A Rose From The Executioner

by Edward Izzi

  “No, Marquardt! You have run out of second chances,” he loudly retorted.

  “You are a pedophile, Fr. Marquardt. Shame on you for continuing this hideous behavior and shame on us for not realizing it sooner.”

  “You have spent a considerable amount of time in therapy, to no avail. We cannot allow you to serve the Lord in either our diocese or in another. We have discussed this with the Vatican, and it is their recommendation that we demand your resignation as Pastor of the Guardian Angels Parish and to respect-fully ask, that you abandon your ministry here as a Catholic priest.”

  Fr. Marquardt sat in his chair, stunned, as though a bolt of white lightning had impaled his whole body. Several minutes had passed, as his Eminence started shuffling some papers across his desk, taking time to wipe his mouth with each of his heavy coughs. The priest was motionless, not knowing what to say or do in retaliation to the Cardinal’s strong recommend-ations.

  Cardinal Brody then continued, “As been the policy of our Archdiocese, when there have been priests who have broken their vows and shamed the Catholic Church with their inappropriate behaviors, they are asked to resign and abandon their ministries, along with signing several legal documents and policies.”

  “What documents?” the scorned priest asked.

  Cardinal Brody laid the documents in front of Fr. Marquardt on top of his desk. He explained to the priest that these were legal waiver documents, allowing the Archdiocese to take complete control of any legal defenses from any potential lawsuits that may incur in the future against the Archdiocese. The last document was an application for a term life insurance policy for five million dollars, underwritten by the Great Lakes Life Insurance Company.

  Fr. Marquardt read the documents thoroughly, signing the legal waivers with apprehension. He thought for a moment of hiring an attorney but knew it would only cause more friction between himself and the Archdiocese. When he got to the life insurance applica-tion, he questioned the Cardinal.

  “Why is it necessary for the Archdiocese to take out a life insurance policy on my life?” he asked.

  “In case the Archdiocese is sued for any of your inappropriate actions which you so recklessly performed,” he sternly answered.

  “Consider this life insurance policy as part of your penance as a pedophile, Father.”

  The priest was speechless. It had been the recent policy of the last several years for Cardinal Brody to require all the defrocked priests who had left the priesthood to apply for a large life insurance policy, with the Archdiocese of Chicago as the beneficiary. This was to insure the diocese reimbursement of any potential lawsuits which may be incurred from the malicious actions performed by any of their defrocked priests. This became the policy of the Archdiocese of Chicago at that time, and until recently, was continued by each of the Cardinal’s successors.

  When the documents were signed, the former priest sat in his chair, his eyes filled with tears. Cardinal Brody continued coughing profusely, while pulling out another folder from his credenza.

  “It says in your file that you have a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration, with a major in accounting degree from Loyola University. Is this correct?” he asked.

  “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  The Cardinal thought for a few moments. “I will talk to my administrative chief of staff about bringing you into our Archdiocese office. Our accounting department could use your assistance.” There were several more coughs between sentences, as the Cardinal continued to speak.

  “We will not report your circumstances to the authorities, and we will use complete discretion if asked regarding your situation or condition for your depart-ure,” the Cardinal slowly said.

  “We will give you a severance package and assist you in finding housing. You have twenty-four hours to pack your personal belongings and leave your parish rectory.”

  “And…” Brody continued, “You will go back into therapy.”

  Marquardt looked at the Cardinal, at least grateful that he was not being completely thrown out on the street. John Marquardt mentally took inventory of the many young boys he had sexually abused and molested over the years within the various parishes in Chicago. He knew that he was at the mercy of the Archdiocese of Chicago to keep his dark secrets away from any state or federal prosecutors.

  Yet still, Marquardt was bitter. Here he was, being judged and thrown out of the Catholic ministry by a man, whom the Chicago Sun-Times called “the most corrupted Cardinal the City of Chicago has ever had.” He was accused of crimes against the church that no one before him would ever consider in his sacred position as Cardinal of the Chicago Archdiocese.

  Yet Marquardt was in no position to ‘lawyer-up’ and play hard-ball with the crooked Cardinal and his diocese. He knew that the cards were stacked against him and his so-called demons and knew that he would be spending the rest of his life in jail if the Archdiocese turned him over to the authorities.

  The Vatican and the Catholic Church had dealt with the problems of pedophile priests for centuries and was not about to let any outside state or federal authority impede upon their jurisdiction. Like the sovereign state of the Vatican, the malicious affairs of its bishops and priests were beyond the reproach of any federal or state laws prohibiting such deviant behavior.

  According to the Vatican, the laws of God were far higher than any insignificant criminal laws of the State of Illinois, or the United States for that matter. The church will always take care of their own.

  This has always been the philosophy of the Vatican and the Catholic Church, and Marquardt’s circumstances would fall within that philosophy.

  “You are to speak to no one, regarding these circumstances or this arrangement. Do you under-stand?”

  The now former priest nodded his head in agreement. He then got up, knelt and kissed the Cardinal’s ring, and thanked him for all he had done. He then exited the Cardinal’s mansion and drove away in his yellow, Ford Fairmont.

  John Marquardt was now about to begin his new life as a layman and former priest.

  Chapter Five

  Chaz Rizzo

  It was almost six o’clock that evening, and I was staying late to finish up some reports and to follow up on some phone calls on that homicide on West Argyle this morning. Commander Callahan, who was the head of our Sixteenth District, had asked me to head up the investigation since he figured the detectives over at the Seventeenth weren’t that experienced enough to handle these kinds of homicides. The Chicago Police Superintendent Ryan felt this murder investigation was way too messy and far too complicated for the Seventeenth District to screw up. Some of those detectives were morons and didn’t know the difference between a box of Cracker Jacks and a Happy Meal.

  I had just gotten off the phone when a reporter nemesis of mine entered my office and decided to honor me with his presence.

  “Hey Phil…what’s up?”

  His name was Charles “Chaz” Rizzo, and he was an investigative reporter from WDRV-8 Eyewitness News. He was a shorter, stocky guy who tried to intimidate everyone, especially within the Chicago Police Department. He was a well-dressed, arrogant bastard, who pushed himself around on everyone with his press badge, as though he were an over-sized linebacker for the Chicago Bears. He reported mostly on “syndicate crime” investigations, as he was their so called “Mafia reporter”. Whenever there was a story that WDRV-8 News suspected was “mobbed up”, Rizzo was all over it.

  “Who let you in here?” I replied.

  I had enough verbal sparring matches with Rizzo in the past to skip all the kind pleasantries. He started to laugh that little girl giggle of his, and then made himself comfortable in front of my desk.

  “Come on, Philly! You get a mob hit on West Argyle and you don’t call me? Shame on you! We go back too far!”

  “A mob hit? What the hell are you talking about, Rizzo?”

  “Come on Phil. You know what I’m talking about. That old man hanging in his basement this morning. You’re not goi
ng to play stupid with me now, are you?”

  I couldn’t tell if Chaz came over to fish out information or to volunteer details. As much of a scumbag that Rizzo was, he was pretty good at investigating crime scenes and enlightening me with new information.

  “Look Chaz, we haven’t classified it as a homicide or a mob hit or anything right now. For all we know, this could be a suicide.” That was a ridiculous statement, but I was trying to get a reaction out of him and find out what he knows.

  “A suicide? Really?” He laughed that girly laugh of his that always manages to get on my nerves.

  “Hmmmm….let’s see. The old man stabs himself several times, impales himself with a sharp broomstick, cuts his own throat, and then cuts off his balls after gouging out his own eyeballs.”

  “And…oh yeah…then he hangs himself. Yep, sounds like a suicide to me,” as he pretended to spit in his right hand and made some obscene stroking gestures.

  “Stop jagging me, Phil.”

  I now realized that this reporter bastard had the whole crime scene memorized. Rizzo was turning this into a contest to see how fast I could throw him out of my office. I glared at him for about five seconds.

  “If there was a party on West Argyle, I don’t recall sending you an invitation. We didn’t put out a press release and didn’t call you guys for a reason. We’re not sure what we have here.” I was fumbling with my automatic lead pencil, trying to get it to work.

  ”So where are you getting your info?” I asked, knowing he was going pull me into that verbal chess game of his that he always pulls me into.

  Rizzo looked at me and smiled, with that ‘I know something you don’t’ look on his face.

  “Come on Philly don’t play coy with me here. You have a 79-year-old ex-priest murdered, gutted and sliced up like a pig! You’ve got no prints, no weapon, and no evidence except a red, long-stemmed rose.”

  This son-of-a-bitch had more information than I thought. He probably came straight over here from the Seventeenth District. I would bet money that those moronic detectives were probably chirping to him like mindless, little parakeets.

  “Ok, Mister-Know-It-All reporter. What’s your theory?” I asked, knowing I was going to get his opinion anyways.

  “This is a mob hit, Philly. Bet the farm.” Rizzo was smiling from ear to ear, knowing that he had his next feature story for tomorrow night’s six o’clock news.

  “A mob hit by whom? Dion O’Banion? Is the ‘Flower Shop Gangster’ still around?” I sarcastically asked.

  “Nice guess, Philly. It’s probably a mob henchman with Catholic priest issues.” Rizzo was fumbling with his car keys on my desk.

  “Maybe this killer had his pants pulled down when he was an altar boy,” he said. I could tell Rizzo was amusing himself, trying to pump information out of me at the same time.

  “But why an old ex-priest?” I asked out loud, hoping Rizzo had some constructive ideas.

  “I went to the Archdiocese office this afternoon,” I began to tell Rizzo.

  “I talked to a Monsignor Kilbane. He says this old man was a model Catholic layman, and even did volunteer work at Lurie Children’s Hospital. This Marquardt guy wasn’t defrocked and isn’t listed anywhere as a pedophile.” I reasoned.

  Rizzo looked at me, deep in thought. He pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights, and put a cigarette in his mouth without lighting it, as he glared at the “No Smoking” sign hanging on the other side of the office.

  “How do you know, Phil?” he asked, looking at me straight in the eye.

  “Know what?”

  “How do you know?” he asked again. There was a five second pause as I was without an answer.

  “How do you know that he wasn’t a pedophile?” Rizzo asked me again, pretending to take a long drag from his unlit cigarette. A few silent moments went by, as I pondered Rizzo’s question.

  “What do you remember about Cardinal Brody?” he asked, blowing fake smoke circles into the air.

  “Seriously? That he was one of our more corrupt Chicago Cardinals,” I tried to recall, only that he died in the early eighties. My background on Chicago Catholic history wasn’t the greatest, and I knew I was going to get a short history lesson from my buddy Rizzo.

  “’Corrupt’ is a very mild word for Cardinal John Brody. He was a thief, an adulterer, and a crooked, ruthless criminal who followed his orders from the Vatican without question. One of those Vatican orders was to keep a ‘cloak of silence’ in the diocese regarding pedophile and homosexual priests. And Brody did just that. If you notice, that registry of pedophile priests on the internet doesn’t have any Chicago names from the last fifty years, until recently. That wasn’t by accident. Brody made them ‘quietly’ go away, paid some of them off, and kept the complaints quiet, never involving the authorities.” Rizzo was fumbling inside of his coat pockets as he continued the history tutorial.

  “The attorney general’s office had Brody’s indictments prepared and ready to be delivered when he died in April 1983. After his death, the investigation into the Archdiocese and Cardinal Brody died with him.”

  I sat at my desk, digesting what Chaz was saying. Was it possible that Marquardt was a pedophile priest who was pushed out of the church by Cardinal Brody? If that were true, that would create motive, but by whom? Why kill an old former priest now, after all these years? There were too many missing puzzle pieces before coming to any conclusions.

  “Chaz, you still haven’t come up with a good motive here. Why would a professional killer, or even the Mafia, butcher up an old, former priest? And let’s say he was a pedophile. Why would someone take him out now? His alleged crimes probably occurred over fifty years ago. If this guy was a pedophile monster, I’m sure the authorities would have gotten involved by now. Your theory just doesn’t add up.”

  Rizzo just took another fake drag from his unlit cigarette. I was starting to wish he would just light it up already.

  “Philly, you’re not getting it. Cardinal Brody was very, very good at making pedophile priests disappear.”

  Rizzo totally had my attention, and he was a treasure chest of information on the Archdiocese. Besides chasing mob hoodlums on the six o’clock news, he had done a few feature stories on the Chicago Archdiocese when some of the pedophile priest lawsuits started coming into light, thanks to the help of the Chicago Sun-Times.

  “He defrocked them, he relocated them, and he put them into new careers. It was like a ‘Witness Protection Program’ for defrocked priests. And this policy continued well after Brody was gone. The Archdiocese of Chicago did this for many defrocked priests up until around 2002. It wasn’t until after all that shit hit the fan in Boston with Cardinal Law that the Chicago Archdiocese started turning these guys over to the authorities,” Rizzo lectured.

  I listened intently and scribbled down a few notes. All the information and the history lesson made a lot of sense, but it still didn’t explain a motive for the murder.

  “I get it, Riz. That would explain the victim’s past. But it still falls way short on a motive for the murder.”

  “If I were a gambling man,” Rizzo began stating again, knowing that he had my full attention, “I would put my money on the theory that this killer is a professional, probably an abused pedophile victim, who had it out for this old ex-priest, big time.”

  “Really? That sounds like quite a stretch,” I said.

  “But let’s say you’re right. How do you suppose we get a list of Marquardt’s pedophile victims? From the Archdiocese of Chicago? Fifty years or more after the fact? Unless there are recent civil lawsuits against the former priest, the Illinois statute of limitations is 18 years old plus 20 years. So, anything prior to the 1980’s had already long expired on these cases.”

  I knew that trying to get into the Archdiocese’s office on Rush Street and attempt to acquire any old information on any past child abuse cases would be next to impossible.

  “What do you know about the Cardinal’s Administrative Chief of Staff
?” Now I was the one fishing for information.

  “Monsignor Kilbane?” he asked. “Good luck with that guy! You’ve got a better chance of catching the Cardinal walking out of a whore house than getting anything out of him. Kilbane runs that office with an iron fist. Nothing goes in or out of the Archdiocese of Chicago without him knowing about it. He will throw so many brick walls in front of you, and he will make it impossible for you to get any information.” he said.

  “And if your subpoenas and warrants manage to get past his desk, you’ve got their hot shot, LaSalle Street lawyers to deal with.”

  “Yeah…” I was starting to concede. “I imagine the Archdiocese is pretty lawyered up.”

  “Are you kidding? Herzog, Cohen and Schwartz. They’ve been their lawyers for years, and these guys are the ‘disciples of darkness’. They will quash every single subpoena the prosecutor’s office throws at them. Unless you can make a direct connection between any crime and the Archdiocese, you won’t get anywhere.” he stated.

  “They will stall and mess with you, big time. It took us over a year of legal hassles and court appearances just to get what little information we could get on Cardinal Brody. If it wasn’t for the AG’s office, we would still be standing outside their front door, with our ‘schlongs’ in our hands.”

  Rizzo was starting to make my night, as he probably could sense the frustration on my face with this homicide investigation. Chaz Rizzo then got up from the chair and gathered his car keys.

  “Ok Riz….you’ve got my attention. So where do you suggest I start?” I asked, feeling like a little high school boy, looking for advice on his first date.

  He looked at me and made that girly laugh of his, making me cringe. He was walking towards the door to exit my office before turning around.

  “Follow the money, Amigo.” I looked at him, totally confused.

  “What?”

  “Follow the money!” he said again. I could hear him giggling to himself as he closed my office door behind him.