“Confession will do that,” Koesler noted pointedly.
In their shared glance Koznicki correctly read that Koesler was the first to have heard that confession. The law had granted Father Smith freedom. The sacrament promised him forgiveness.
“Father Smith’s burial was out of the country?” Koznicki asked.
Koesler nodded. “About a year ago, the ashes of some of those poor women, the Magdalens, were garnered and interred in blessed ground in Dublin. We were able to have Paul’s ashes, along with his son’s, buried there. That tortured ‘family’ is together at last.”
Koznicki went to the fireplace, stirred up the embers, and deftly added a couple of logs. Without turning to Koesler, he said, “I am sure the Holy Father is indeed ill, and we pray for his full return to health … but is it not strange that none of the murders had anything to do with him?
“Cardinal Schinder was the victim of some rich bored young punks. Of course their ultimate target was the Holy Father, but we got them long before they would have had a chance at His Holiness.
“Then there was the troubled, tormented Dermot. The media led the world in speculating that he too intended eventually to kill the Holy Father. Only a very few people know Dermot’s motive. And those few people are not talking.”
“A little mystery is good for the soul,” Koesler suggested.
With that, Wanda entered the living room carrying a cup of coffee. “What? No football? Don’t they play umpteen games on New Year’s Day?”
Koznicki chuckled. “We were savoring the last of Christmas—and good friends.”
“Well,” Wanda said, “I’ll drink to that!” and she sipped the steaming coffee. “By the way, Father, I meant to tell you how beautiful your eulogy for Father Smith was.”
Koznicki looked up sharply. Could she have overheard their just-completed conversation? No, the dishwasher had been going full blast. Wanda knew nothing of the relationship of Father Smith and Dermot Hanrahan. There were few secrets between Koznicki and his wife. She did not need to know the complexities that linked that father and son. Better, Koznicki figured, that Father Smith retain his unblemished reputation as far as Wanda was concerned.
“Thank you,” Koesler replied to Wanda’s compliment. “Father Smith was a very special man … friend … priest. I must admit I didn’t know Paul intimately until … well, actually, not until your party here a few weeks ago. But, in this brief time, we grew quite close.
“Well …” Koesler stood. “… these have been very busy days. I’m sure you’re tired, and I know I am.”
The Koznickis’ protests about ending the evening were pro forma. They were tired. One of the many nice things about Father Koesler was that he never overstayed his welcome.
There were words of farewell at the door. Koesler pulled the collar of his coat up to cover his ears. It was bitingly cold. Thank God his car started.
He drove away with kind and prayerful thoughts about the Koznickis.
And then his thoughts turned to Paul Smith.
What might he, Koesler, have done had he been in Smith’s moccasins? What if he had met the curious, giving, loving Moira? How would he have handled the news that he was to be a “father” in the essential meaning of the word? At that moment, as a seminarian not yet a priest, he would have needed no dispensation. He was a layman then. Perfectly able to marry. It would have meant losing his lifelong ambition.
But it was clear. This entire story had to do with accepting responsibility.
If Paul had shouldered his responsibility to Moira, probably all three—Paul, Moira, and Dermot—would be alive now. And Fathers Hanson and Palmer, and Father Ward as well.
Dermot had a responsibility to himself, to build a life for himself. Or, as he did, he could live for revenge alone. As a result he and three priests were dead.
Now, dear Lord, let them be at peace. No one but you could understand all, forgive all. Give them your peace. At long last, let them rest in peace.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Gratitude for technical advice to
Robert Ankeny, staff writer, The Detroit News
Pat Chargot, staff writer, Detroit Free Press
Sergeant James Grace, detective, Kalamazoo Police Department
Rudy Reinhard, World Wide Travel Bureau Inc., Troy, Michigan
Archdiocese of Detroit:
Jo Garcia, Theological Library Service. Sacred Heart Major Seminary
Roman P. Godzak, archivist/records manager
Sister Bernadelle Grimm, R.S.M., pastoral care (retired), Mercy Hospital
Jane Wolford Hughes, Institute for Continuing Education
The Reverend Anthony Kosnik, S.T.D., J.C.B., professor of ethics, Marygrove College
Karen Mehaffey, Theological Library Service, Sacred Heart Major Seminary
Sister Anneliese Sinnott, O.P., assistant director, pastoral ministry, Marygrove College
Detroit Police Department:
Inspector Richard Ridling, homicide (retired)
Inspector Barbara Weide
St. Joseph Mercy Hospital, Pontiac
Charles Durando, physiotherapist
Thomas J. Petinga, Jr., D.O., FACEP, Chief of Emergency Services
Wayne State University:
Ramon J. Betanzos, Ph.D., professor of humanities
Charles Lucas, M.D., professor of surgery
Werner U. Spitz, M.D., professor of forensic pathology
Irish segments:
Anne Bouch, genealogist
Ray Comiskey, Irish Times
Hugh Leonard
Chris and Mary Murray
Harry and Joyce Whelehan
Any technical error is the author’s.
Bibliography
Tierney, Brian. Origins of Papal Infallibility, 1150-1350
(A Study on the Concepts of Infallibility, Sovereignty and Tradition in the Middle Ages). Leiden, Netherlands: E.J. Brill, 1972.
In Memory of
Anne Zienert
Call No Man Father copyright © 1995, 2013 by Gopits, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever except in the case of reprints in the context of reviews.
Andrews McMeel Publishing, LLC
an Andrews McMeel Universal company,
1130 Walnut Street, Kansas City, Missouri 64106
www.andrewsmcmeel.com
This is a work of fiction and, as such, events described herein are creations of the author’s imagination. Any relation to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental and accidental.
ISBN: 9781449423742
Photo byIstockPhoto/bluekite and IstockPhoto/cornishman. Cover design by Kevin Williamson.
William X. Kienzle died in December 2001. He was a Detroit parish priest for twenty years before leaving the priesthood. He began writing his popular mystery series after serving as an editor and director at the Center for Contemplative Studies at the University of Dallas.
The Father Koesler Mysteries
1. The Rosary Murders
2. Death Wears a Red Hat
3. Mind Over Murder
4. Assault with Intent
5. Shadow of Death
6. Kill and Tell
7. Sudden Death
8. Deathbed
9. Deadline for a Critic
10. Marked for Murder
11. Eminence
12. Masquerade
13. Chameleon
14. Body Count
15. Dead Wrong
16. Bishop as Pawn
17. Call No Man Father
18. Requiem for Moses
19. The Man Who Loved God
20. The Greatest Evil
21. No Greater Love
22. Till Death
23. The Sacrifice
24. The Gathering
Here is a special preview of
Requiem for Moses
The Father Koesler Mysteries: Book 18
“I’m not asking you to bury him,” she said. “
Just wake him.”
The woman and the priest were seated in his office in the rectory. The parish was St. Joseph’s, or “Old St. Joe’s” or “St. Joe’s Downtown.” Easily it was chronologically the first of many in the archdiocese of Detroit to be named after Mary’s spouse.
“To be perfectly frank, Mrs. Green,” Father Robert Koesler said, “I’m not at all sure just what it is you want me to do. May we back this conversation up and start from the beginning?
“Now, I understand your husband died this afternoon. And I’m sorry about that. You have my condolences. We’ll include him in our prayers in the Masses this weekend.
“But … why did you come here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. I don’t recognize your name as a registered parishioner.”
“We’d better get this out right at the beginning: The name is shortened.” Her tone was snappish. “It used to be Greenberg.”
“Then …?” Koesler spread his hands, palms upward.
“We live in your parish!”
“But you’re Jewish.”
“Moe is …. was … but I’m Catholic.”
Koesler, for no apparent reason, moved a pen from one spot on his desk to another. “I see.” He didn’t really. “So, your husband was Jewish. Then, why not …?”
“Look, Father, we got married twenty-one years ago. I was twenty; Moe was thirty-seven.”
By Koesler’s mental arithmetic that would be about 1975.
“Neither family was crazy about the idea. I was young. But we knew we could make it. And, by God, we did. It helped, I think, that Moe was Jewish in name only. Ethnically, but not religiously,” she explained. “We were married at St. Norbert’s in Inkster—and I’ve got the papers to prove it.” She reached for her purse.
Koesler waved a hand. “That won’t be necessary.”
As she put the purse down, she seemed to relax somewhat. “Moe made all those promises … you know; like he wouldn’t interfere with me being a Catholic—he couldn’t have cared less. And I promised I’d try to convert him—fat chance. And we both promised we’d raise our kids Catholic. Anything was all right with Moe … as long as the kids didn’t become something like Islamic.”
Koesler almost smiled.
“And we did. I mean, we raised our two kids—David and Judith—as Catholics. Sent them to parochial schools. Judith even went to a Catholic college.
“Look, Father,” she said earnestly, “Moe and I talked this all out. He’s been in such pain for so long. He really didn’t want to live. So we talked about his death. It was more of a comfort to him than talking about life the way it was treating him. We agreed there was no reason he should be treated as a religious Jew. The kids are Catholic. Lots of our friends are. My side of the family, by and large, finally accepted us. On his side, only his sister—we always call her Aunt Sophie—went along. This is exactly what he wanted: a Catholic wake and to be buried Jewish. He just made me promise to wait for Sophie to show up before burial. She lives in Florida and she’s on her way.
“That’s what he wanted. Don’t you understand?”
Her tone was that of one addressing a slow-witted child.
“Let’s see ….” Koesler leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming a miniature steeple. “You want your husband to lie in state in this church. You’re not asking for a Mass or any other kind of service. And you want this because you and your children are Catholic and the immediate family, whom you expect to attend, would be Catholic also.”
“That’s what I want. That’s what Moe wanted.” She looked at him with composure. “There’s no problem with that, is there?”
Koesler pondered. “I’ve never heard of anything like this.” He shook his head slowly. “In over forty years as a priest I’ve never come across an arrangement like this.”
Even as he spoke, he was reminded of a phrase he had come up with years before: The seven last words of any institution—including the Church—are, We Never Did It This Way Before.
Still, this was an unprecedented request, and Koesler did not react readily to new ideas or situations.
“There some law against it?” Her lips pursed.
“Well, that’s an interesting question. Let’s see.…”
Koesler stood and surveyed the glass-fronted bookcases along the wall. He located a coffee-table size book and a small, red volume that seemed both ancient and in desperate need of repair. He placed both books on the desk.
Reading the letters upside down and backward, she was able to make out the title of the larger book: The Code of Canon Law. It looked almost new; even the dust jacket was in good condition. She pointed at the book. “What’s that?”
“That’s the current book of Catholic Church laws, 1983 version.”
“And the other one?”
“This?” He held up the smaller book. “Its predecessor. This one was compiled in 1917.”
“Holy crow!” she exclaimed, “Catholics got that many more laws in ’83?”
Koesler smiled and turned the book’s cover toward her. She read the subtitle: A Text and Commentary.
“The commentary is what takes up all that space,” he explained. “Actually, there are fewer laws in the ’83 version.”
After checking the index he turned to the laws relevant to what the Church termed “Ecclesiastical Funeral Rites.” The canons, 1183 and 1184, pertained to those persons granted and those denied ecclesiastical funeral rites, sometimes called Christian burial, but always referring to the Catholic interpretation of Christianity.
Silently, he read over the canons. No possible way could Moses Green be granted a Catholic funeral. The closest his case came was, “In the prudent judgment of the local ordinary, ecclesiastical funeral rites can be granted to baptized members of some non-Catholic church or ecclesial community unless it is evidently contrary to their will and provided their own minister is unavailable.”
Moe Green, of course, was religiously neutral, let alone not baptized.
Koesler shook his head. “Well, you seem to be correct; I can’t find any law against it.”
She smiled. It was a very attractive smile.
“Let’s see what the 1917 version has to say about it,” he said.
She stiffened. “Excuse me, Father, but you just read the current law. What’s the point of going back to something that’s outdated? Are you just trying to get rid of me and my family and our friends? We may not have registered in this parish, but I’ve been here for Mass on Sundays once in a while.” She dabbed at emerging tears with a lacy handkerchief.
There was no way Koesler could testify for or against her claim. She could have easily become lost to him in a fairly crowded Sunday Mass. And as long as she used the traditional side of the confessional that protected anonymity, he would have no way of knowing whether she had ever been his penitent.
But she was absolutely mistaken in thinking he was trying to find a reason to refuse her request.
“I assure you, Mrs. Green, if anything, I’d like to welcome you to this parish—registered or not. You see, when the 1983 text was issued, the former code was not completely replaced. Some of the laws in both texts are exactly the same or very similar. And some of the older law can clarify some of the new law.”
She seemed unconvinced.
He paged through the table of contents. “One of my problems,” he said lightly, “is that this old book is entirely in Latin. And while I was pretty fluent in the language in the seminary, I haven’t had much use for it—especially lately.”
He found the passage he wanted and began to read silently and slowly. Meanwhile, she tapped an agitated toe against the floor.
“Well,” he said finally, “I don’t find any law that is germane to this case.”
She brightened. “Then we can go ahead?”
“Not so fast. Well … this is a call that maybe ought to be made by someone else … namely our Cardinal archbishop. In both the new and the old books, there is a very specific reference to bringing
doubtful cases to the ordinary—the bishop. The current book refers to ‘the prudent judgment of the local ordinary.’ The older code says …” He read from the tired little red book.“‘… in casibus aliquo dubio, consulatur, si tempus sinat, Ordinarius.’ That means, Mrs. Green, that in a specific case where there is any doubt about how to proceed with a funeral—whether to grant or deny Catholic rites—the ordinary should be consulted if there is time.”
“Aha!” she exclaimed, startling the priest.
“Aha?” he repeated.
“Do you know where your archbishop is?”
Although the media had made little mention of it, Koesler knew that Cardinal Boyle was, even as they spoke, returning from Rome, where he’d taken part in a synod of bishops. Koesler had not adverted to it until this moment. “He’s probably on a plane now returning to Detroit. But he’ll be back by late this evening. I’m sure I can get in touch with him tomorrow morning. That should be plenty of time to—”
“It’ll be too late!”
Koesler was puzzled. “But your husband just died today. Only a few hours ago …”
“We’re doing it the Jewish way.”
“What?” Now he was really confused. “What do you mean, you’re doing it the Jewish way? All this time we’ve been talking about your wish to have your husband waked in a Catholic church—my Catholic church!”
“Sure. That’s right. The wake is for the family, see? The burial is for him. He’s Jewish. Somebody asked him, he’d say he was Jewish. So we wake him in church—for the family. But we bury him Jewish.”
“You mean he’s …”
“Not embalmed.”
“Not embalmed,” he repeated meditatively. He was aware, at least vaguely, of Jewish burial customs. He knew it was customary for Jews to be buried as soon as possible after death, unembalmed, in a shroud. Until now in this current situation, he had not considered any sort of Jewish affiliation relevant. But they were coming perilously close to a Catholic funeral. This latest revelation derailed his thought process.
Call No Man Father Page 31