Chameleon (28 page)

“I’ve thought of that,” Boyle responded. “That is, of course, possible. But I hope not. And this is precisely where the input of yourself and the others on the staff is so important. We are faced with a massive challenge to give witness to the suffering Christ. Somehow we must make it crystal clear that Jesus identifies with the poor.”

“‘He had nowhere to lay his head,’” Foley paraphrased Scripture. “The first homeless Christian was Christ himself.”

“Exacdy.” Boyle’s spirits rose. “Our approach to our brethren in the city cannot be the threat of eviction or foreclosure. We must come to them with open arms and the simple question, ‘What do you need?’”

The intercom buzzed softly. Boyle’picked up the desk phone, listened for a few moments, then hung up and turned to Foley. “You have an appointment with Father Koesler? He’s waiting in your office.”

“Is it that time already?” Foley glanced at his watch, then struggled stiffly out of his chair. “Appreciate the time you gave me, Mark.” He clasped the Cardinal’s extended hand in both of his. “And appreciate being associated with you.”

“Not at all, old friend. It is our privilege to have the benefit of your experience and wisdom.”

Foley nodded, smiled gratefully, and shuffled out of the Cardinal’s office. As he slowly made his way through the vestibule, the two female secretaries smiled at him. For them it was an unaffected reaction. Some in the archdiocese thought Lawrence Foley an anachronism. Others had discovered the richness of his wisdom and spirituality. Almost everyone liked him to some degree or another.

He took the elevator to the fifth floor where he and the auxiliary bishops had their offices. As announced, Father Koesler was waiting.

“Excellency.” Koesler rose to his feet as the archbishop entered the office.

“Oh, you don’t need to go to all that trouble.…” Foley’s waving hand motioned Koesler to be seated. “I’m not the Pope, just an old man on the shelf.”

Koesler waited for Foley to be seated behind his desk before lowering himself into his chair. “I knew you weren’t the Pope,” he said. “But you’re certainly much more than a casualty on the shelf.”

Koesler had to admit the older man in some ways did resemble a drifter, albeit a clerical one. Foley’s black suit always had a rumpled look, trousers that couldn’t remember a crease, food stains here and there on the jacket. He wore a black shirt with a white tab insert at the collar to mark his clerical status. Only his bishops’ ring and the small segment of gold chain showing beneath his jacket identified his rank.

“Well, Father Koesler, good of you to come in on such short notice.”

“No problem, Excellency. I live downtown now … or at least on the fringe of downtown.”

Foley nodded. “We’ve never met, have we, in the little more man a year that I’ve been here?”

“Not formally, Excellency. We’ve attended many of the same functions, where you’d have no reason to recognize me. But I’d have every reason to identify you. Mostly because usually you were presiding.”

“And even if I weren’t presiding, there’s that funny hat I wear and that strange stick I carry.”

Koesler chuckled. He was most appreciative of Foley’s selfeffacing humor. He’d heard it often enough in homilies and talks the archbishop had given.

“I asked you to come in, Father,” Foley said, “because of something Cardinal Boyle said about you.”

“I’m making a quick examination of conscience. And for the life of me, I can’t think of anything I’ve done wrong—-that he would know about.”

Two could play at that self-deprecating game, thought Koesler.

“No, no, no.” Foley smiled and shook his head “Nothing you’ve done wrong. Something you’ve been doing above and beyond the call of your clerical duties.”

“Oh?”

“I have reference to your helping the police solve murders.”

“Hold on a minute, Bishop; I’m sure the Cardinal didn’t say that. You’re exaggerating?”

“A litde. But you have collaborated with the police on occasion … no?”

“Well, y … e … es, a little bit. But mostly my contacts with the police have been a matter of chance. Bad luck or good luck. Being at the wrong place at the right time. Or vice-versa.”

“Whatever the cause, you have had occasion to contribute to police investigations.” Foley gazed at the priest intently. “Specifically regarding homicide … no?”

“Well, yes. But I fear that you have the notion that I play policeman from time to time. And I assure you, I don’t. Unfortunately, there are hundreds of murders in Detroit annually. Once in a great while, there is a distinctly Catholic cast to one of these killings. A missing monsignor, say, or churches being desecrated by murder—Something like that. Sometimes I have simply happened to be at the scene when something like that occurred. Sometimes, since I have had contact with a few homicide detectives, sometimes I’m asked to provide an explanation of things Catholic that seem relevant to the investigation.”

“Relax, Father. I have no intention of accusing you of playing policeman. It’s just that Cardinal Boyle mentioned, just as you have, some of the circumstances that got you involved in these investigations. Which set me to wondering whether you had been called upon to assist in the matter of Larry Hoffer and Helen Donovan. It seemed to me that these cases qualified as the type you get involved in.”

Koesler was not inclined to discuss his involvement in these cases, any more than he had been interested in being asked by Lieutenant Tully to get involved. But he recognized the position Foley held in the Church and this archdiocese. Koesler respected Foley’s rank and, without knowing him well, nonetheless liked the man.

“Lieutenant Tully—he’s a Detroit homicide detective I’ve been associated with in the past—called on me a couple of days ago. The current police investigation is based on the hypothesis that the murders of Helen Donovan and Larry Hoffer are linked in that Ms. Donovan was mistaken for her sister Joan. And that this is the work of a serial killer who has some peculiar reason to target leaders of diocesan departments. Because, of course, that’s what Sister Joan is and Larry Hoffer was.

“The point is, Excellency, that this hypothesis was formulated by Lieutenant Tully. And he feels, understandably, at a loss in the archdiocesan structure—Church bureaucracy. That’s why he came to see me. He wanted me to interpret things. Well, I’d guess you would agree that’s easier said than done. The deeper you get into the administration of a large diocese like this, let alone the Curia in Rome, the more you’re apt to feel you’re in the middle of a maze. Unless it’s a part of your life, like me.”

“Or unless you’re part of the bureaucracy and the maze, like me.

Koesler smiled. “I suppose you would understand it better than most. Anyway, I tried to draw him a road map, as it were.”

“I’m sure you did. Tell me, did this lieutenant say anything to you about how the investigation was going?”

“No, Bishop. It was pretty much a one-way conversation. I did most of the talking and explaining.”

“There aren’t any suspects, then.” Foley made it a statement, not a question. And it was said with a trace of sadness.

“Well …”

“There are?” A touch of hope crept into Foley’s tone.

“I didn’t get this from Lieutenant Tully.” Mentally, Koesler evaluated the source of his information. Cletus Bash claimed that the identities of the two prime suspects were given him as a matter of police security and secrecy. But the secrecy was aimed at the media.

“Frankly, Bishop,” Koesler said, “my source is Father Cletus Bash. He got his information from press relations people with the city and the police. The information is, I believe, protected by neither a professional and certainly not a confessional seal. It would be a shame if it were leaked, primarily because of the damage it probably would do to a couple of men who have not even been charged with a crime.”

“I fully understand, Father, I’d be obliged if you would tell me what you know. It will go no further.”

Koesler shrugged. He was not at all happy with this dilemma that was not of his doing. If Tully had not sought his help, if Bash had kept his mouth shut, if Archbishop Foley had not asked for the information with such sincerity; if none of this had happened, Koesler could now be ringing doorbells in high rises, trying to augment his tiny flock.

“All right, First, I should make it clear that this information is second or third hand and that I have no idea, even if this information is correct, how seriously the police regard these men as suspects. But the two are Arnold Carson and Fred Stapleton.” Koesler allowed the names to sink in while Foley tried to put faces on those names.

“Arnold Carson …” Foley’s voice was barely audible, as if speaking to himself. “Arnold Carson …” a bit louder, “Isn’t he the right-winger?”

Koesler nodded.

“Leader of the Tridentines, isn’t he?” Foley pursued.

“Very good,” Koesler said.

“I remember him,” Foley said. “He’s forever in the media. Abortion—whether it’s pro-choice or pro-life, he’s there throwing his weight around, saying things calculated to get quoted. Yes, I can see him now I’ve got a clear picture.

“And the other one. What did you say his name is?”

“Stapleton, Fred Stapleton.” Koesler briefly considered offering some specifics but thought better of it. Let’s see if the archbishop can come up with it, he thought.

“Stapleton,” Foley repeated. “Let’s see, he’s in medicine, a doctor. Medical? No, a psychologist. That’s it, a psychologist.”

“And a former priest,” Koesler added.

“Of course. That’s why I remember him. He’s a priest … or was one, I guess. He too is heavy in the media. Never met him but I’ve seen his picture many a time. I know I would recognize him if I ever saw him. But why in God’s green world would he be a suspect?”

“He’s a very active member of CORPUS. Are you familiar with that organization?”

“Certainly. But why should that make him a suspect? CORPUS is a pretty … I want to say ‘tame,’ but better make that ‘gentlemanly’ bunch. They just want to function as priests again. Always seemed logical to me,” he added.

“I agree, Bishop. But as we’ve already noted, you’re not Pope.”

“Yes, I see what you’re driving at,” Foley said. “Just because we see no problem with bringing these qualified men back to practice doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. A right-wing minority, some highly placed Cardinals and bureaucrats and the Holy Father himself are very strongly opposed.”

“Exactly. And that contributes to a certain level of frustration on the part of those men who are knocking on the door. Almost everyone I’ve met in CORPUS is extremely self-controlled. They tend to see the rightness of their cause and they seem to make a super virtue of perseverance. They’re just going to keep knocking until the door finally is opened to them. And they’re confident it will be one day. I can’t say I’m that confident it’s going to happen,” he added.

“You may very well be right. The opposition to them is, I think, not a majority. But it is powerful. But, back to this Stapleton. Perseverance is not his long suit, I take it.”

“We were pretty close in the seminary, Excellency, but I haven’t seen him for quite some time. I knew him as a patient, thoughtful person. But others, who are more currently acquainted with him, say he’s changed. That his frustration is on the verge of—or already is—running over. Some even say they can picture him becoming extremist. I can’t see that myself. But, again, it’s been awhile.”

“I see.” Foley seemed lost in thought. Koesler did not intrude.

Abruptly, the archbishop looked sharply at Koesler, “I suppose,” Foley said, “you’re wondering what this is all about … my asking you to come down here and all?”

“Well, yes and no. I can easily see how you would be concerned about this business. We all are. You’d like all the information you can get. But others have better information than I have. For instance, the names of the possible suspects the police are working with; as I mentioned, I got those from Father Bash. In fact, that I could come up with the names was purely accidental. I just happened to be playing cards—which I very seldom do—when the subject came up.
So
, Archbishop, I can understand that you want as much information as you can gather. But, why me?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. Ever since the Cardinal mentioned your … uh … avocation of assisting the police, I’ve been looking into the matter—quietly and unobtrusively, mind you. Now I don’t doubt for an instant that your involvement in police work has come about just as you’ve explained: You’ve been drawn in by peculiar sets of circumstances—the right place at the right or wrong time sort of thing.

“However, after that I fear you are far too modest. Several times, or so I’ve been told, you’ve been much more than simply a source of information and authentication. Sometimes you have actually solved the case. Now don’t be denying it,” Foley quickly added.

“I suppose you might conclude that. I don’t look at it quite that way. But I guess it’s not worth arguing about. So even if we grant that I’ve contributed something of substance in the past, I’m still left wondering why you chose to call me in just now.”

“Two reasons. This case, by its very nature, needs someone like yourself to cut through all the mysterious nooks and crannies of our creaky old Church. Secondly—and for me more important—I’ve had a premonition for some time now. The premonition is that Mark—Cardinal Boyle—is among the intended victims this murderer is stalking.

“Now, I know very well that there’s no proof for such an idea. And you’re probably telling yourself that it’s just an old man’s hallucination. But it’s very real to me, Father. And I want to do everything in my power to make certain sure it doesn’t happen. Do you understand?”

In his younger years, Koesler very probably would have pooh-poohed something as vague as a premonition. Just as he had once dismissed intuition as nothing more than a hysterical reaction. But no more. He was older and, thank God, somewhat wiser.

“I understand,” Koesler said, “and I respect your premonition. But what makes you think that Cardinal Boyle could be in any danger?”

“To tell the truth, it came to me in prayer. I was saying my breviary the Other day and came across the saying,
‘Omnes scandalizabimini in me in nocte ista: quia scriptum est: Percutiam pastorem, et dispergentur oves.’”