The Greatest Evil fk-20

by William X. Kienzle

  “They’re sisters.”

  “I know. After the trouble, Louise came in to see me. We talked a few times. Didn’t really settle anything, as I recall. But … Martha: Didn’t she blame Louise for what happened?”

  The memory of that awful event suffused Koesler’s mind. “Yes-even though it was an irrational charge. I thought at the time that Martha was simply striking out emotionally at the handiest target-which happened to be her sister. And Louise was simply trying to help.”

  “But Martha never changed her opinion, did she?”

  “To my knowledge, no.”

  “She never forgave Louise?”

  “No.”

  “And she’s never talked to Louise over all this time?”

  “No.”

  “It’s my opinion,” Walsh said, “that this might have something to do with Louise’s condition.”

  “The cancer?”

  “Haven’t you sensed that Louise is very troubled by this whole thing? That in her mind, guilt is not very deep under the surface?”

  “Guilt?” Koesler reacted with surprise. “But Louise isn’t guilty of anything. She and I have been through that many times … though not recently.”

  “So you think because she hasn’t talked to you about this recently, that it’s no longer affecting her.”

  Koesler thought a few moments before responding. “I see what you’re driving at. She doesn’t talk about it because she knows my opinion-that she has no responsibility, no need to regret anything-and she knows I’m not going to change my mind.”

  Koesler reflected again. “So she’s internalized her feelings and they’ve been …”

  “Eating at her.”

  “You think this caused the cancer?”

  Walsh nodded gravely.

  “Could that happen?” Koesler asked. “Could an emotional struggle cause something as serious as a terminal illness?”

  “I’m convinced of it. In my years I’ve seen more harm done because of stress than almost any other cause.”

  Involuntarily Koesler glanced at the empty trouser leg that had once covered a healthy limb. Could stress have-?

  Walsh caught the glance and chuckled. “Well, not every illness.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Well, then,” Koesler pursued the line of thought, “do you think if we were able to patch things up …”

  “That we’d have our miracle? No; I think the damage has been done. But I also think that reuniting the two sisters would bring a lot of peace to one very troubled soul.”

  “Maybe even two troubled souls,” Koesler added. “But it won’t be easy. I’ve talked to Martha several times. Nothing. Oh, not a great feeling of animosity or hatred-just no feeling at all.”

  “Ouch, that sounds like a killer. But we can try.” The elderly priest looked off into the distance for a moment. “There’s one more thing I wanted to mention, Father.” Walsh wheeled himself so close that he and Koesler might well have been conspirators. “It’s about that suicide-Frank Morris.”

  “Yes?”

  “You and I talked about it at the time-and of course I read everything in the papers. I’ve never been able to make much sense of it.”

  Silence. Koesler was puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he said finally. “It was a tragedy. A terrible waste. But it seemed an open-and-shut case. Frank took his life using his shotgun. Am I missing something?”

  “Maybe it’s all these years I’ve piled up. I hesitate to call it intuition; the ladies have that market cornered. But there’s always been something wrong with that suicide.”

  “But the police-”

  “I know. I know. It was all very neat. The owner’s gun, the suicide note, the motive.” He shook his head. “How easily the cops bought the apparent reason-that it was because the Morrises were turned down by a Church court. I mean, that wasn’t even close to courts that cops deal with. I was surprised they bought it. And,” he added, “I was surprised that I didn’t.”

  Koesler became aware that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it. “You must be the only one remotely involved who doesn’t think Frank’s death was self-inflicted.”

  “Not exactly.” Walsh smiled. “If my ‘intuition’ is correct, one other person, in this case, knows it wasn’t suicide.”

  “The person who killed him?”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite that bluntly. More the one responsible for Frank Morris’s death.”

  “But, how …?”

  “Among the things I’ve learned about you, Father, in the year and a half that we worked together was that you have a very healthy imagination. Just think about it, is all I ask. See if someday you come to the same conclusion I have. I think I know what happened. But even I can’t prove a thing. Maybe you’ll come up with the second half of the puzzle-the part I haven’t cracked.”

  Koesler shrugged. A gesture of uncertainty. “I’ll give it a shot. But I don’t know …” He stood up. “For now, I’ve got to get on my horse. That call …”

  Walsh nodded toward the main office. “You know where we keep the phone.”

  Koesler made his call, bade farewell to his host-he could not spot Father Henry, for which he was grateful-and let himself out.

  He started on the long drive to St. John’s Seminary in Plymouth. On the way, he would give Father Walsh’s puzzle a little open-minded consideration.

  He stopped at Topinka’s on West Seven Mile and Telegraph for a quick lunch. As usual, he ordered hamburger, which here masqueraded as ground round. The portions were generous. As usual, that matched his appetite. While he waited for the entree, the waitress brought coffee. She was “fathering” him unmercifully, but fortunately made no effort to tap his professional aid. Sometimes a meal out could become an extended counseling session.

  He lit a cigarette and watched as the gray plumes left his nostrils, wafted over the tablecloth, then dissipated to contaminate the rest of the dining area.

  How in the world could Frank’s death not be a suicide?

  He himself had brought the bad news to Frank and Martha. As bitterly disappointing as the message was, they seemed to accept the verdict without anger or resentment. If anything, Frank had been the more accepting of the two.

  Koesler had to admit that in retrospect, it hadn’t seemed that suicide was just around the corner. He had even extended his visit until he was sure the couple was all right.

  He crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray. A thin trail of smoke spiraled up as if a genie were going to appear and grant three wishes.

  The first wish would not be difficult: Vinnie would get his miracle.

  His lunch was served: hamburger just right, crisp french fries, coleslaw, and some carrots. All would be consumed.

  As to what had happened after he’d left the Morris house, Koesler would, of course, have to depend on what others had told him.

  Apparently, Frank and Martha had talked for some time. Then they’d decided to close up shop. Martha went upstairs after asking Frank to check the furnace and, as she’d put it, inviting him to her bed.

  Koesler stopped the replay and reflected on the wife who, after almost three years, invites her loving husband to sleep with her again. He winced. Neither Frank nor Martha had voluntarily chosen a monastic life. Koesler had delivered the demand that they affect a relationship that the Church required. Those few words of Martha’s told that they had kept their part of the bargain.

  In time the waitress returned. “Would Father like some dessert, Father?”

  “No-just more coffee.”

  “Was everything okay?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, a gentleman paid for your lunch.”

  “Really?” Koesler looked around. “Which gentleman?”

  “I don’t know his name. He left the restaurant about fifteen minutes ago.”

  Interesting, thought Koesler. I wonder why … I’ll never know.

  The waitress brought more coffee.

&n
bsp; “Did the gentlemen leave you an adequate tip?”

  “Oh yes, Father. It was very generous, Father. Thank you for asking, Father.”

  14

  Father Koesler put the car in gear and his mind in neutral as he drove out of the restaurant parking lot.

  Where was he in this exercise in memory? Oh yes: Martha had just asked Frank to check the furnace before joining her in bed. To consider all this detail, it was necessary to rely on Martha, the only living witness to this event.

  Martha had fully intended to stay awake to greet her husband. But with one thing and another, particularly the discouraging news about their petition, she was exhausted. She drifted quickly into a deep sleep.

  She was awakened by the window-rattling explosion. She thought it must be the furnace. And she had just sent Frank down to look it over.

  She ran down the stairs. That’s when she found Frank on the living room floor with the gun.

  Sure sounds like suicide to me, thought Koesler, not for the first time. And then there was that poignant note. That pretty well wrapped it up, he concluded.

  What sort of loophole had Father Walsh thought he’d discovered?

  Wait a minute. If it’s just a hole one is looking for, how long had Martha been asleep when she was awakened by the gunshot? She never said. She undoubtedly didn’t know; why should she?

  You don’t fall asleep, then be wakened by an explosion someplace in the house, then check the clock to see how long you’ve been sleeping.

  It was almost ludicrous. Koesler tried to visualize himself in a similar situation. The last thing on his mind would be what time it was or how long he’d been asleep. He would do exactly what Martha had done: As quickly as possible he would go to investigate what had happened.

  That must be it … that must be the loophole that Father Walsh had found. Koesler couldn’t think of a single thing to do about it. But there it was: The time between when Martha actually went to bed and when she was awakened was unknown. And now, years later, that gap would have to remain unknown. What little evidence there had been was gone now. If there was a guilty second person, fingerprints would be blurred by everyone who had touched things. How many people had handled that note, the gun, the body? It had seemed such a clear-cut case of suicide that no one had given an instant’s thought to any other possibility.

  This single consideration opened the whole matter once again.

  What might have happened while Martha slept for God knows how long?

  Could someone have rung the doorbell? Would that have wakened Martha? Depends on how deeply she was sleeping. Perhaps someone had knocked at the door. That probably wouldn’t have been loud enough to wake her.

  Just suppose someone came to the house-rang the doorbell or knocked-why might he or she call at that hour?

  Suppose it was one of the kids. Lucy lived only a few blocks away. Tony could easily enough have come in from Kalamazoo. Vinnie would not be the first seminarian to escape from the minimum security of St. John’s. Realistically, though, Vinnie would be the least likely of the three to call on Frank. Vinnie would have had one tough time finding transportation. But … possible.

  Could any of the three have known about the Vatican rejection?

  Koesler himself had gotten the verdict in the mail that very day. He had told no one before-or directly after, for that matter-sharing the news with Frank and Martha. How could anyone else have known?

  One of the high school girls, in addition to other parochial chores, was assigned to pick up the daily mail from the rectory’s main office and deliver it to the various priests’ offices. While Lucy did not fill that role, she could’ve had the mail girl tell her if an envelope from Rome came to Father Koesler.

  If the letter came and the verdict was positive, Father Koesler would have delivered the good news immediately. The fact that he received such a letter and put off sharing its contents was a pretty good indication that the news was bad.

  Then what?

  Say, for sake of argument, that Lucy had somehow learned about the verdict. What if she enlisted the aid of Tony, he being the more mobile of her brothers?

  What if they staked out the Morris home? Easy enough to do. Koesler had come early and left relatively early.

  They note that Martha goes upstairs, undoubtedly headed to bed. They knock on the door. Frank lets them in without hesitation.

  Then what?

  They try to talk Frank into leaving Martha so their aunt can finally receive the sacraments again. And just in time for Vinnie’s first Mass.

  Obviously, Frank will not leave Martha.

  Failing that, they appeal to the love that Frank holds for Martha. They urge Frank to commit suicide. It’s the only way Martha can be truly happy. Sure she would miss him almost beyond words; but underneath it all, she would be at peace-and so would he.

  Finally, he agrees. He writes the note. Confident that he will go through with it, they leave.

  Frank gets his gun and kills himself.

  This procedure would take a lot of time. How much time did they have? That’s just it: Nobody knew. Nobody knows how long Martha slept before the gunshot.

  The conclusion: Either scenario could resolve some questions-while raising others.

  The burning question: So what? The incident is long settled in just about everyone’s mind; nothing can be proved one way or the other.

  And yet … there is the possibility of the question rising to the surface again. What happens to kids as young as Tony and Lucy if they enter into a conspiracy to, in effect, browbeat someone into taking his own life? Does it scar them forever? And what could a scar such as this cause them to do in the future?

  All this because it seemed so foreign to Frank’s nature to freely decide on suicide. And because there was no way of telling how long Martha had been asleep that fateful night.

  Walsh’s doubts found fertile ground in Koesler’s imagination.

  It was something that would not only haunt Father Koesler but, willy-nilly, would color his relationship with Tony and Lucy for some time. Nothing would be said. But he would look at them in a different light and with some residual doubt.

  He swung his car into the familiar circular drive. It was the recreational break between lunch and the afternoon’s first class. Cassocked students stood in groups or walked with companions. Some enjoyed the premature springlike weather. Many more smoked cigarettes, cigars, or pipes, any form of combustible tobacco.

  Koesler was greeted with a mixture of familiarity and reverence. He was not old enough to be more than one of the boys, yet he had achieved what they all desired.

  He headed directly to the rector’s suite. Father Finn was in his office with a student. Koesler took a seat in the vestibule.

  He had time to reflect on the speculation he’d entertained en route to the seminary. It brought to mind a homily he had recently delivered. He had said that he could make as good a case for atheism as he could for a belief in God. But if he were an atheist, he would have to confront all those questions: Where did all this come from? Who made the laws that nature follows? What was the purpose of all these galaxies? Where is it all going? And on and on.

  So, in a much smaller dimension, there were questions on either side of Frank Morris’s death. The simple declarative approach: Frank, having left a note for Martha and in order to clear a path for her return to the Catholic sacraments she so missed, had shot himself dead.

  Questions: Was it out of character for Frank to take such a fatal action of his own accord? Having endured the sacrifice of a lengthy brother-and-sister relationship, would he not have felt that he had taken every step possible toward the desired goal, and that being the case weren’t he and Martha now entitled to resume what for them was a faithful, loving marriage?

  Or had Frank thought it all out long before? Had he decided that in the event of a negative judgment from the Church he would take the only other possible step? Had he made the decision out of misguided love to commit suic
ide so that his beloved Martha could finally receive the sacraments she so desired?

  Or: Frank’s choice was assisted by outside urging. Question: Isn’t this a bit Byzantine? Granted the apparently precipitate decision and immediate terminal act was out of character; still, couldn’t Frank have felt his back was to the wall with nowhere to go but from this life?

  An argument could be made for either case. And the argument arose out of the unknown time Martha had been asleep before the deed was done.

  If Father Walsh’s intuition was correct, one had to consider the possibility that two young people had conspired to cause an innocent person to take his own life. No mean charge. Their own lives undoubtedly would have been marked by their action. At the very least, they would bear watching.

  At this point, a student exited Father Finn’s office. The young man appeared chastened. Father Finn could effect this with little effort. Koesler knew from first-person experience.

  The student, obviously embarrassed beyond words, beyond even a glance, walked past Koesler without eye contact.

  Koesler wondered idly about the offense. It could have been almost anything. What the young man probably did not comprehend was that if Finn had given him hell, at least the rector was trying to save the lad’s vocation. If he were considered dispensable, Finn wouldn’t have expended so much emotional firepower on him. Still, as Koesler knew full well, the drill was painful.

  Like an abruptly diminishing storm, Finn’s demeanor changed.

  For the offender, Finn’s countenance promised thunder and lightning. But as the door closed behind the student, the rector’s face cleared to welcome Koesler.

  Father Finn had perhaps two interests in life: one, the priesthood; the other, those who wanted to enter it.

  A few years ago, Koesler easily could have been that chastised student. Now he shared a priesthood with Finn; the rector would greet Koesler like a long-lost relative.

  And so he did, ushering the young priest into his office.

  There was nothing out of the ordinary about the rector’s office. Two walls were lined with bookcases filled with works in his fields: moral theology and Canon Law. The oak desk was uncluttered. The wall behind the chair Koesler selected was opaque glass on either side of the entry door. Behind Finn was a picture window overlooking a well-kept courtyard and one of the transverse cloistered walkways.