“What do you think, Manj?”
Without taking his eyes from the road, Mangiapane shook his head. “I dunno, Zoo. I’d hate to live with that broad and have to keep my hands off her.”
“There’s that.”
“Drive a guy nuts.”
“Nuts enough to commit murder?” Tully was asking himself as well as Mangiapane.
“I think so.”
“Notice she said she thought he’d have to get loaded to off somebody.”
“Yeah.” Mangiapane started to smile. “And he said he went from Carson’s house to a bar.”
“Wasn’t that helpful of him to tell us that? Now, if anybody in that bar can remember Shell in there that night, the next important thing to check out is how long he stayed there.”
“Makes a pretty good case, Zoo. Shell bumps into Diego unexpectedly. He’s surprised the bishop is at this party. He doesn’t have a chance to get himself in control. So he blows his ever-lovin’ stack. Then he storms out. He drives around until he happens into this bar. He goes in, gets a few snootfuls. Not dead drunk, just high. Like the lady said, he needs to get some liquid courage. He’s sober enough to drive, and plastered enough to scramble the bishop’s brains.”
“Or,” Tully suggested, “she’s underestimating her husband. Maybe he doesn’t need to get juiced. Maybe his stop at the bar is in his head. Maybe he did happen on this bar, took a look, and saw there were so many people there no one would be able to testify whether there was a stranger there or not. So, he can tell us he was there, sure that nobody can say for certain whether he was or wasn’t there. Whatever. No matter what, we’re going to have to ask some questions there.”
They drove on for several minutes before Tully broke the silence.
“Manj, you’re a Catholic. How well do you have to know a bishop before you call him by his first name”
“Yeah, I caught that too. And I dunno, Zoo. I never knew one well enough to call him Fred or Charlie. They got a title, and I don’t even remember that. It’s Your Grace, or Your Excellency or Your Eminence, or something. Now that I think of it, I don’t even know anybody who calls any bishop by his first name.”
“What the hell kind of Catholic are you, anyway, Manj?” Tully was chuckling softly. “Not only don’t you know, you don’t even know anybody who knows.”
“There you got it.” Mangiapane was also chuckling. “I just sit in the pew and wait for the priest to tell me what to do.”
“No, actually” — Tully grew more serious-“ you told me something by not knowing. I’m going to guess that it’s very uncommon. And I’m going to guess that Mrs. Shell knew the bishop very, very well. And, you know what else I’m going to do? I’m going to quit guessing.”
“Huh?”
“Manj, drop me off at … oh, what the hell is it … the parish where Koesler is pastor.”
“Old St. Joe’s?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Mangiapane was grinning. “Finally going to call on Uncle, huh?”
“This stuff is getting too deep for me. I got a hunch Quirt is gonna come in with a lot of heavy stuff on those two priests. I also got a hunch he’s not gonna know what he’s talking about. I’m gonna go to school before this case gets much older.
“After you drop me off, get somebody-Angie, if you can-to take over that bar investigation. I want you to talk to everybody who’s been on the street. See if anybody’s come up with anything.”
“Sure thing, Zoo.… Uh, don’t you think you ought to call and make sure Father Koesler’s available?”
Available? It was as if the second shoe had been dropped.
He’d been distracted most of this Monday waiting for a phone call about the murder of Bishop Diego. After all, it wasn’t that he was a stranger to police investigations when they had to do with things Catholic. And what could be a more Catholic homicide than the murder of a bishop?
His surprise, if it could be termed that, was that the call came from Lieutenant Tully rather than Inspector Koznicki. Of course, Koesler knew the lieutenant. But Koznicki had become a dear and close friend.
In any case, he was about to get in the swim.
With some hesitation he asked Mary O’Connor to clear his calendar for the rest of the day. His reservations concerned two appointments he had scheduled-one late this afternoon, the other early this evening. Neither person was likely to take the postponement graciously. Neither could lay claim to either tact or diplomacy. Mary would have to suffer their predictable reactions. Koesler tended to believe Mary when she assured him that the job would be easier for her. The recalcitrant parishioners would be disappointed when she gave them the message-but they would save their venom for their pastor.
So he wouldn’t miss the dreaded appointments by putting them on the back burner.
Awaiting Tully’s arrival, Koesler thought about the two troublesome parishioners.
Mrs. McReedy belonged to the Church of Vatican Council I. In a sense, that was a comfortable Church. There were so many rules and regulations. Practically no one challenged their existence or relevance. The very keeping of them led to feelings of peace and comfort. The rules offered salvation. And salvation was comfortable. And, should one by and large keep the rules-such as fasting and abstaining and attending Mass on the appropriate days-one would go to heaven.
Mrs. McReedy would be objecting to the absence of many of these rules and regulations from Father Koesler’s homilies, ministries, and total life philosophy.
She would have been at the rectory at 3:30 sharp had not Lieutenant Tully rescued him.
Also headed off by Tully’s visit was Frank Parker, who thus would not be here at 7:00 this evening.
Frank belonged to a Church that might arise from some future Vatican Council. To call Frank an activist was like saying that John F. Kennedy liked women.
And Frank wanted his parish-Old St. Joe’s-to dive in no matter where the waters might lead. Some of his projected programs: March and parade through Lafayette Park to support AIDS research. A regular monthly Mass for and by Catholic gays enlisting a homosexual priest to celebrate the Mass. A regular evening weekly Mass for and by women-with a designated woman as celebrant each week. Remove all the remaining religious artifacts from the church’s interior. Have concelebrated liturgies regularly with Protestant and Jewish clergy.
Koesler believed Frank Parker’s heart was in the right place, but that his mind and his viscera had bonded.
Looking at this day that wasn’t going to happen, Koesler was again reminded that it didn’t matter whether you were killed by conservatives or liberals-you were just as dead either way.
He could remember the mid-fifties when he had been ordained a priest. How sure and certain things were then.
It had become a joke, but in those days-and for long years before-the Church structure resembled a triangle with the Pope at the summit. It was his vision and commands that trickled down to the bishops, from them to the priests and finally to the strong but subservient base of the laity.
The joke was that the hierarchy, for the most part, continue to think that nothing has changed. The hierarchy should consult with its priests, who are being squeezed from all angles.
Today’s canceled appointments surely were a case in point.
There was Mrs. McReedy, who, with the Lone Ranger, wanted to return to the days of yesteryear, and expected Koesler to lead the way. Then there was Frank Parker, who wanted to go, with the Trekkies, where no man has gone before. He expected Koesler to ignite the avant garde blast-off.
Yet were today’s priest to toy with one of the Parker programs, organizations such as Catholics United for the Faith, in close step with the bishop, would stamp on his obtrusive toes.
On the other hand, implementing Mrs. McReedy’s most fervent prayers would alienate many Catholics whose faith and interest had been awakened by Vatican Council II.
One of the many blessings of an inner-city ministry was that the more “inner” one got, the less anyone outside cared what was going on. Unhappily, Old St. Joe’s was on the outer fringe of “inner.” Thus the McReedys and Parkers could still stir things up.
The doorbell. Probably Lieutenant Tully. Fortunately, it would be neither Loretta nor Frank.
Footsteps resounded on the hardwood floor. The clicking heels of Mary O’Connor ushered in a male of light but firm foot. Mary brought Tully to the dining room door. Ordinarily, Koesler received callers in his office. But Tully was special and did not come close to being a parishioner.
Declining Koesler’s offer to take his coat, Tully draped the garment over a chair and seated himself on another, more comfortable one.
“Could I get you a cup of coffee?”
Tully appeared eager to accept, then hesitated. “Is it already made?”
“No, but I can whip up some instant-”
“No! No! That’s all right. I’ve had too much today.”
It made no difference to Koesler whether the lieutenant wanted coffee, but the vehemence with which his offer was declined startled the priest. And yet so many reacted in that fashion. It was almost as if he were incapable of making a simple cup of coffee that was potable. But that couldn’t be true; just last night Father Carleson had enjoyed his coffee.
Was that just last night? It now seemed days ago.
“Who calls bishops by their first name?” Tully always got right to the heart of things.
“Who calls bishops by their first name?” Koesler was utterly perplexed by the question. “Well … I suppose … their parents, for two.”
Tully did not seem satisfied. “I guess I could take that for granted. Who else?”
Koesler pondered. He always took people seriously no matter how bizarre the question. “Don’t take it for granted. I can remember parents who stopped calling their little boys ‘Johnnie’ and started calling them ‘Excellency’ or ‘Bishop.’”
“No shi-Sorry.” Usually, Tully monitored his language better. This revelation was a genuine surprise. And he was not often taken by surprise.
“As a matter of fact,” Koesler said, trying to put the officer at ease, “I remember a rather close friend who became a bishop. The first time I met him after that happy day, I was pleased to address him by his new title. And he said, ‘Don’t give me that bishop shit. I’m still just plain Joe.’
“So, there’s more to it than that.
“Now that I think about it,” he mused, “it all seems to depend on the bishop, the person who’s addressing him, and the circumstances.”
Koesler stopped in midthought. He had expected-hoped-he could be a consultant regarding the murder of Bishop Diego. And here he was fooling with bishops’ given names and who would dare, or be permitted, or invited to use them. “Is this of any importance?”
“It could be. It’s something I don’t completely understand. And I think I should.”
Koesler tilted his head and smiled. “Okay. Bishops in most instances, at least from the earliest days of the Christian Church, were usually selected from the ranks of the priests.
“In modern times, priests were given the title of ‘Father.’ It was only a few years ago that the title became virtually expendable. Some contemporary priests discard the title and encourage everyone to use their given name. Others insist on the title’s use. Others will excuse close friends from using it.
“That’s pretty much the case with bishops. Except that far more bishops than priests will want the title-along with the reverence.
“An example: Probably no one is a more complete churchman than the Cardinal Archbishop of Detroit. Whenever he comes to mind-no matter how casually-I automatically think of him in terms of His Eminence Mark Cardinal Boyle.
“Even his priest secretary who lives in the same home, travels with him frequently, and shares his meals, regularly refers to him as Eminence. About as casual as this gets is when the secretary, when speaking to another priest, refers to the Cardinal as ‘the boss.’
“And yet, I’ve heard Joan Blackford Hayes call him Mark.”
“Who’s Joan Blackford Hayes?”
“You don’t … Well, I suppose you might not know her if you’re not Catholic. She’s the founder and head of the Institute for Continuing Education. In effect, she’s part of the local Church administration. It’s as if she’s a member of Cardinal Boyle’s cabinet. Still, I’d never have guessed she was on a first-name basis with the Cardinal if I hadn’t heard her call him Mark.”
“How about Maria Shell?”
“Who’s Maria Shell?” Koesler assumed Maria Shell was someone he was expected to know. And he didn’t. It happened with discouraging regularity. Here he was a native Detroiter for all of his sixty-five years and there were so many well-known Detroiters he’d never met, did not know, or recognized only from reading about them.
“That’s just the point,” Tully said. “Who is Maria Shell? You tell me about a woman who’s been selected by the bishop to be a member of his team. And still you were surprised to hear her call her boss by his first name.
“See, yesterday afternoon, Father Carleson drove Bishop Diego to a cocktail party thrown by a prominent guy named Carson.…”
It happened again. Koesler did not know the prominent Carson.
“Turns out a guy named Michael Shell showed up at the party and had it out-strong words, not blows-with Diego. Then, a couple to a few hours later, the bishop is murdered.”
“And this Michael Shell is a suspect?”
“Of course we’re interested in anyone who exhibits violent anger at someone who later is murdered. It gets complicated. But Shell is positive that Diego was a good part of the cause Mrs. Shell is estranged from Mr. Shell. He doesn’t allege that the two had illicit relations … but he does accuse the bishop of alienating his wife’s affections.
“The point is, I just interviewed Mrs. Shell. Half the time she talked about ‘Bishop Diego.’ The rest of the time, he was ‘Ramon.’ Granted, I don’t know much about institutional religion, but that’s the first time I’ve heard an ordinary person-a woman — call a bishop by his first name. And you say he might have invited her to do that?”
“Yes, especially in this case.”
“Why especially here?”
“I didn’t get to know the bishop personally. But we priests do talk. So from pretty reliable hearsay, I think I have a fair idea of what made Bishop Diego tick.
“I hate to say this, because it’s practically the opposite of what a bishop should be, but Bishop Diego used people. Bishops-priests for that matter-ought to be serving people in any kind of ideal way. But a sort of consensus would tell you that Bishop Diego manipulated people.
“Although I don’t know them, from the way you referred to them, I take it that Mr. and Mrs. Shell and this Mr. Carson who gave the cocktail party yesterday are pretty important people. Rich and, I suppose, Catholic.”
Tully nodded.
“Then,” Koesler continued, “they’re the type of people that the bishop wanted-needed.
“See, shortly after he got here from Texas, our priests, who sort of have a sixth sense for this sort of thing, agreed that Diego was just passing through Detroit on the way to his own diocese. And, if he had any way of influencing it, the diocese he would be given would be big and important.”
“Getting his own diocese, that would be a promotion?”
“Very, very much so. And, as you can easily see, getting a place like New York or Chicago or Boston is a great deal different than, say, Saginaw. So, everything he did here had a lot to do with where he would be going. That’s why it was so necessary for him to get to be part of the socially and financially important circle of the archdiocese.”
“Have you seen the late bishop’s office at Ste. Anne’s?” Tully asked.
“No.”
“Never mind. It just sort of illustrates what you’ve been saying. His formula for success seemed to be working quite well. But it doesn’t explain Michael Shell or Maria Shell.”
“I don’t know Mr. Shell. And I’d never heard of Maria and her relationship with the bishop. But I think I could guess what was going on.”
“By all means,” Tully invited.
“Let me call it the ‘forbidden fruit.’ You’re familiar with the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden?”
“Adam and Eve?” Tully smiled. “Yeah, even I know about them.”
“Well, this law we have of celibacy sort of makes priests and, I suppose even more, bishops a kind of forbidden fruit, I don’t want to seem to be bragging about this. We priests certainly are no better catches than the average man. But the fact that we are-how shall I say it? — out of bounds sometimes seems to add a certain attraction.
“It’s something like the company that gets a new computer system. And the president announces to the employees that this new system is foolproof: No one can break into it and solve its secrets-”
“Don’t tell me,” Tully interrupted. “It’s a challenge. Somebody’s going to take on the challenge and try to beat the system.”
“Exactly. The owner is, in effect, hurling down a gauntlet He’s implying that none of his employees is smart enough-talented enough-to break into the computer system. In the face of that, someone is almost certain to try-maybe even succeed.
“The author of Genesis used this sort of example to begin the explanation of how evil came into the world. Adam and Eve could use this garden of paradise in any way they wished. There was only a single command. Inevitably the fruit of the one forbidden tree became the most desirable of all.
“Now, nothing in this story that suggests that the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was any better or more nourishing or tastier than that of any other tree. Only that it was forbidden.
“Well, that’s what I’m suggesting here. Priests aren’t guaranteed in any qualitative way to be more attractive than any other man. But the requirement of celibacy makes them a forbidden fruit. Some women can be attracted for that reason alone. But it can work the other way too. The forbidden fruit and the tempter can become one and the same agent.
“Take Bishop Diego, for instance. If we grant that he was an almost shamefully ambitious person, his game was working quite perfectly. In a situation like that, he could become quite bored.”
Koesler was becoming animated as the flow of his argument carried him along. “There’s a scene in My Fair Lady where Henry Higgins takes his new creation, an elegant Eliza Doolittle, to a fancy ball. Everyone in on the experiment is very tense until Eliza seems to be carrying off her innocent deception perfectly. Higgins is bored to tears … so much so that he welcomes the acid test provided by another speech teacher and grammarian-Zoltan Kaparthy.
“This, I think, is what may have happened with Bishop Diego. His plan was working so well that he was willing to introduce another element-just to liven up the game. And so he could welcome his own Eliza Doolittle. He wouldn’t become so carried away that he would compromise the limitations his celibacy called for. But he would dally — just to add a little spice to his now humdrum program. What’s her name … Maria Shell? He would lead her on to a sort of chaste love affair.
“Now maybe he made a mistake there. Maybe he didn’t count on treading on the already fragile relationship between Maria and Michael Shell.”
“And maybe,” Tully continued the speculation, “that was a serious-maybe even a fatal mistake.”
Koesler leaned back in his chair. “Maybe.”
The hint of a smile played around Tully’s lips. “Now, about that Adam and Eve story: Does it say what Eve thought of the snake?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The snake caused all the trouble, I mean by tempting Eve. Did she get sore about that?”
“Hmmm. That’s not part of the story. Life just goes steadily downhill for Adam and Eve after their disobedience.”
“But she should get angry, shouldn’t she?”
Koesler pondered a moment. “I suppose so. Of course the original disobedience was her responsibility. She could have rejected the offer. She should have. But, on the other hand, she probably would have stayed on the straight and narrow if she hadn’t been tempted. So, yes, I suppose that would be one conclusion you could draw from the story. But … wait a minute … you’re saying …”
“I’m saying, What if Maria Shell wised up to Diego? What if she realized that no matter how bad her marriage was, it got a whole lot worse after Diego came on the scene? What if she thought or assumed that her relationship with Diego was going to get serious, get physical?
“At one point when I was talking to her today she as much as said that if he had called, she would have answered. She was ready to pack up and leave with him. Suppose she tumbled to what you just said: that Diego was using her, just the way he was using everybody else. After all, why should he change his m.o. for her alone? She’s a smart lady, she could have come to that conclusion eventually. Why not now?
“Then we’ve got two people instead of one, whose lives would be significantly brightened with Diego out of the picture.” Tully looked thoughtful. “That could be interesting.
“Okay,” he said after a moment, “that clears up my perspective on the Shells. Now, one more thing: What about those two priests-Carleson and Bell-and the bishop?”
“Don Carleson and Ernie Bell? They’re not suspects!?”
“It’s part of the investigation. We’ve been tracing movements of just about everybody who crossed Diego’s path yesterday, and as far back before then and as completely as we can. Mostly from that meeting last night, Carleson and Bell surfaced. You were at that meeting. I’m surprised they didn’t question you.”
“‘They’? Aren’t you conducting this investigation?”
Tully explained the makeup of the temporary task force and the fact that Lieutenant Quirt was heading it. “You know both these priests, don’t you?”
“Yes. I know them … Ernie Bell far better than Don Carleson. Ernie’s entire career as a priest has been in this archdiocese. We were together in the seminary. Father Carleson is in the process of joining us from the foreign missions. But he and I had a long talk just last night. So I have some little knowledge of him. What would be helpful for you to know?”
“Let’s start with Bell. The problem between him and Diego seems to be about some threat to close his parish.”
“Yes, that’s my understanding.”
“Tell me a little about that from your experience. I mean, it’s not like the guy is going to lose his job, is it? He’d just go to another parish, wouldn’t he?”
Koesler smiled. “Sure you wouldn’t like some coffee? It’d just take me-”
“No! No, that’s all right. I’ll be just a few minutes more.”
“Hmmm. Well, you’re right, of course, Ernie surely wouldn’t lose his job if St. Gabriel’s were closed. There are lots of parishes that need someone, particularly someone like him.
“But that’s not the complete picture. It may very well be that Ernie is so close to what he’s doing there that he doesn’t realize how that parish has become an extension of himself.”
“An extension …?”
“Yes. So many parishes like St. Gabriel in the inner city of Detroit have changed drastically, radically Mine, for example, used to serve a German community. You’d never guess that from the fairly cosmopolitan congregation we’ve got now.
“St. Gabriel’s was a working-class parish. Blue collar. Now it’s predominantly Latino. Ernie Bell has helped-no, he made that parish over to provide essential services to the Latino community. He is so involved in all that goes on in that parish, that the parish has become, in a very real way, that extension of himself.”
“So, if they closed it …?”
“They would, in effect, be taking a part of him away.”
“And what would happen to the people he took care of?”
Koesler shrugged. “In all likelihood, they’d be encouraged to attend and get their help from Holy Redeemer parish. It’s about a mile east of Gabriel’s and it’s mammoth.”
“So, why should Bell be so torn up? It’s not like his folks wouldn’t be helped.”
Koesler smiled sadly. “That’s the way the Chancery would look at it. The people in charge downtown would claim that nobody was being abandoned. That the priest shortage is forcing a consolidation. But past practice says that it wouldn’t be that neat.
“Lots of Gabriel’s parishioners are elderly, and many of them speak only Spanish. Many of them would be lost. They wouldn’t understand. They would feel themselves truly abandoned. They couldn’t grasp that they were expected to affiliate with a different parish-even if some transportation were provided. They would almost barricade themselves in their homes. Many would go hungry, get sick. It’s not unlikely some would die.
“And the ones who made a successful transfer to Redeemer? Well, there’s no doubt that Redeemer is a monster parish. But it’s up to its ears taking care of its own. I doubt even Redeemer could take the influx without cutting back its service to its own, let alone everyone who came from Gabriel’s.
“That, you see, is how Ernie Bell looks at it. He’s seen it happen to others and he knows what to expect.”
Tully toyed with an ashtray that was going unused. “And you: Do you agree with Bell’s evaluation?”
“Yes,” Koesler said without hesitation.
“This threat to close the parish came from the late bishop,” Tully said. “The way I got it, the bishop was responding to a threat from Bell to show him up for what he was-a greedy, ambitious manipulator. To me, it sounds like an idle threat. What could Bell do to Diego?”
Koesler leaned back, seeming to envision what Father Bell might cause to happen. “Innuendo comes to mind. Innuendo and the news media. Find some enterprising journalist-maybe the National Catholic Reporter or the News or the Free Press, and intimate what, on the one hand, is expected of Bishop Diego and, on the other, what he was doing, who his constant companions were. How much his people needed him and how little he gave.
“It wouldn’t be that difficult to drop names of some of the wealthiest Catholics around and how tight they were with the bishop. Offer interpretation of what was happening and what the bishop’s goals were. That should get the ball nicely rolling.”
“And what would that accomplish?” Tully asked. “What trouble could that cause?”
“It could-and it very likely would-cement Bishop Diego right here as an auxiliary bishop for the rest of his life. And that could be like purgatory-if you understood purgatory as just like hell only limited to a certain period of time.”
“Why? Why would that force him to stay here?”
“Rome makes the final judgment when it comes to bishops-who becomes a bishop and where they all go. And one of the last things Rome wants is a bishop tainted by controversy.
“It’s sort of like the first two nominations President Clinton made for attorney general. The first had broken a law in hiring illegal aliens. The second had done the same thing before the practice had been a law.
“The idea was, there should be not even a hint of a scandal or any impropriety. Which would have been the case with Bishop Diego if it had become common knowledge that he sought power by any means necessary-making friends of powerful and wealthy people while neglecting the ones who were obviously in desperate need of him.
“Most Catholics in other dioceses would not want such a bishop. And, with this in mind, Rome would not want to send him. He’d be mired here in Detroit with few responsibilities and practically no power.
“So you see, both threats could have been very real.”
Tully nodded his understanding. “Okay. Then what about Carleson? Seems no secret that he didn’t like Diego. And Garleson was closer to Diego than maybe anyone else. Something about being a chauffeur-a servant?”
“That situation would come as no surprise to most of the priests here.” Koesler took a deep breath, held it for a few moments, then exhaled. How much should he tell Tully?
“Lieutenant,” he said at length, “when I say that something is common knowledge among priests, I don’t mean everybody knows about it. But we do get together almost as often as we can-and we talk. I don’t suppose it’s much different than with the police: You talk about your work and you talk about each other and you talk about your superiors.
“So, many, if not most of us, were aware, at least in a general way, of what was going on.
“The sort of treatment Bishop Diego dealt out to Father Carleson was not all that rare years ago. There were certain pastors-and, for the most part, we knew who they were-who treated priests assigned to them shamefully. And they got away with it. For one thing, it was a seller’s market and there was little recourse.
“Now the demeaning treatment of priests has all but completely disappeared. There aren’t that many priests around and it’s a buyer’s market. There are so few priests left that they become pastors far, far sooner than in the past. As a result, there just aren’t that many priests who are assistants. If a priest is a pastor and he’s lucky enough to have help in the person of an assistant priest, that assistant is likely to be treated very, very well. If not, the assistant may request a transfer. And he’ll probably get it-and the pastor will be all alone. As his reputation spreads, no one will go to work with him.
“So the relationship that grew up between Father Carleson and Bishop Diego was, I think, so rare as to be unique.
“From my conversation with Father Carleson last night, I would guess that he’s been sticking it out partly out of respect for Cardinal Boyle, who was the main reason Don chose Detroit for his diocese. And also partly because he was convinced it couldn’t go on much longer.”
“I gather you like your Cardinal,” Tully said.
“I do.”
“Then how come he didn’t do something about this problem? I presume he has the power to do it.”
Koesler shook his head. “Not everybody is a saint. Now, Cardinal Boyle doesn’t have many flaws that I know of. But one flaw might be his appreciation of his fellow bishops. It’s a large, select, exclusive, and inbred club. Cardinal Boyle is a member in very good standing. It would be most unusual for him to intervene in another bishop’s affairs. Most unusual … but not impossible.
“That’s why I think the Cardinal doesn’t realize how impossible the situation had become. He would be reluctant to step in, but if he knew …
“That’s the only sense I can make of it: He didn’t know.
“What made it worse for Don Carleson was that he’s no fledgling priest. He’s a mature man and he’s been very much in charge of everything wherever he has served. From what he told me, he is not the type to debate a course of action endlessly. Someplace in the Gospels, Jesus says, ‘Be ye not hearers of the word only, but doers.’ That’s Don Carleson: a doer.”
Tully nodded. “And now that the bishop is no longer humiliating him and cramping him, he’s his own man once again. Interesting. With the death of Diego, a man gets rid of the guy who he thinks is seducing his wife. A woman gets revenge for having been manipulated. A priest doesn’t have to worry about losing his parish. And another priest can go around singing, ‘Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last!’ And we haven’t even heard what our detectives have picked up on the street.” He shook his head. “It’s rare that one death clears the decks for so many people.”
The phone rang in the front offices, as it had several times during Tully’s visit. Either Mary O’Connor was handling the calls herself or she was taking messages for Koesler.
The click of Mary’s approaching footsteps said that this call was different. Either it had to be for Tully or it was an emergency for Koesler.
It was for Tully, and he could take it in the kitchen.
“Zoo” — unmistakably it was Mangiapane-” this is Manj.”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“You better get down here.”
“What happened?”
“They found something in Father Carleson’s car. They think it’s dried blood. They took it down to the lab. Quirt is all over it, he’s so sure it’s Diego’s blood. Anyway, you better get down here.”
“Manj, just where the hell is ‘here’?”
“Oh, sorry, Zoo. We’re at headquarters and just about everybody’s here, including Carleson and that prosecutor, Kleimer. This comes about as close to a lynching as I’ve seen; If that sample they took doesn’t turn out to be Diego’s, I think Quirt will have a heart attack.”
We should be so lucky. “I’ll be right down, Manj. Hold the fort and check to make sure we’re legal on all the procedures.”
He hung up and returned to the dining room. Father Koesler was not going to be happy with this news.