suicide. And Bivens believes the trans thing was all on Priscilla.”

“We’ve got both Blake and Robbie with motive. Now what?” Melissa asked.

“Bust their alibis,” Lucy answered.

While Lucy said this, Melissa was checking her phone. There were four messages, all from the MPD with the same message. A Lutheran minister, Gary Gimble, has information about the murder of Priscilla Powell. Call him, right away.

THIRTY-FOUR

“Reverend Gimble?” Lucy asked of the dignified looking man who answered the door.

“Yes, that’s me,” he replied. “Please, come in. It’s cold out there today.”

Lucy and Melissa entered the modest rectory being used as the minister’s home. They showed him their credentials. While following the minister into the living room, Melissa looked around. There were a dozen photos of Gimble with a woman and three children.

“Is Mrs. Gimble here?” Melissa asked.

“I’m afraid my wife passed away three years ago, cancer,” he answered.

“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss,” Melissa sincerely said. It was then she noticed the Reverend Gimble was dressed in jeans, a white T shirt, a pullover burgundy V-neck sweater, socks and slippers. Gimble, noticed the curious look on Melissa’s face, smiled and said, “Yes, we don’t always wear the collar.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” Melissa replied.

“Please, have a seat,” he said.

They did so, then Lucy got right to the point. “The message we received was something about the Priscilla Powell murder. You may have something?”

“Well, yes, maybe,” Gimble replied. “I’ve been mulling this over since her funeral. I was the one who presided over the service.”

“Okay,” Lucy said.

“I’ve decided to let you decide if it means anything or not. After the service at the gravesite, my goodness, where are my manners.

“Would you like some coffee? It’s cold out there,” Gimble said.