Chameleon fk-13

by William X. Kienzle

  “We must trust in Divine Providence.”

  “Yes, Eminence, but-”

  The phone rang. Boyle pushed the intercom speaker button.

  “Excuse the interruption, your Eminence,” came the unmistakable voice of the Cardinal’s secretary, “but there is a call for Father Koesler. It’s from a Lieutenant Tully of the Police Department. I wouldn’t have disturbed you, but the lieutenant said it was urgent.”

  For the first time this morning, Boyle smiled. “An answer to prayer?”

  Koesler picked up the phone. “Your place or mine?”

  25

  “The tendency now is to panic,” Tully said.

  He and Koesler were seated on opposite sides of the desk in the priest’s office in St. Joseph’s rectory. Tully had requested they meet here to avoid the intense traffic, noise, and confusion of police headquarters.

  “Everybody wants this case closed yesterday,” Tully continued. “So far, the news media have been having fun with the story. Now that the old bishop got killed they’re acting like for the first time we got to get serious about this thing. A gentle old man gets killed for no apparent reason and right away they want a body on the gallows. The media reached the mayor, who makes a grandstand play of seeming to assign every cop in the city to the case. That’s when everything hits the fan and there’s a tendency to panic. But that’s a blunder. So I want to have a very cool-headed conversation with you and figure a few more things out.”

  “I’ll help any way I can,” Koesler said. He had no intention of mentioning to Tully anything about his recent conversations with Archbishops Foley and Boyle.

  “If you’re going to be a help on this case, you’ve got to know most of what we know. And then I want to know everything you know,” Tully added.

  “First off, we had what I thought was an excellent lead that doesn’t seem to be working out. Unless that lead gets hot again, mere’s no reason we have to go over it now. It’s enough to say that that lead has nothing to do with the Church.

  “Something you should know,” Tully continued, “is how Foley was killed.”

  “It was different from the others? I didn’t hear anything about that in the news.”

  “We didn’t release that information. It was an execution-style killing.”

  “Execution-style? I-”

  “The bullet entered from the top of the skull, The old man was forced to kneel and then he was shot from behind, like some poor sucker who crossed the mob. I don’t know why the killer had to do that; as far as I can tell, the poor guy didn’t do anything to anybody.”

  “Kneeling …” Koesler said, barely audibly. “Imaybedead wrong, but I don’t think the bishop was forced to kneel.”

  “Not forced-? Then what? Praying?”

  “I think it’s that exacdy. I think the bishop asked to say a last prayer when he knew he was going to die. And it sort of fits the profile of your suspects.”

  Tully reacted as if he’d been stung. “Suspects? What suspects?”

  “Uh-oh …”

  “What suspects? What have you heard?”

  “Only that two men are under suspicion.” Koesler yielded before Tully’s hard gaze. “Arnold Carson and Fred Stapleton.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  Koesler hesitated. “A priest.”

  “Damn leaks! We don’t have the time to find them-now. Later. Okay, if Carson and Stapleton are suspects, why would that fit in with the way Foley was killed?”

  “Only that diey both are-it sounds kind of illogical when we’re talking about a murderer-but they both are rather deeply religious, even at opposite extremes of the spectrum. I mean-as you said, Lieutenant-there was no reason anyone Would want to turn this murder into an execution. Particularly since Helen Donovan and Larry Hoffer were not dealt with in that manner. That, plus the bishop’s deep spirituality, makes it likely that he wasn’t forced to kneel. He probably asked to do so-if he didn’t do so instinctively.

  “The thing is,” Koesler added, “if what we’re supposing actually happened, the request was granted. It’s safe to assume that an ordinary killer, far from being inclined to grant such a request, would probably be anxious to get it over with and get away as quickly as he could… isn’t that right?”

  Tully nodded.

  “So,” Koesler said, “only someone with a rather strong confidence in prayer-a strong faith, as it were-would be moved to let the bishop have the time to pray. The killer would be risking detection the longer he held the bishop at gunpoint. It was, after all, right out in the open. Anybody could have happened along. As a matter of fact, if this morning’s newscast was accurate, that’s how the bishop’s body was discovered, wasn’t it? A passerby coming home late last night noticed the body on the sidewalk … no?”

  Tully nodded again.

  “Well,” Koesler said, “to tell the truth, I can’t imagine either Carson or Fred actually killing anybody-let alone a bishop. But if either were going to do it and the bishop asked for time to pray, I could easily imagine that either one would let him do it-no matter what complications that might cause.”

  “Okay,” Tully said. “I guess that makes sense.” More sense than the previously held theory that the murder had been a ritualistic execution, he thought.

  This was working out rather well. Koesler had begun by making sense of nonsense. He might be of more help than Tully had anticipated. In any case, at this stage of the investigation, and given the pressure to close the case, Koesler was Tully’s sole guide.

  “Now,” Tully proceeded, “let me spell out the basic problem we’ve got here. What we’ve got is a serial killer. He has committed three premeditated murders. Well, make that two-and-a-half, assuming that he aimed for the nun but got her sister instead.

  “We know it’s the same person in each instance because ballistics tells us the same weapon was used in each instance.…” Tully’s voice trailed off as a new thought entered the process of analysis. What was it Koesler had said-“…they both are rather deeply religious, even at opposite extremes of the spectrum.” Was it possible …? Granted, ballistics said the same gun was used in each killing; but there was no way of knowing whether or not the same hand had held that gun in each killing. What if … what if two different people-? Tully’s blood turned cold: What if more than one or two people were involved? What if this was some sort of insane conspiracy, with a number of people involved? What good was it to check possible alibis when the one who had committed one murder could easily have ah alibi for the next killing, which oneofhis conspirators had carried out?

  Tully’shead was buzzing. Granted the mayor had given the department carte blanche manpower-wise, but, still, did they have enough staff to follow such a widespread lead? Tully sighed. They’d have to; they’d have to have enough staff. They’d have to check this all out.

  Tully became aware that Koesler was gazing at him quizzically. He smiled, grimly. No need to muddy the waters as far as Koesler was concerned … at least not yet. “Sorry,” he said, “I got carried away with … well, never mind. As I was saying, we know it’s the same person because ballistics tells us the same gun was used in each killing. He-the killer-also used the same kind of bullet-a slug that’s usually used for target practice. Now the way the killer is using this bullet is up close and into the head. What that does is cause an awful lot of damage. So he’s sure as sure can be that the one shot will cause death.

  “It also makes it pretty easy for us to recover me bullets, compare them, and come up with the conclusion that”-he proceeded resolutely-”it’s the same guy doing all the killing. That’s common with a serial killer,” he explained. “He usually wants it known that he’s the same one killing more dian one person.”

  Koesler was aware of the phenomenon of the serial killer wanting each of his murders correcdy attributed to him. He’d read about it in newspapers and books. He’d experienced it in some of the cases he’d been involved in in the past. But Tully’s refresher course was wel
come.

  “The challenge,” Tully continued, “is to find me connection.”

  “The connection?”

  “He’s, killing blondes, or prostitutes, or coeds, or alcoholic bums, or stewardesses. The secret, the link, is in the perp’shead. He knows why he is choosing the people he selects to murder. Sometimes the connection between the victims is obvious and sometimes it’s not. What we’ve got here is a pretty confusing puzzle.”

  Which couldbe even more confusing if we are dealing with more than one killer, was Tully’s added unspoken thought.

  “Why has he selected Sister Joan, Larry Hoffer, and Archbishop Foley, that’s the puzzle,” Koesler said, while wondering somewhat at the lieutenant’s uncharacteristic distractedness.

  Tully, having concluded that, single killer or multiple killers, the immediate problem was to discover the common denominator, the link, the motif, in these killings, addressed Koesler’s statement. “That’s it: If we could figure out the connection; if we could crawl into the killer’s mind, we could unlock the mystery. If we knew why he selected the nun, Hoffer, and the bishop, we’d know whether or not he was done, finished.”

  “You’re saying there may be more murders?”

  “Anything’s possible. There may be one or more than one still on his list. Or this may be it. But if this is it, then what was the point? Why these three? What statement was he-someone-trying to make? And on top of that, one of them-the nun-is still alive.” Tully shook his head. “Very confusing.

  “Now, what I want you to do, Father, is tell me all you can about these three people and their positions in the Detroit Church. Someplace in who they were or what they did is the secret. We’ve got to unravel that secret and solve it.”

  Koesler took a deep breath and offered a quick, silent, but fervent prayer that somehow, as he explained all this to Tully, the elusive secret might come to light.

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll start with Larry Hoffer.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “Mostly because he’s the one I know least about.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because he’s the ‘money man,’ and what I know least about in this world is money.”

  Tully almost smiled. He sensed Koesler’s unease. But the matter was far too serious and important for any attempt at humor.

  “As far back as I can recall,” Koesler began, “the ‘money man’ has been a layman. There must have been a time when the job was handled by a priest, but I don’t remember that-and I go back along way.”

  “Wait,” Tully interrupted, “can you be clearer about your ‘money man’? I mean more specific? What’s he in charge of?”

  “Off the top of my head, I couldn’t name all the departments. But, just a minute. I’ve got the directory ….” Koesler rummaged through the desk drawers. “Ah, here it is.” He thumbed through the front pages. “Here we go: Finance and Administration-which is what Mr. Hoffer headed-encompasses the Building Office, the Business Office, Collections and Disbursements, Computer Services, Archdiocesan Development Fund accounts, Development and Church Support, Human Resources, Parish. Finances, Properties, and Purchasing. Which makes, let’s see: ten departments spread throughout three floors of the Chancery Building.”

  “A lot of responsibility,” Tully commented. “Know anydiing about the man?”

  “Not much, I confess. He became a member of the staff long after I stopped attending staff meetings … I used to attend the meetings because I was editor of the diocesan paper,” he explained gratuitously.

  “Anything you can think of might help.” Tully returned to the topic at hand: “Happily married?”

  “As far as I know. I’ve never met Mrs. Hoffer, and I knew Larry only slighdy. A fidgety man.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He was sort of famous for rattling coins, keys, whatever, in his pants pocket. It was no more than a nervous habit, but it did give him away.” Koesler paused reflectively.

  “Anything?”

  “Only that he controlled a lot of money and financial investments.”

  “That’s kind of obvious-from those departments he was responsible for … isn’t it?”

  Koesler reddened. It was obvious. “Of course. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Just go ahead. Anything you can think of.”

  “Well, I’ve heard it said-no, it’s stronger than hearsay-that he had some controversial opinions.”

  Tully grew even more attentive.

  “I suppose it was natural for someone in his position. I mean, he had the overall view of income and disbursements on the diocesan level. And it’s no secret that financially we are limping badly, especially in the core city. Those huge, beautiful churches in those parishes are nearly empty and the school system is in trouble in just about the whole diocese.”

  Tully understood more clearly than Koesler would have guessed. Catholicism, as far as Tully was concerned, was a white religion. What he had no way of gauging was the sense of community, belonging, and dedication that endured among those relatively few black Catholics who had established a sense of ownership over those parishes.

  “The point is,” Koesler said, “Larry Hoffer wanted to close not only the financially strapped parishes but the whole school system.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Tully asked, in keeping with his understanding of the situation.

  Koesler hesitated. The question raised a topic too vast and too complex to adequately treat in depth. He saw no point in going into the parishioners’ love for those parishes or the dedication with which their priests served them. But there was another facet that might prove relevant and interesting to the lieutenant.

  “One thing that at least some people think is wrong with those threatened closings is that the people concerned-including the staff members who are responsible for parishes and schools-don’t want them closed.”

  “I suppose that’s natural.”

  “No, Lieutenant, when I say they don’t want them closed I am understating. They really don’t want any closings.”

  “Oh?” Tully found Koesler’s emphasis not only interesting but provocative. “How much do they not want it? Enough to get violent about it?”

  “I couldn’t say that. I don’t know. Most of the people we’re talking about just are not violent people.”

  Briefly, Tully considered the possibility that Koesler was so naive he couldn’t conceive of anybody as being a murderer. Then he remembered that the priest had been involved in previous homicide investigations. He must know.

  “Could you be more specific?” Tully asked,”Who are these nonviolent people who are so opposed to the closings?”

  “Well, for instance, Monsignor Young, He’s in charge of Catholic education in the diocese. He’s also nearing retirement. Close the schools and he’s out of a job. He and people like him, are very, very strongly opposed to closings. But I can’t imagine any of these people getting violent over it.”

  “Okay.” Tully thought it useless to pursue this topic-at least for now. Koesler had told him enough to establish a motive for someone perhaps wanting to murder Hoffer. At least Hoffer had his enemies. He wondered whether Stapleton and/or Carson could have been motivated by parish or school closings. Carson seemed unstable enough to be a fanatic over this. And Stapleton’s profile appeared to possess the potential for fanatical violence.

  Now if that could only be the emergence of a thread that would link up with the lives of the other two victims. It could be the jumping-off point of a motive for serial murder. And from that motive would emerge the perpetrator. Or, he reminded himself grimly, perpetrators. In any case, they were beginning to make progress.

  With some enthusiasm then, Tully asked, “Now, what about the nun? Her personally, and her job?”

  Koesler smiled. “Sister Joan I know prettywell. She became a religious in order to teach. But like so many other nuns, she’s no longer doing what she started out to do. In her case, it was capability. I
mean it Wasn’t so much that she chose to go into another field, like switching from teaching to social work or pastoral work. She was selected by her religious order, the other nuns and religious in the diocese and, eventually, appointed by the archbishop to become delegate for religious. As such, she is an intermediary between not only me various religious memselves but also between them as a group and the diocese. Sort of ‘monkey in the middle.’

  “She’s not the first woman to hold that post-maybe the third or fourth. I’d have to check. But I can tell you a story that will put this in context.

  “She came into the office as assistant to the delegate. The nun who was then delegate was not allowed to eat lunch in the chancery dining room with the priests and bishops. She had to eat in me kitchen-if you can imagine such a thing.”

  “Yeah, I think I can imagine what discrimination is like.”

  Once again, Koesler was embarrassed. “Oh, I am sorry. How stupid of me!”

  Tully shrugged. “It’s okay. Go on.”

  Koesler nodded. “Okay, back to my story.

  “The first day Sister Joan was on the job in the delegate’s office, her superior told her to eat lunch in the chancery dining room. Joan understood that this was a first, and that she would not be welcome. But it was an order, and nuns, especially, are used to carrying out orders.

  “It was with fear and trepidation that she approached the dining room just after noon.

  “When she entered, the table talk, which had been lively, ended. In the loaded silence that followed, she didn’t even know what food she was serving herself from the buffet, and she was mumbling incoherently.

  “Then, breaking the silence, Cardinal Boyle said, ‘Sister, when you’re ready, come and sit next to me.’ And that washow the chancery lunch counter was integrated, as it were.”

  It was an interesting story, and Tully’s regard for Boyle rose, but he was unable to draw from the account any conclusion that would be useful to the theory he was trying to construct. So he simply looked expectantly at Koesler.