by Edward Izzi
“And Marquardt never asked to change or amend the beneficiary of his life insurance policy?”
“Of course not. Why would he? Mr. Marquardt was aware of our philanthropic activities.”
“Of course, he was,” I couldn’t hide my sarcasm any longer. “Your Archdiocese also funds the pension plans for old and retired priests, correct Father?”
“That is correct.”
“And I imagine, this five-million-dollar insurance policy is going to help pay for a lot of pensions and a lot of needy soup kitchens, correct?” I retorted.
“How did you know about the life insurance policy, Detective?”
I broadly smiled as I answered his question. “We got a phone call from the Great Lakes Life Insurance Company. Seems they’re a little suspicious, being that John Marquardt was brutally murdered and all.”
Monsignor Kilbane looked at me sternly. His circular wired glasses appeared to be showing condensation as he was starting to vent out steam.
“I’m sorry, Monsignor Kilbane. I’m just having a very hard time understanding all of this. Why would a former priest, who decides to leave the priesthood in 1982 to take care of his sick mother, subsidize and pay the premiums of a five-million-dollar life insurance policy, through his employment here at the Archdiocese, and leave all of that money to the Archdiocese of Chicago when he dies?”
Kilbane looked like he was beginning to get very aggravated. “What’s your point, Detective Dorian? I have a very busy day here and you’re taking up a lot of my time,” he replied as he was fumbling with his letter opener, holding it at one point as though it were a dagger.
“It just doesn’t make any sense to me, Father,” I continued. “Do all of your former priests sign up for high dollar insurance policies when they leave the priesthood?”
Kilbane knew at that point that I was interrogating him about these various life insurance policies.
“Some do, yes…”
“Five million bucks worth?” I retorted.
“John had no family, and he wanted to leave something substantial to the Catholic community, I’m sure.”
“But five million dollars’ worth?” I asked him again. I was trying so hard to push his buttons.
Kilbane just sat there in silence, as he knew he was inches away from hearing the Miranda warning and being hauled down to the district office for questioning.
“Father, I heard you grew up in Mayor Daley’s old neighborhood,” I blankly asked him.
“Yes.”
“Well, I know for a fact that you guys from Bridgeport are all connected to one another, isn’t that right?”
“Connected?”
“Well, yes, you know, connected.”
The priest looked at me, pretending not to know what I was talking about.
“I’ve heard through the grapevine that you and ‘Little Tony’ DiMatteo are pallies,” I mentioned this, wanting to let him to know that I had done my homework on him.
“We went to grade school together, at Nativity of Our Lord in Bridgeport,” he said.
“Of course, you did. I also heard through the grapevine that you’re the family’s priest, and that you even married off Little Tony’s daughter.”
Monsignor Kilbane looked directly in my eyes, looking as though he was ready to jump over his desk and wrap his hands around my throat.
“Is there a law against presiding over a wedding? They asked me to marry them and I was honored.”
“I’ll bet you were. You and Little Tony have a nice, cozy little friendship going on, isn’t that right?”
“What are you insinuating, Detective?” Kilbane angrily asked.
“You know, Father. It’s kind of strange that when I was here last week to tell you about Marquardt’s murder, that you weren’t shocked or surprised. You didn’t even flinch. Especially, since that old man was employed here at your diocese for so many years. I thought it was unusual that you didn’t ask me any questions as to how or why he was murdered.”
The Monsignor didn’t say a word. He just sat there, stone-faced, making sure he didn’t say anything that would incriminate him. His eyes continued to lock into mine, as though we were in a silly, staring contest.
“You know,” I continued, “That murder had all the signs of a mob-hit. Did you know that? That old man was cut up and sliced up pretty good. Now why would a nice, do-gooder, former accountant from the Archdiocese of Chicago, who volunteers at the Children’s Hospital three times a week, suffer such a gruesome, violent death? It was as though somebody wanted revenge. It was though the murderer wanted to make a violent statement by killing and mutilating this old former priest, Father. Doesn’t all of this sound peculiar to you?” I mentioned in detail, trying to study the Monsignor’s reaction.
“I did read about it, Detective Dorian,” he responded. I could tell he was struggling to remain calm, as his forehead was beginning to perspire.
“Was the former Father Marquardt a pedophile priest, Monsignor?” I interrogated him.
“I wouldn’t know the answer to that, Detective,” he quickly responded.
“You’re not aware of any pending pedophile lawsuits, where Father Marquardt was involved?”
“No, I am not,” he quickly answered.
“I imagine, Monsignor, that the Archdiocese could really use five million bucks right about now, don’t you agree? With all the pedophile lawsuits going on and all?”
Kilbane was starting to turn colors again, as the perspiration was now starting to drip from his forehead.
“I think our little visit here is over, Detective. I will put you in touch with our attorneys.”
“Of course, you will, Father. You do that. I hear your high-priced attorneys are very good at quashing subpoenas from the D.A.’s office,” I was starting to get angry, as we both rose up from our chairs.
“Just think what your diocese can do with five million bucks?” I kept asking him, as I was going to do my best to rattle him and to bait him into losing his temper.
“With all of the pedophile lawsuits the Archdiocese is on the hook for, and with all of the many victims of the all those pedophile priests your Archdiocese has protected over the years…”
“Goodbye Detective. We’re done here,” he sternly warned as his face was starting to turn red. I just kept pushing the envelope, waiting to see if he would crack.
“Boy-oh-boy, Father. Five million bucks sure comes in handy, especially when you have all of those pending lawsuits going on,” I kept pressing him.
Kilbane looked like he could be easily flustered and coaxed into losing his hot, Irish temper. I had read somewhere that he ran around with a few of the tougher kids in the Bridgeport area, including DiMatteo. All the guys that I knew from that neighborhood hit first and asked questions later. The Monsignor looked like he wasn’t in bad shape and had probably spent more than his share of his younger days at the gym.
Monsignor Kilbane just stood up and walked around from his large, antique desk, and approached me, within inches of my face. I wondered for a second if he had the balls to punch an on-duty police officer. I pulled the right side of my suit coat behind my gun, so that my Glock 17 sidearm was well displayed. Kilbane just stood in front of me, glaring at me for about five seconds without saying a word. I’m sure he was trying very hard not to say any of the ‘f-bombs’ that were probably going through his head at that moment.
“You need to leave, right now, Detective,” he warned me again.
“I’m sure you’ll be needing this when you talk to your attorneys,” as I pulled out one of my cards and placed it on his desk.
“This conversation is far from over, Father,” I stated.
I walked out of his office and tapped my hand on the secretary’s desk, letting her know that I would be back soon. Chaz Rizzo had warned me about Kilbane. He was one ‘tough cookie’. I realized that after leaving the Cardinal’s mansion that it was going to take more than a coincidence or some circumstantial evidence to get Monsignor Kil
bane down to the Sixteenth District for questioning. Judging by the Monsignor’s friendship with DiMatteo, it would make sense if the Archdiocese solicited the homicide of an ex-priest, all cashed up in life insurance.
But ‘Little Tony’ DiMatteo enjoys keeping a low profile, and I was certain he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let himself get involved in a ‘murder for hire’ plot of a former priest for the insurance money. And like Rizzo said, although the Archdiocese has probably broken a majority of the ‘Lord’s Commandments’, he didn’t a think murder-for-hire scheme was one of them.
So, if Kilbane and DiMatteo had nothing to do with this murder, who does that leave? Maybe somebody, who has nothing to gain, randomly kills and mutilates a little old ex-priest for shits and giggles, and now the Chicago Archdiocese is coincidently, enjoying a nice little windfall in the form of a five-million-dollar life insurance policy?
It just doesn’t make any sense.
Chapter Nine
Payoff to Little Tony
The evening sun was beginning to set as Monsignor Kilbane was alone in his office that early evening. The rest of the Cardinal’s staff had gone home, and he was alone at his desk thinking about his unexpected morning visit with Detective Dorian earlier that day.
He had known about the murder and killing of John Marquardt for some time now and presumed that Little Tony was involved in his death. He asked himself at first, how Little Tony would have known that the pedophile and former priest was the first one on his ’hit list’. Monsignor Kilbane had previously pulled out the Archdiocese’s files and records on the former priest.
There were over twenty complaints and incidents of sexual molesting allegations against Marquardt, starting from 1963 until his ‘retirement’ in 1982, that the Archdiocese was aware of. Many of these reported incidents had occurred while he was the pastor at St. Rosalia’s Parish on Taylor Street. Although the former priest was never ‘defrocked’, the rumors of his sexual deviances with small boys were no secret to the surrounding community.
Kilbane presumed that, because of the vicious rumors amongst the Italians and Irish who lived in that neighborhood at the time, Marquardt’s perverted actions and malicious reputation would have put him first on any list of pedophile priests who deserved to die for their evil sins. Little Tony and the DiMatteo Family were always very involved within the Chicagoland Italian community, and it wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out that John Marquardt’s name was the first one on his ‘wish’ list.
The Monsignor was thinking about the questions and comments that the Detective brought up this morning and began to wonder: How much did Dorian know? By the statements that were made by him, it sounded as though he was suspicious that Marquardt’s murder was a ‘mob-style hit’. Meaning that, because of his longtime relationship with Little Tony, the Chicago Police Department was already apprehensive to this killing being a ‘murder-for-hire,’ plot, all to the benefit of the Archdiocese of Chicago.
But Fr. Joe also knew that Little Tony and his team of ‘hit men’ were professionals, and that they would never attempt such a murder unless they were ‘one hundred percent’ sure that they would never get convicted. He was confident that Little Tony had well planned this ‘hit’ on Marquardt, and knowingly didn’t get him involved in order to keep him ignorant of any of the details. In this way, the Monsignor thought, he was not an accessory to the crime. Little Tony was very ‘street smart’ and very thorough when it came to performing these ‘hits’. His silence kept Kilbane from being a participant in the murder.
Kilbane decided that evening, regardless of Detective Dorian’s questions and insinuations that he wasn’t going to worry about the Chicago Police Department. If they hadn’t made an arrest by now, due to the lack of evidence either at the crime scene or elsewhere, it wasn’t going to happen.
Kilbane needed to get in touch with Little Tony. He didn’t want to make a direct call to him, even though he had his direct cell phone number. There were always suspicions that his telephones were ‘bugged’. His mode of communication to Little Tony in the past was for his administrative assistant to make a telephone call from her cell phone to his daughter, Gianna, on one of several ‘burner’ phones that she was provided. These ‘burner’ phones were opened and closed on other people’s names and accounts and were typically switched off and disconnected after two or three months of cellular service.
She in turn, would communicate the message to the Consigliere, Sal Marrocco, who would then relay the message directly to Little Tony. This was a long and arduous process, but it always assisted the two of them in keeping their private meetings even more discrete.
Kilbane had met Marrocco on several occasions. Their last encounter was at DiMatteo’s daughter’s wedding, which the Monsignor presided over. He remembered being impressed with Marrocco’s intellect and ‘street smarts’, knowing that as the DiMatteo Family Consigliere, he was well aware of all of Little Tony’s personal and business affairs. He also admired the 18-karat gold, ruby red cross ring that Marrocco was wearing that evening, along with his gold, diamond-clad, Rolex watch.
Kilbane had Ms. Palella, his administrative assistant, call Gianna earlier that afternoon, and was awaiting the details as to when and where he and Tony were meeting. He needed to know the specific details of Little Tony’s fees, and how much they would be, seeing that he had taken it upon himself to carry out this ‘hit’.
That evening, the Monsignor went into the Archdiocese safe, which was located in the basement of the mansion. He brought with him a black satchel bag and the combination, which only he and the Cardinal had. After spinning the tumblers to the combination lock, he opened the safe.
There were large stacks of cash inside, spindled in dominations of $10,000 each. It was not unusual for the safe to have in excess of one million dollars or more in cash and currency. There were also over one hundred gold and silver ‘bars’, several bags of gold and silver coins, and some ‘private’ documents filed separately, locked in a safe deposit box within the safe.
There was also a large, red ledger book, which recorded all the deposits and withdrawals of cash and currency within the safe. Kilbane opened the ledger book and recorded the withdrawal of $50,000 dollars in cash that evening. He marked down the withdrawal as a ‘Deposit for services –NB”. The initials “NB” stood for “Nativity Bridgeport”, which was the acronym Kilbane decided to use for the payoff of Little Tony for his ‘murder for hire’ services. He hoped that the ‘fifty large’ would be enough to thank Tony for his services, and to let him know that there would be more cash available when the insurance paid out on Marquardt’s life insurance claim.
He put the five large stacks of cash in the black satchel. He was sure he would see Little Tony either the next evening or soon thereafter, and he wanted to have the black bag ready for their private encounter. He closed the safe and returned to his office. Before leaving, he took his expensive 18-karat gold, ruby red cross ring off, which he never wore in public, and placed it in his small jewelry box on his credenza. He then shut off the lights and locked his office door.
__________________________________________
The valet eagerly took the Monsignor’s car keys the next evening, as he pulled his black Cadillac sedan in front of Trattoria Pagliacci on North Halsted. It was a warm spring evening, and he took a few minutes to close the sunroof and windows of his car, in case it would rain. He grabbed his black satchel, located on the floor the back seat, and proceeded to find Little Tony in his private room within the restaurant.
“Father Joe!”
“Hey Tony,” as they excitedly greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek.
Little Tony immediately fixated his eyes on the black satchel that Father Joe brought with to accompany them at their dinner. The two of them sat down, as Tony was finishing his first Crown Royal while the Monsignor ordered his first Manhattan. The two made small talk as usual, as they continued to drink down their cocktails and ordered entrée’s. Little Tony w
as discussing his excitement of being a first-time grandfather, with his daughter Gianna pregnant with their first child. The Monsignor, as usual, discussed the frustrations of running the Archdiocese of Chicago.
Neither one of them discussed the contents of the black satchel nor the reason for their visit until Tony DiMatteo finally brought up the subject after they had both finished their dinners.
“So, Joe,” began Little Tony, “What did you need to discuss?”
Monsignor Kilbane looked at Little Tony, perplexed at first, wondering why Tony was playing so coy.
“Well,” the Monsignor began.
“I wanted to thank you for your services, and I brought with me a small token of my appreciation.”
Father Joe then passed the black satchel over to Little Tony, making sure none of the servers or the wait staff were around in the room.
Little Tony opened the bag and displayed a shocked look on his face when he realized that his friend had enclosed $50,000 in cash in bundled currency, all neatly stacked inside the satchel.
“Joe? What the fuck is this?”
“Tony, now, don’t get upset. It’s a small deposit until we receive the proceeds. As soon as the Chicago Police Department completes their investigation, I am sure we will have the insurance proceeds by then…”
Little Tony just looked at Father Joe with a bewildered look on his face.
“What?”
“It’s a small deposit, Tony.”
“Deposit for what?”
“It’s a deposit, Tony, for your services….you know….”
Little Tony looked even more confused, thinking that his intermittent amnesia, which only he only saved for federal agents, was starting to catch up with him.
“Joe, what the fuck are you talking about?”
Monsignor Kilbane was starting to get even more confused with Little Tony’s reaction. He looked around the room, making sure no one was around.
“Come on, Tony? You know! The hit?”
“What hit?” he whispered loudly. “What are you fucking talking about?”