The Cosmic Ray Heresy

by Frank Smith

  Vicki and I were pleased with the plans. She could concentrate on the dress. My amusement about her dress dilemma disappeared when it became evident that what I should wear needed to be fine tuned. It took a conference with the Archbishop and Tom Lacey to decide. Should I wear clerical garb with a Roman collar, vestments, a suit and tie? Archbishop Reilly zeroed in on a sensible approach. Marriage is a contract between a woman and a man, not a woman and a priest, or a woman and a professor. Vicki was marrying me, not the Church. We settled on the civvies; black suit and tie. Vicki suggested the crosses. I would wear a gold cross on a chain around my neck. Vicki would wear an identical one.

  Vicki also suggested a solution to our problem with the rings. We both wore our original wedding bands, each of us reluctant to sever the final link with our former spouses by removing them and replacing them with new rings. It seemed so disloyal.

  "What if we exchange rings?" she had said. "I'm sure Joe would want me to be happy and marry you and you have said the same about Connie. If we give each other the rings they gave us we can allow them to symbolically show that approval. Their love will be with us on our wedding day and forever. What do you say?"

  I was too choked up to say anything so I answered by twisting my ring off. It hung loosely on her thumb and hers fit snuggly on the tip of my pinky.

  "Some surgery may be called for," I said. "We'll take them to a jeweler and have them resized. He can cut a piece out of mine and use it to make yours bigger."

  Vicki held my ring up to the light to read the inscription inside and smiled through her tears. "Oh my."

  I read the inscription in hers. It was the same as in mine: Together Forever.

  Domestic plans proceeded as well. Joey would get the third bedroom that I used for an office and I'd move the office down to the large finished basement. The avocado appliances straight out of the seventies and the chipped Formica counter top in the kitchen would be replaced by stainless steel and granite. The vintage washer and dryer from my mother's old place would go. We would shop for larger ones.

  "Figure two to three times the loads you were doing," Vicki said.

  "Can't wait for all that cookin' and washin'," I said.

  The bathroom and powder room were put on a wait list. The vertical blinds with the mismatched slats on the sliding doors to the patio had to go. A new bedspread replaced what Vicki referred to as "that thing on your bed." All our decisions were "shared". I was familiar enough with married life to know what that meant. My share would be the technical aspects of purchases, like the horsepower of the garbage disposal unit, or the efficiency rating of the refrigerator. Vicki's share included color, shape, texture, materials-everything visible. If the Vatican decreed tomorrow that all priests had the option of marriage I doubt many would survive it. I kid my celibate colleagues. "How many people with incomes near the poverty level have servants?" Many of the priests I knew who lived in large rectories had cooks and housekeepers. I put Tom Lacey up for a week when the rectory where he lived was being painted. The first morning he sat at the kitchen table and asked what was for breakfast. I explained that breakfast was a do-it-yourself activity, mentioned the deleterious effects of bacon and eggs on the arteries, and pointed to the Cheerios box smeared with grape jelly on the counter. The following day I put a clothes hangar on his bed with a sign that said "Hanger." I put a similar sign on the floor that read "Not a Hanger." Tom refers to that week as his week of domestic rehab.

  A week before Thanksgiving Michael Eddy came out of his coma. Maybe we could get some answers after all. While driving home that day it hit me.

  CHAPTER 55-E-ZPASS

  I called Angela Rossi on my cell.

  "I just had an idea," I said. "I've been thinking about that question of whether Eddy was Cinelli's mysterious visitor. This may be nothing but you said he had E-ZPass. If he went to Shore Memorial from Philadelphia that day?."

  "Hey, you're still cookin', Sherlock. Unless he used back roads he'd have had to pass through some tolls. I'll see what I can find."

  Two days later she got back to me. "Frank, I've been wading through Eddy's E-ZPass records this morning. I got data for July through August. Still waiting for September and October. Their system is down for some reason. Good news so far. On the day of Cinelli's death I have Eddy passing through the tolls on the Atlantic City Expressway at 10:02 AM. Twenty eight minutes later he got off the Garden State Parkway at exit 34, Somer's Point."

  "That's only about a mile from Shore Memorial," I said.

  "Yes, and that afternoon, at 3:33 PM he passed through the AC Expressway tolls again heading back toward Philly and crossed the Ben Franklin Bridge at 4:15."

  "He was at Shore Memorial," I said.

  "Very likely. However, we still don't know what he was doing there. It's not a crime to dress in a black suit and Roman collar."

  "What about the syringe found on the floor?" I said.

  "The residue in the syringe was from a saline solution. Plain old sodium chloride; the same stuff that was being fed into Cinelli's left arm from a bag of it on a pole. And, if Eddy injected him, so what? A few more milliliters of saline wouldn't kill him. The DA is not impressed with my theory of Eddy as killer. He wants hard evidence. I don't have any. I'll check the E-ZPass record for the day of Soroka's murder as soon as I get the October list and also the day of your daughter's attempted abduction. In the meantime keep thinking, Sherlock. The game is still afoot and pray for the health of Michael Eddy. I want to ask him some questions. By the way, I asked Eddy's wife that question of yours. He's right-handed."

  "Another loose end," I said.

  "Right," Angela said. "Why would he shoot himself with his left hand?"

  CHAPTER 56-GOOD SHEPHERD

  I shared the DA's caution. Okay, Eddy was pen pal and Eddy visited Cinelli, but was he a killer? Linking Eddy to Soroka's death was still shaky. TV cops always make a list of suspects and stick pins in a map on a wall in the squad room. I settled for my laptop and started my own list:

  1. Tom Lacey found that Cinelli and Soroka were both stationed at Good Shepherd in the late sixties and both were abruptly transferred.

  2. An altar boy, John Toner, was abused by Cinelli and claimed that a younger boy was also-a boy named "Mickey" or something like that.

  3. Angela Rossi connected the "Mickey" nickname to another altar boy at Good Shepherd, Michael Eddy. We assumed that Eddy was also abused by Cinelli, in which case he might not be happy with abuser priests. He starts to harass them with the "Priests-Should-be-Truly-Priests" emails.

  4. Michael Eddy heads a radically conservative Catholic group. He might see himself as a vigilante.

  5. Eddy was booted out of the priesthood because of an affair with a woman he later married. I was allowed to be a priest and be married; something he was denied. Maybe that's why I got added to his email list.

  6. Michael Eddy, dressed as a priest, probably visited Cinelli at Shore Memorial the day he died. What was he doing there? Did he have anything to do with his death?

  7. Monsignor Smith saw a gray SUV leave St. Gabriel's the morning of Soroka's murder. Eddy drives a gray SUV. Eddy's prints were on the plastic sleeve that probably held the candle used as a murder weapon.

  I highlighted items three and seven on the list and changed the color of the type to red. If Michael Eddy was the killer he had to be "Mickey" and the gray SUV had to be his gray Ford Escape. Before I powered down the laptop I added one more item to my list.

  8. If Eddy was pen pal and the killer, why did he send the threatening email to Soroka after his death?

  Soroka was murdered in the morning-the email arrived in the afternoon. Either Eddy was not the killer and unaware of Soroka's death or, if he was, the email was the red herring suggested by Angela; a purposeful deception. I decided to pay a visit to Good Shepherd. I could get there from PaCom in about fifteen minutes.

  Angela was right. The nuns at Good Shepherd were organized. After checking in with the pastor I
found the altar boy files from the sixties without any trouble and pulled the Sunday Mass assignments for '66, '67, and '68. There was a separate sheet of names for each month. I moved some boxes from a dusty table under a small window, laid the sheets out, dialed in "macro" mode on my digital camera, and photographed each sheet. Fifteen minutes later I had thirty-six photos; one for each of the month's for '66, '67, and '68. I put the sheets back in their folders, and left.

  That night I transferred the photos from the camera to my laptop and went though each list, copying and pasting to a separate list any name that remotely might warrant the nickname "Mickey" or " something like that". Beside each name I put the boy's grade level in 1968. Michael Eddy was the only "Michael." My list now included:

  John Toner (8)

  Michael J. Eddy (6)- Mickey?

  Charles Magee(7) and Charles B. Chelius (8) -possible Chick or Chicky

  Richard A. Daniels (6) and Richard Soltis (8)-possible Rick, Dick, Ricky or Dicky.

  Nicholas Falgiatore (7) and Dominic G. Smith (7) -possible Nick or Nicky

  Victor Marchei(7)-possible Vic or Vicky.

  John Toner had told Tom that he thought the other boy was younger, probably in sixth or the seventh grade. That ruled out the two in the eighth grade and left five names. Before I went to bed I sent an email to Angela with an account of what I did at Good Shepherd and the list of the five new names and the question, "What do you think?"

  When I checked my email the next morning the curt reply from Angela read:

  Can Tom Lacey find out anything on these people from diocesan or high school records?

  AR

  P.S. I would have gone with you if you had asked.

  Oh, oh.

  I replied:

  My bad-mea culpa. Sorry.I'll check with Tom.

  CHAPTER 57-A NEW EMAIL

  On the Monday of Thanksgiving week I got an email with the subject line, PRIESTS SHOULD BE TRULY PRIESTS. The message was TWICE WED = TWICE DEAD."

  It was sent from a gibberish hot mail account. I got a call from Angela Rossi five minutes after I forwarded it to her.

  "This is bad news," she said. "It wasn't sent by a man in the hospital."

  "What if Eddy composed it weeks ago and put it on a delay for sending?" I asked.

  "Uh, uh. How would he know you were getting married? No, Frank, someone else sent this. We have to take the threat seriously. I wish your wedding wasn't going to be so public. Anyone can walk into that church."

  "Well, it's too late for us to change things now. It's probably just something meant to scare me anyhow."

  "I hope so. Let me make a few calls to see if I can arrange some security."

  It took about an hour for her to call back.

  "Frank, two uniformed officers from the ninth district will show up a half hour before the wedding. One will direct cars into the parking lot off Green Street and the other will stand on the side of the church steps."

  "Do you think this is necessary, Angela?"

  "It's not a SWAT team, Frank. Captain Mullen planned to assign one officer for traffic duty anyway. He said weddings at St. Elizabeth's jam up traffic in the area. The idea is just to have a visible police presence as a deterrent. Of course I'll be there too."

  "Hey, you're a guest, Angela. I didn't want to put you to work."

  "I'll be a guest, Frank, but a trained observer too. Remember? Police and scientists?"

  "Thanks for doing this, Angela."

  "No problem. Here's some news for you. I went through Michael Eddy's impounded SUV with a fine-toothed comb yesterday and found some four by six index cards clipped to the back of his sun visor. On one he had listed an appointment with Father Soroka for 8:30 AM on the day of his death. The notation read, 'Del Cdls & col bsks.' I'm thinking 'deliver candles and something else."

  "How about collection baskets? There were some new ones in the storeroom."

  "That works. Anyhow, we have Eddy at the scene of the murder. He'll be charged."

  "A little early, though," I said. "Monsignor Smith didn't see the SUV leave until ten-thirty."

  "Maybe he arrived late she said. "Now relax and enjoy your own wedding, Frank. I'll see you Saturday."

  I was enjoying it. Olivia and I were to meet Vicki and Joey at five o'clock at the King of Prussia Mall to buy outfits for the flower girl and ring bearer.

  CHAPTER 58-THE WEDDING DAY

  On Saturday Olivia and I picked up my mother on the way to Saint Elizabeth's.

  "Daddy and Aunt Vicki are getting married today, Grandma, and I'm the flower girl."

  "I know sweetheart, isn't that wonderful. You're going to have a new mommy and Joey will have a new daddy."

  "Just like the other kids at Munchkin House. Mommies like to play with dolls too but don't worry, Grandma, I'll still play with you."

  "Oh, I'm glad, Olivia. You'll have Joey to play with too."

  "Joey doesn't like my dolls. He has action figures. Ninja Turtles and Power Rangers- boy dolls.""

  "Remember my G.I. Joe toys, mom? Very similar," I said as I made a right onto Green Street.

  "There's Joey and his grandma and pop pop on the steps," Grandma, "and Aunt Colleen, and Uncle Stephen, and Grace."

  People were already going into the church. I dropped my mother and Olivia off, waved to my sister and brother-in- law, and was directed into the parking lot by the policeman. Another officer stood at the top of the steps to the Church's side entrance. He looked bored. Angela Rossi was on the sidewalk across the street talking on her cell phone and looking at roof tops. I parked in back of the church next to Archbishop Reilly's Buick. About half a dozen priests were standing in a group near the back door to the church, some of them smoking. The Archbishop had invited priests from the surrounding parishes to attend. He wanted no question about the legitimacy of the marriage.

  I went over to the priests and thanked them for coming. A few made typical bachelor comments about balls and chains and the effects of marriage on one's golf score. The youngest priest asked me what my secret was. How did I convince the Vatican to let me marry?

  "Cosmic rays, Vince, cosmic rays," I said as I headed for the back door.

  Vince shouted, "What are you talking about?"

  "Call me and I'll explain," I said taking the steps three at a time. The door led directly into the sacristy behind the altar.

  The Archbishop, Tom, and Monsignor Carey were putting on their vestments. "Last chance to back out, Frank," Archbishop Reilly said as he tied the long rope-like cord of the cincture around his waist.

  "Not a chance, sir. I don't want to disappoint the CDF."

  That got a laugh from everyone. I took the Archbishop's richly embroidered gold outer vestment, the chasuble, from its hanger and held it up. "Let me help you with this."

  "Thank you. I'll keep my homily short, Frank. As part of it I'll read the original letter to my predecessor granting you the papal exception to be ordained and remain married. I'll also read this short letter from Cardinal Tossi extending the exception to this marriage. I want everything out in the open to avoid speculation, Okay?"

  "That's fine, sir. I agree."

  "Good." He checked his watch. "Now get out of here. It's ten minutes to twelve. If we're lucky your bride won't be too late."

  "Oh she won't be late, sir. I know the woman I'm about to marry."

  CHAPTER 59-GET DOWN!

  Joe Amanti and I stood waiting near the altar and watched the last guests being seated. Two parishioners were serving as ushers. Vicki's mother was escorted up the aisle and the church became quiet. The two ushers rolled the white carpet runner down the center aisle.

  At exactly twelve o'clock the first note of the organ sounded. Olivia, in a white dress, black patent leather slippers, and white sox with little ruffles around the ankles started up the aisle with her basket of flowers, tossing pink rose petals onto the white runner with a flourish. She accented the slow cadence of her walk with giggles and an occasional skip. Joey, d
ressed in khaki slacks and a blue blazer, took his role more seriously. He balanced the two velvet ring boxes in the lid of a shoe box covered in wedding gift wrap and a pink bow. The silk pillow he was supposed to carry didn't work out well in rehearsal as the ring boxes kept sliding off. Joey looked straight ahead wearing a permanent frown. Vicki's sister, the maid of honor, followed and when she was about halfway down the aisle Vicki started on the arm of her father.

  Smiling from ear to ear Vicki wore a pink, silky dress that came down just below her knees, a short veil, and pink shoes with a medium length heel. The only jewelry was the diamond stud earrings borrowed from her sister and the small gold cross I gave her for a wedding present.

  The florist had constructed a nosegay from white roses piled on Vicki's old First Holy Communion prayer book. Thin baby blue ribbons trailed from it. An angel lacking only wings.

  The Archbishop, Tom, and Monsignor Carey stood on the altar facing the center aisle, their hands folded. The guest priests stood on each side of the altar. Joe Amanti and I stood at the bottom of the altar steps. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a late arriving priest hustling out of the sacristy adjusting his vestments.