Chameleon fk-13

by William X. Kienzle

  “Well, yes and no. I can easily see how you would be concerned about this business. We all are. You’d like all the information you can get. But others have better information than I have. For instance, the names of the possible suspects the police are working with; as I mentioned, I got those from Father Bash. In fact, that I could come up with the names was purely accidental. I just happened to be playing cards-which I very seldom do-when the subject came up. So, Archbishop, I can understand that you want as much information as you can gather. But, why me?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you. Ever since the Cardinal mentioned your … uh … avocation of assisting the police, I’ve been looking into the matter-quietly and unobtrusively, mind you. Now I don’t doubt for an instant that your involvement in police work has come about just as you’ve explained: You’ve been drawn in by peculiar sets of circumstances-the right place at the right or wrong time sort of thing.

  “However, after that I fear you are far too modest. Several times, or so I’ve been told, you’ve been much more than simply a source of information and authentication. Sometimes you have actually solved the case. Now don’t be denying it,” Foley quickly added.

  “I suppose you might conclude that. I don’t look at it quite that way. But I guess it’s not worth arguing about. So even if we grant that I’ve contributed something of substance in the past, I’m still left wondering why you chose to call me in just now.”

  “Two reasons. This case, by its very nature, needs someone like yourself to cut through all the mysterious nooks and crannies of our creaky old Church. Secondly-and for me more important-I’ve had a premonition for some time now. The premonition is that Mark-Cardinal Boyle-is among the intended victims this murderer is stalking.

  “Now, I know very well that there’s no proof for such an idea. And you’re probably telling yourself that it’s just an old man’s hallucination. But it’s very real to me, Father. And I want to do everything in my power to make certain sure it doesn’t happen. Do you understand?”

  In his younger years, Koesler very probably would have pooh-poohed something as vague as a premonition. Just as he had once dismissed intuition as nothing more than a hysterical reaction. But no more. He was older and, thank God, somewhat wiser.

  “I understand,” Koesler said, “and I respect your premonition. But what makes you think that Cardinal Boyle could be in any danger?”

  “To tell the truth, it came to me in prayer. I was saying my breviary the Other day and came across the saying, ‘Omnes scandalizabimini in me in nocte ista: quia scriptum est: Percutiam pastorem, et dispergentur oves.’”

  Isn’t that nice, Koesler thought; he still reads the breviary in Latin. “‘All of you will be scandalized in me this night: because it is written: I will strike the shepherd and the sheep will be scattered,’” Koesler translated.

  Isn’t that nice, Foley thought; he still remembers his Latin. “Yes,” Foley said, ‘I read the phrase and it transfixed me. It was as if the Lord himself were getting my attention. I don’t have any idea how many times I’ve read that text-hundreds. But this time, it was as if I were seeing it for the first time. It was such a unique experience for me! I prayed long over this experience. And the more I prayed, the more I associated the text with the Cardinal. And it fits rather nicely with one or the other of those fellows you said were under suspicion by the police.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, both of them, uh … Carson and, uh … Stapleton, seem bent on stirring up a ruckus to get the Church’s attention-though for different reasons, of course. Carson wants to go back to the thirteenth century, or at very least to the 1950s. And Stapleton wants to jump ahead into the twenty-first-or twenty-second-century. But to do either, they figure they’ve, got to stir things up-get the attention of the Church.

  “What better way than to strike down the chief shepherd of the diocese? Do that and the sheep will be scattered, dispersed, all shaken up. He will have gotten the Church’s attention. Don’t you see?”

  “Yes, Bishop, I see. But if that were the intention of whoever is doing this, why bother with Sister Joan or, particularly, Larry Hoffer? How would they fit into this scheme?”

  Foley’s brow knit as he gnawed at his lower lip. “I don’t know. This is not a full-blown theory, you know, Father, it’s just a premonition. But a very strong one.

  “Okay, Bishop, let me try to fill in the missing pieces.

  “Suppose your premonition is accurate. Now, I agree that the murder of an ordinary, an archbishop and a Cardinal, would make the hierarchy wake up and pay attention. But what if these other two murders were simply a prelude to the gross act of attacking the archbishop? How much more terrifying this scenario would be. In effect, the attention of the sheep as well as the other shepherds would be attracted even before the perpetrator struck down the chief shepherd. What do you think?”

  Foley regarded Koesler with seemingly greater interest. “See: There, I told you: You were being modest. You have got a knack for this sort of thing.”

  “Bishop, I’m only fleshing out your idea. We both easily could be as wrong as wrong can be.”

  “But what if my premonition and your added impressions are on the mark?”

  “All right, what if they are?”

  “Then that would bring me to what they like to call ‘the bottom line,’ the reason, the real reason, I asked you here.”

  “And that?”

  “That is that I very much want you to involve yourself in this case.”

  “But I am-or have been. I told you about my meeting with Lieutenant Tully.”

  “I know, Father, I know. And I’ve listened to you explain how you got involved in the past. You’ve been very passive up till now. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. The present case is certainly no different from the previous cases. There you were, in your rectory, minding your own business, tending to your parishioners, when this Lieutenant Tully called on your knowledge of Church structure and the administration of this archdiocese. So you gave him what he was looking for-information. And now you’re finished. There will be no further involvement on your part … unless, of course, you again just happen to be in the right place at the right time.”

  Koesler smiled. “I can’t dispute your assumption. But why are you making me feel guilty?”

  “I don’t know why you’re feeling guilty, but I’m glad you are. Because I’m asking you to get involved in this case. As involved as. you possibly can be.”

  Koesler hesitated. “Bishop, I’d like to do what you ask of me. But what you suggest sounds rather pushy. And that’s not my style.”

  “I want you to do it because I fear for Cardinal Boyle. I don’t know how you feel about the man ….”

  “That’s easy. I admire him and I’m proud as punch that he’s my bishop. I have no qualms whatsoever in representing him.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that. He is a good man. But hardly one who would go into hiding or even take any sort of precaution to protect himself He’ll go on with his duties, appearing regularly in public.

  “I hope and pray I’m wrong. But if he is the next target, somebody has to do something to protect him. And since we can’t depend on his being any help to himself, the best thing that can happen is that this case gets solved before anything does happen to him.”

  “Bishop, I want to put your mind at ease. I’d like to tell you I’ll get actively involved. God save us, I’d even like to assure you that I will get in there and solve this case. But to be brutally honest, I don’t have a clue as to what’s going on here. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  Foley rose from his chair, walked around the desk, and stood immediately in front of Koesler.

  “God bless you, Father. I don’t expect you to sweep the police aside and become a one-man force to single-handedly solve this case. Heaven forbid, I know that’s impossible. All I’m asking is for your positive involvement. Now, I know you wouldn’t know where to start. Bu
t you’ve got a talent for this sort of thing and it’s extremely important-a Case of life and death, I believe, quite literally-that you try. I’m asking you to open yourself to the Holy Spirit. Because I am going to pray for you. I’m going to pray as intensely as I ever have. What you and I cannot do with our meager strength, God can accomplish through us. Will you, Father? Will you?”

  Koesler sighed as his shoulders sagged in an I-can’t-fight-this-any-further slump. “All right, Bishop. I’ll do what I cam But you had better be awfully darn good at praying.”

  22

  Sergeant Angie Moore was describing the case she had handled earlier in the day. “According to just about everybody I talked to, this guy was the life of the party. I mean, all the time. He was never ‘off.’ Helped around the neighborhood too. A regular Good Neighbor Sam. But before he’d go home, almost every time …”

  “He’d booze it up?” Lieutenant Tully interrupted.

  “How’d you guess?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been over this territory too many times. When he’s out, he’s Dr. Jekyll. But when he goes home, he’s Mr. Hyde. There has to be some potion he takes to speed up the change. My guess is it’s not drugs or the neighbors would know about it and he’d lose his image real quick. So: booze.”

  Moore and Tully were seated in the otherwise empty squad room. Tully was struggling to pay attention.. But what Moore was describing was a platter case, and besides, he was preoccupied with the Catholic affair-which was proving the opposite of a platter.

  “Well,” Moore admitted, “you’re right. It was booze.”

  “And he had to get more and more ’cause he was building up an immunity,”

  Moore laughed. “Say, whose case is this anyway?”

  “Sorry Go ahead. I’ll shut up.”

  “You seem to have guessed what happened when he got home.”

  Tully simply looked interested. He’d promised he wouldn’t interrupt any more.

  “Okay,” Moore continued. “He would beat his wife to a pulp.”

  “Witnesses?”

  “Two teenagers. Their son and daughter. Sometimes they’d try to intervene, but then they’d get it too. He was a big son-of-a-bitch. After a while, they just quit trying. Sometimes she’d try to fight back but she’d only get hit harder.”

  “I take it things got reversed this morning. I mean, after all, the guy’s dead.”

  “Yeah. But not the way you’d expect.”

  Tully showed some interest.

  “Last night,” Moore said, “he came home stone sober. Then, after a while, he got tanked and started throwing her around. The boy stepped between them, pleading for his mother. The guy almost killed his son. That did it: She told us she could have taken the abuse, even if it killed her. But not her baby. She decided to get out.”

  “Mother love.”

  “So this morning the guy gets up, goes out to start the car-to warm it up before he went to work. He turned the ignition on and blew himself into jelly”

  Tully was surprised. “The wife wired the car?”

  “That’s the funny part. Right now, it looks like he did it to get rid of her.”

  “How-?”

  “They got two cars. Last night when he got home sober he worked on the car his wife drove. Neighbors saw him. His foreman checked and found that he’d taken some explosives from work. That’s it, Zoo: This morning he was so hung over, he started the wrong can.”

  He had to agree there was a different twist here. But it was still a “platter” case.

  Sergeant Mangiapane cleared his throat. At some point he had entered the room and had been standing just inside the door. Neither Tully nor Moore had been aware of his presence.

  “Yes, indeedy,” Moore took the hint, “I got some work to do.” She gathered up her tote bag and left the squad room.

  Once again Tully was alone with one of his detectives. This time there was a genuine interest. Mangiapane was among the officers still investigating Larry Hoffer’s murder as well as that of Helen Donovan.

  “Got something?” From the manner of Mangiapane’s entrance, Tully was fairly sure the sergeant did have some fresh development.

  “Maybe.” Mangiapane sat down directly opposite Tully.

  Tully merely looked at him, waiting.

  “You know that nursing home up in Pontiac? On Watkins Lake Road?”

  “No, can’t say that I do.” Tully had no reason, by his lights, to be aware of the facility. It had never been involved in any case he had investigated. Until now, at least.

  “Well, okay,” Mangiapane said. He wondered from time to time about the comparative narrowness of Tully’s interest. “There is one. It’s been there almost thirty years. The reason I’m bringing this up is that my aunt works there. She’s an RN.”

  Tully would not have been surprised should Mangiapane volunteer his aunt’s medical education and achievements. Excessive detail was one of the boy’s failings. Fortunately, ne had more than enough virtues to offset the drawbacks. He had all the makings of a fine detective. One day he would be one of the best. As long as he paid attention.

  Tully was about to redirect Mangiapane’s attention to the case at hand when the sergeant returned to it of his own volition.

  “I don’t see Aunt Marie very often-Christmas, Easter, family get-togethers, that sort of thing. That’s why I was surprised when she called me.”

  “When was that?”

  “Yesterday. Well, last night, actually. She said she’d been keeping up on this murder case in the papers and she knew I was working on it. She sort of brags to the patients and the staff when I’m on a big case.” He smiled modestly “She always wonders how come my picture ain’t in the paper when I’m on a major case.”

  There he goes again.“Manj,” Tully said, “tell me why I should be interested in what your aunt thinks of our investigation of this, particular case.”

  “Sure, Zoo. Sorry.” Mangiapane had been made aware of his tendency to digress. He tried to reform, but it wasn’t easy. “What it was, Zoo, is that Aunt Marie has this patient at the nursing home. The old lady’s not quite with it most of the time. But once in a while, she’s … whaddyacallit?”

  “Lucid?”

  “Yeah, I think. Anyway, Aunt Marie heard her talkin’ about her nephew and niece, who were religious. I mean the nephew is a priest and the niece is a nun. Catholics usually are proud of a thing like that, Zoo. So it wasn’t unusual that she would brag about it. At least she did it a few times when she was … lucid.”

  “I think we’ve gotten through the introduction, Manj. Has this story got a middle or an end?”

  “Sure, Zoo. The thing is, her niece’s name is Sister Joan Donovan.”

  Tully leaned forward.

  “And …” Mangiapane paused for a perfect theatrical delivery. “… her nephew is Father Fred Stapleton. Or was.”

  “Stapleton? Donovan. They’re …”

  “Cousins, Zoo. Forty-second, maybe, but cousins.”

  “Now that is interesting.” Mangiapane had Tully’s complete attention.

  “Aunt Marie remembered tfiis when she read about Sister Joan being an intended victim and how I saved her. My aunt had never heard of Stapleton-except from hearing this old lady talk about him. What she called me for was to tell me about the nun and how it was a coincidence that I had saved her life by collaring that jerk who tried to kill her. She just mentioned Stapleton because the old lady always mentioned them together. She had no idea both cousins figured in this investigation.”

  “Interesting. Very interesting. Did you follow it up?”

  “I went out to the nursing home this morning, Zoo. Aunt Marie was really surprised and happy to see me. She took me to this lady, but the old girl wasn’t having one of her … lucid times. Batty as a bedbug, Zoo. She just sort of mumbles and drools. But-and this is the big thing-they’ve got her last will and testament on file out there. I guess it was made at one of the times she’d run out of drool.


  “It turns out, Zoo, that these two people are her only living relatives. She was an old maid. She’s left everything to them. And it’s quite a pile. Her daddy was in on the beginning of General Motors-loads of stock. He built it into a pretty big fortune, and he left the whole shebang to his daughter. And she was no slouch: She invested her inheritance until it got to be several million dollars. She’s using some of it-although she probably doesn’t know what’s going on-for her care now. Still, there’s a bundle left for Donovan and Stapleton.”

  Tully’s eyes were animated. “Now that’s very intriguing.”

  Buoyed by Tully’s growing interest, Mangiapane continued. “I asked Aunt Marie if the old lady knew that her nephew had quit the priesthood. She said she didn’t think so ‘cause even when she was rational she never mentioned that. She always calls him ‘Father Fred.’ Besides, even Aunt Marie didn’t know Stapleton was out.”

  “She didn’t know?” Tully was surprised again, “Your aunt didn’t know that Stapleton is a psychologist? Hell, he’s practically a celebrity. And she didn’t know?”

  “No, Zoo. She don’t pay much attention to current affairs.” Mangiapane was surprised that Tully was surprised that Aunt Marie didn’t read the papers or watch TV news much. Of all people, Tully, with his lack of interest in events that had nothing to do with his work, should appreciate Aunt Marie’s information gaps.

  “Okay,” Tully said. “Go on.”

  “Well, I asked Aunt Marie what the old lady would do if she knew her nephew wasn’t a priest anymore. She didn’t have to think about it a minute. Right off she said the old lady would be mad as hell and would cut Stapleton out of her will.”

  “Just because he stopped being a priest?” Tully obviously found that hard to believe.

  “That’s the way it is with Catholics, Zoo … at least the oldtime ones. They’re proud as peacocks when a relative gets to be a priest or a nun. But let them quit and their names might as well be mud. Anyway, Aunt Marie says that’s not likely to happen: The old gal hardly ever comes to anymore. And on the off chance she would be wide awake anytime that Aunt Marie was with her, she said she’d never tell her. The old gal’d go bananas. It could kill her.”