Requiem for Moses

Chapter Eight

Any doubt was dissolved as the young man introduced himself. David Green, a student at Detroit College of Law.

“You must be the priest that mother’s been talking to everyone about,” David said. “Father Koesler, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And it’s your father who died.” On the one hand Koesler was concerned about starting the eulogy on time. On the other, he was interested to learn what Green’s son might contribute to the rather bleak image the others had depicted. “My sympathy,” Koesler offered. He hoped that the widow was speaking kindly of him.

David looked about. “Quite a turnout.”

“On very short notice,” Koesler said. “I take it from your mother that you are at least partially responsible.”

“A little. Judy was on the horn too, plus a lot of our friends. But, realistically, I think a healthy percentage are here out of curiosity.”

“Curiosity?”

“Yeah. They just want to see what happens. You know: Who’s here and why; who isn’t here and why. Who, if anyone, will speak-I guess that would be you, Father-and if anyone will shed a tear for the old fart … that’s a snowball’s chance in hell.”

“From what I’ve been able to gather so far,” Koesler said, “I get the impression that your father was not particularly lovable.”

“Likable,” David amended. “Not even likable. I can’t think of anyone who found Dad lovable. No. Nobody. Not even likeable,” he repeated.

Koesler had no reason to question David’s assessment. And that, he thought, was sad if not tragic. What sort of life has no redeeming quality?

“Since you brought it up, I am supposed to speak in”-Koesler glanced at his watch-“just a little while. And I’ve been having a tough time gathering any good words. Probably I haven’t been talking to the right people. I was trying to get through to your mother ….”

“She would be the one. Not that she didn’t have as negative an experience with Dad as everyone else here. My God, she had to actually live with the son-of-a-bitch for twenty-one years. At least Judy and I were able to move out.

“But, Mother is a great one for making accommodations. Yes-” He nodded. “-Mother would brazen it out. She’d find something at least neutral to say. Something like, ‘He wasn’t as bad as his brother.’ Except that Dad didn’t have a brother. Which, now that I think of it, might be a plus. Maybe the brother-that-never-was would’ve been even nastier than Dad. God, what a horror that would’ve been!

“Let’s see ….” David scratched his heavy five o’clock shadow. “There was the time-no, he had to do that; it was a court order. Sorry, Padre, I can’t come up with anything positive. I was going to say that given a little time-but, no; no amount of time would do. I hope you make it over to Mother before you have to speak.”

Suddenly, Koesler had an inspiration. “Wait a minute: You’re in law school. Didn’t your father foot the bill?”

David nodded. “Partially. A little more than half-almost three-quarters of the tuition came from Dad. The rest I earned-working for him … working it off.

“You see, the thing you have to remember about Dad is there was no word for ‘gift’ in his lexicon. I was to be sort of ‘his’ lawyer-in somewhat the same way as an indentured servant relates to his master. It would keep Dad’s retainer fees down a bit.”

Some of the people who had been milling about were finding seats. Koesler would have to end this conversation soon.

So far, unlike the previous reencounters, David appeared to have no strong motive for violence. “I can’t help wondering, David, why you felt almost like a slave. You’ll graduate eventually. Say you pass the bar-a safe assumption, I think. You have a readily recognizable name, at least to Detroit’s movers and shakers. Probably you’ll begin your career with a prestigious firm. It wouldn’t have been long before you could have paid back your father’s investment. Wouldn’t that about do it?”

David jingled some coins in his pocket. It seemed he had to be busy with something virtually all the time. “There are complications. I don’t want to get into them specifically. When I was a bit younger I was also a bit more foolish. There were some DUIs, and a couple of drug arrests. All of which Dad was able to quash. All of which he continued to hold over my head.

“If he took the cork out of the bottle, I could have problems at the bar, and certainly in any practice I tried to build.

“So, you see, he carried a big stick.”

“But no more,” Koesler observed.

David hesitated, then chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, the way you said that could imply that Dad’s death was very convenient for me. Like, if this were a murder case, I’d be a suspect.”

It was Koesler’s turn to hesitate. That had not been his meaning ….at least not consciously. Subconsciously? Maybe.

David took Koesler’s silence as confirmation of his inference. “Hey, that’s not very cool. You have to remember that ol’ Dad was sort of unique. It may seem extremely odd to you for a father to blackmail his son into a lifetime of peonage. But that’s because you never had the bad luck to do business with Dr. Moses Green.

“Let me assure you, Padre, that-probably to varying degrees-practically everyone in this church tonight had some sort of similar arrangement with Dad. Most of ’em were into Dad in some way or other-they’re all victims.”

Koesler did not respond.

“Besides,” David continued, “if you’re looking for someone who, at this moment, wanted Dad dead, it certainly wouldn’t be me.”

“Oh?”

“No. Not me. Not now. It has to do with inheritance.”

“Between you and your sister?”

“Judith? Not hardly. Pop disowned her once he found out who was coming to dinner-matter of fact, that’s kind of funny: Bill, Judy’s fiance, is in better shape than I’d ever get to be as Dad’s personal lawyer. He’s got better connections than I have. He’s smarter than I am.

“Dad could’ve bargained: Bill’s servitude for Pop’s blessing on their marriage. A guy with as much social standing and clout as Dad publicly opposing his daughter’s marriage would have negative impact on Bill’s career. Sure, Bill might recoup, but he’d be starting in the hole.

“I guess it just goes to show how strong Pop felt about having a schwarzer in the family. Rather than overlook the color thing and get Bill’s services, he’d sacrifice the bondage and try his best to ruin Bill’s career.

“No, Sis is no factor in the inheritance scheme. It’s between my mother and me.

“See, Pop moved the inheritance back and forth like the donkey and the carrot. We’re talking real money here, Padre. And Pop was forever changing the direction that money was headed.

“His latest move-after he cut Judith out entirely when she defied him over Bill-was to name Mother sole beneficiary. He sliced me off-I think mostly to get my attention.

“Then, just a couple of days ago, he informed me that he was going to change his will again: I was going to be the sole beneficiary. Mother was going to take her turn on the outside looking in.

“I don’t think it bothered Mother all that much. She’d been on the Green roller coaster too long not to recognize the old man’s machinations. She was about to disappear from the will. But if you didn’t like what Dad was doing, wait a while. He could change his mind as easily as Michigan changes its weather.

“So you see, Padre, if I wanted Dad dead, I sure wouldn’t want him to leave this life while my mother stood to gain everything. If I wanted Dad dead, I sure as hell would have waited until he had time to change his will. A few days from now, I would have been sitting pretty as far as inheritance goes.

“You want to see someone who stood to lose everything in a few days …” Koesler followed David’s gesture, and found the widow walking hurriedly toward them.

“I am so sorry, Father,” Margie said. “I had no idea so many people would be here.” She noticed Koesler’s expression of doubt. “Honest.”

Koesler looked at his watch. Only a couple of minutes.

Margie detected a touch of unease in Koesler’s demeanor. Whatever anxiety was there she did not share. In fact, as far as Margie was concerned, everything was just fine. She didn’t particularly care whether the ceremony began anywhere near on time. In any case, they would not call this a night until Aunt Sophie arrived. And only God and Northwest Airlines had a clue to when that would be.

But she was sympathetic to Koesler’s perceived plight. “I heard a lot of good words about your hospitality … I mean in offering your church for the wake.” She gave Koesler’s arm a friendly, almost motherly pat.

I didn’t so much offer the church, thought Koesler, as it was taken captive. But he let it pass.

Margie, from the vantage of one step below the sanctuary and one above the church’s main floor, scanned the crowd. She shook her head knowingly. “Isn’t it the way of things? Nowadays the only time you get together with relatives and friends is at weddings and funerals.”

Caught by her observation, Koesler looked more closely at his one-and-only-one-time congregation. Outside of Father Dan Reichert-still perched like a hawk in the back of the church taking mental notes for tomorrow’s promised confrontation with Koesler and Cardinal Boyle-Koesler didn’t recognize anyone. No, wait: In the third pew from the front was someone he knew: Patricia Lennon, respected reporter at the Detroit News.

Had she found out about this from one of her many sources? Did an editor assign her to cover this event? It didn’t much matter. She was here. And that meant that some sort of story would be in tomorrow’s paper. That was the bad news. Added to the possible summons by the Cardinal, decidedly bad news.

The good news was that Lennon was a good journalist-fair and reasonable. Over the years, their paths had crossed when Koesler had assisted in various police investigations and Lennon had covered the action.

Margie touched her son’s arm as she addressed Koesler. “Has David given you some useful background on his father?”

Before Koesler could reply, David, with a brief laugh, answered. “Oh, I was definitely not alone in briefing the good father. Quite a few people bent his ear. If the father has an active imagination, he probably could write a book on Dad right about now. How much of what we’ve contributed will prove useful for what Father has to say tonight is anybody’s guess.

“Now”-David stepped away-“if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get myself a ringside seat. Good luck, Padre. You’ll need it.” He headed for one of the seats that his sister was saving.

Now that nearly everyone was seated, the congregation did not seem quite as daunting as it had when milling about. Still there were many more people here than Koesler had anticipated.

“I wouldn’t blame you at all,” Margie said, “if you were quite angry with me. I talked you into all this.”

Now that she had invited the thought, Koesler agreed. He felt like the victim who had been gulled into a trap.

“Believe me,” Margie continued, “I never thought it would turn out like this. So big … I mean so many people. But Moe and I talked about this. I didn’t take him seriously. I didn’t think he was going to die. Now that I look back, I shouldn’t have expected him to live with that pain. But I just didn’t anticipate Moe dead.”

“You talked about this?”

“Well, yes. Except we never thought there’d be any problem with Kaufman Funeral Home. If I had taken him seriously, I would’ve checked all these details and been prepared. He wanted the wake. Now that I look at all these people … well, to be perfectly honest, I don’t know that he has more than a very few friends here. Everybody else … well, they couldn’t be described as friends-or even close.”

She gazed into Koesler’s eyes. “I’ll try, I’ll honestly try to make this up to you. It’s just that I would’ve felt as if I had betrayed Moe if we hadn’t been able to do this just the way he wanted. And, as it turned out, you made it happen. I owe you, Father.”

“No, you don’t.” Koesler had been taken aback by Margie’s obviously sincere apology and expression of gratitude. “But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to play this out as we planned it.”

“The eulogy! I haven’t had an instant to supply you with any background information on Moe. And I promised you. People kept coming up all evening. But you were talking to some people, weren’t you? Maybe they were a help?” She didn’t sound convinced.

“I’ll tell you who talked to me, and in what order. And you can judge for yourself.

“First was Jake Cameron …”

Two vertical lines formed at the bridge of Margie’s nose.

“… then Claire McNern …”

The lines deepened.

“… followed closely by Stan Lacki.”

She seemed puzzled at this name.

“Then came your daughter …”

The lines returned.

“… and, finally, your son.”

The lines were like gashes. “Of all the people in this church tonight, those are exactly the ones I would not have wanted you to talk to.”

“From what they told me, I would have thought you yourself would belong in their number. I got the impression that no one was more shabbily treated than you.”

Margie sighed. “You had to get to know Moe and make some strong allowances for the kind of life he lived. And, on top of that, Moe did not make it easy to get to know him. In fact, he discouraged anybody from getting close to him.

“But he was involved with the kids.” She looked more carefully at Koesler, and speedily decided he knew too much to try to soft-pedal her late husband’s machinations and his habit of manipulating everyone, especially those close to him. “The bottom line,” she declared, “is that he provided his kids with a decent home, good schooling, and almost anything they wanted. That last wasn’t so hot: He gave them everything so he could keep them in line with threats to take the toys away.

“No, skip that last part altogether. Just say that he provided for the kids.

“He was a good doctor. Well, at least he was skilled, even if he was not always true to the Hippocratic oath.

“No, skip the last part. He was a skilled doctor.

“And he was a decent husband. He did not stray all the time … just-no, skip that. We stayed married twenty-one years. That’s got to count for something!”

Margie was close to tears. And she had brought herself to this point.

“This was his idea ….” She brushed away a tear. “Moe was the one who wanted the eulogy. I went along with it without thinking. If I’d given it a second thought, I would’ve realized that we could never get away with this. There just aren’t that many good words to say about him.

“And I’m the one who got you into this.… Boy, what a screwup. What can I say but, I’m sorry? And if you want to call it off, I’ll understand completely.”

Koesler was conscious of how faithfully Margie had tried to fulfill each and every promise she’d made to Moe. He would not let her default in this final pledge.

He looked again, more carefully, at his ersatz congregation. Here and there were people who had the aspect of solemnity one usually finds at a wake. But many seemed to be relishing this moment; an almost palpable smugness emanated from the pews.

All in all, Koesler was determined to take on this naked challenge. Margie had promised her husband, and Koesler had given his word to her. “You go take your place, Margie ….” He gestured her toward the seat next to her daughter.

Koesler would never forget her look of gratitude as she turned and left him.

He turned toward the altar and bowed his head. Lord, he prayed silently, this is by no means a major crisis in my life. But I need your presence now. Give me words to move these people to a sense of understanding and forgiveness. This is death. The most solemn moment in life. There seems to be no sense of loss or mourning. Give me the appropriate words.

He could think of no more relevant prayer than one of his favorites, “The Breastplate of St. Patrick.” In silence he continued:

Christ as a light, illumine and guide me.

Christ as a shield, o’rshadow and cover me.

Christ be under me.

Christ be over me.

Christ be beside me on left and on right.

Christ be before me, behind me, about me.

Christ this day be within and without me.

Christ the lowly and the meek.

Christ the all-powerful.

Be in the heart of each to whom I speak.

In the mouth of each who speaks to me.

In all who draw near me, or see me, or hear me.

Fortified from within, he turned to face the congregation. He had new authority and command. The congregation sensed this; the smugness dissipated as air from a balloon.

He waited several seconds for words to come to mind.

Without salutation he began: “The ending of anything makes a thoughtful person more thoughtful. Tonight, we are at the scene of an ending. Someone we have known-for weal or woe-is gone. His presence is marked by a shell that tomorrow will be lowered into the earth. For he-and we-are dust and into dust we must return.”

At this point there was a horrendous commotion. The front door of the church was flung open as if hit by a battering ram.

The congregation, as one, wheeled to see what had happened. Since almost everyone had risen to look, some had to stand on kneelers or benches to see over their neighbors’ heads.

No sooner had the door ceased reverberating on its hinges than there was an outcry that might wake the dead.

Then all hell broke loose.