Chameleon

21

After the early morning clouds had dissipated, it had turned into a bright, sunny, if bitterly cold day.

Strange that it had been so cold for so much of December. Michiganians had January and the feared February to endure before even remote thoughts of spring could be entertained.

In his spacious, book-lined office on the chancery’s second floor, Cardinal Mark Boyle was visiting with Archbishop Lawrence Foley, The Cardinal was somewhat restive. He had much work ahead of him. Archbishop Foley had not been on the schedule for this morning, but Boyle could not bring himself to refuse a request from his old friend.

They had talked about and chuckled over the Monsignor Del Young saga. Both had gotten nearly all their information from radio and TV. Neither had talked with Young as yet. The office of communications had circulated a lengthy memorandum that communicated little more than that its director, Cletus Bash, was on the job and that, to the extent that all archdiocesan departments would cooperate, the communications office would keep a tight rein on the story.

“Every time I think of it-” Foley was saying, “Jose Lopez running away from Del Young, and Del Young running away from Jose Lopez-I start to laugh all over again.”

“No one could blame you.” Boyle, smiling broadly, sat back deeply in his extra-sized chair. He had settled in to talk to Foley for as long as the archbishop wished. Boyle did not want any body language to betray the fact that he was pressed for time.

“There are a few memories, over the years,” Foley said, “that are so entertaining I hope I can recall them on my deathbed. I’d like to go out laughing. And Del Young’s flight to safety is one of them.”

“Then you’ll have to have a prodigious memory. You’re going to go on for ages.”

“Not so sure about that. Though … why not? Live to a hundred and fool the actuaries.” He paused, brow knitted. “But, more seriously, Mark, this whole incident, in my mind at least, seems to go back to the latest staff meeting, when so much anger and hurt feelings poured out as Larry Hoffer suggested closing schools and-save the mark-parishes too.”

“I know what you mean, Larry. My mind plays the same trick on me. It all seems to have stemmed from that. I think it is because, at the time, we did not know that Sister Joan, and not her sister Helen, was the first intended victim. It is difficult to realize that whoever killed two innocent people had been planning the crimes long before they were committed.”

Foley shook his head. “There’s a lot of anger out there, Mark.”

Boyle snorted. “Tell me about it.”

“No one needs to tell you. You’ve felt it. And it hasn’t come to an end by any means. There are decisions yet to be made that are going to bring out a very emotional response.”

Boyle’s mood matched the somberness of Foley’s. “I know that. But … decisions must be made, no matter how painful they may be. And, unfortunately, no matter how much pain they may cause.”

“Then what will you do, Mark? I need to know for my own peace of mind. I know I’m on the shelf now. I’ve got no responsibility in this diocese-or any other, for that matter. But I feel as if I’m a part of what’s going on here. And I know full well that this is only due to your kindness in including me in the decision-making process. I know the arguments pro and con closings.

“Emotionally, people treasure their spiritual roots. Even those who have taken the place of the people who sacrificed to build these churches and schools feel they would be lost without them.

“On the other hand, they were built to answer a need. Immigrants, ethnic groups, converts-there were so many that they built these huge ornate churches and gigantic schools. Now, most of them are gone, moved out to the suburbs. Those who are left to maintain this heritage are so few in number that it makes no financial sense to keep alive buildings meant to serve thousands but occupied now by less than a hundred. Indeed, for all we know Larry Hoffer may have given his life for taking a stand on this issue.

“But he couldn’t have made a final decision. No one can make that but you. Have you made it? Can you tell me?”

Cardinal Boyle regarded his friend carefully. Bushy eyebrows pressed so closely together they seemed to form a single line, he seemed to be debating with himself whether to answer candidly.

“I have reached,” Boyle hesitated; he usually spoke slowly as he searched for just the word or phrase he wanted, “what might best be termed a tentative conclusion.”

“Tentative?” Foley repeated.

“Tentative, in that I have not closed my mind to cogent arguments from either side. Arguments that, if not changing my decision radically, might cause me to modify my approach to that decision.

“However, I don’t want to communicate to my staff that I have reached a decision. Who knows how they would react? At very least, they most probably would cease contributing their thoughts on the matter in the belief that their opinions could have no effect. And, as I have suggested, I want their continued input. Their thoughts will, I feel, very definitely affect the manner in which we will proceed. There will be repercussions to my decision that I simply cannot foresee. One or another of the staff very likely will pinpoint such consequences and we will be able to address them before they descend on us out of nowhere.”

“I understand,” Foley said, “and I agree with your approach completely. But, Mark, will you close the parishes? The ones too poor or underpopulated to support themselves?”

Boyle hardly ever answered a complex question with a single word. He saw too many sides of every issue to, in effect, over-simplify his response.

“Parishes may close,” he said thoughtfully. “Some are dangerously close to collapsing in upon themselves-much as matter disappears into a black hole. But …” He paused for emphasis. “… I am not going to close any parishes or schools. Not in the core city nor in the suburbs. In any case, certainly not in the city.

“Some years ago, under enormous pressure, I agreed to close severed parishes in a section of the city called Poletown. The ramifications of that decision have haunted me ever since. It may have hastened the death of a very fine priest. And, undoubtedly, it caused grave pain to many trusting people. And all for a will-of-the-wisp financial benefit to industry and the city. I vowed then that I would never repeat what I now consider a grave error.”

Foley leaned back into his chair, smiling as if relieved of a burden. “I applaud your decision, Mark. But not everyone will. Lots of people, mostly in the suburbs, will think you very foolish. Your decision will make no sense to them at all. And I fear they will make their disapproval known by withholding contributions.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Boyle responded. “That is, of course, possible. But I hope not. And this is precisely where the input of yourself and the others on the staff is so important. We are faced with a massive challenge to give witness to the suffering Christ. Somehow we must make it crystal clear that Jesus identifies with the poor.”

“‘He had nowhere to lay his head,’” Foley paraphrased Scripture. “The first homeless Christian was Christ himself.”

“Exacdy.” Boyle’s spirits rose. “Our approach to our brethren in the city cannot be the threat of eviction or foreclosure. We must come to them with open arms and the simple question, ‘What do you need?’”

The intercom buzzed softly. Boyle’picked up the desk phone, listened for a few moments, then hung up and turned to Foley. “You have an appointment with Father Koesler? He’s waiting in your office.”

“Is it that time already?” Foley glanced at his watch, then struggled stiffly out of his chair. “Appreciate the time you gave me, Mark.” He clasped the Cardinal’s extended hand in both of his. “And appreciate being associated with you.”

“Not at all, old friend. It is our privilege to have the benefit of your experience and wisdom.”

Foley nodded, smiled gratefully, and shuffled out of the Cardinal’s office. As he slowly made his way through the vestibule, the two female secretaries smiled at him. For them it was an unaffected reaction. Some in the archdiocese thought Lawrence Foley an anachronism. Others had discovered the richness of his wisdom and spirituality. Almost everyone liked him to some degree or another.

He took the elevator to the fifth floor where he and the auxiliary bishops had their offices. As announced, Father Koesler was waiting.

“Excellency.” Koesler rose to his feet as the archbishop entered the office.

“Oh, you don’t need to go to all that trouble.…” Foley’s waving hand motioned Koesler to be seated. “I’m not the Pope, just an old man on the shelf.”

Koesler waited for Foley to be seated behind his desk before lowering himself into his chair. “I knew you weren’t the Pope,” he said. “But you’re certainly much more than a casualty on the shelf.”

Koesler had to admit the older man in some ways did resemble a drifter, albeit a clerical one. Foley’s black suit always had a rumpled look, trousers that couldn’t remember a crease, food stains here and there on the jacket. He wore a black shirt with a white tab insert at the collar to mark his clerical status. Only his bishops’ ring and the small segment of gold chain showing beneath his jacket identified his rank.

“Well, Father Koesler, good of you to come in on such short notice.”

“No problem, Excellency. I live downtown now … or at least on the fringe of downtown.”

Foley nodded. “We’ve never met, have we, in the little more man a year that I’ve been here?”

“Not formally, Excellency. We’ve attended many of the same functions, where you’d have no reason to recognize me. But I’d have every reason to identify you. Mostly because usually you were presiding.”

“And even if I weren’t presiding, there’s that funny hat I wear and that strange stick I carry.”

Koesler chuckled. He was most appreciative of Foley’s selfeffacing humor. He’d heard it often enough in homilies and talks the archbishop had given.

“I asked you to come in, Father,” Foley said, “because of something Cardinal Boyle said about you.”

“I’m making a quick examination of conscience. And for the life of me, I can’t think of anything I’ve done wrong-that he would know about.”

Two could play at that self-deprecating game, thought Koesler.

“No, no, no.” Foley smiled and shook his head “Nothing you’ve done wrong. Something you’ve been doing above and beyond the call of your clerical duties.”

“Oh?”

“I have reference to your helping the police solve murders.”

“Hold on a minute, Bishop; I’m sure the Cardinal didn’t say that. You’re exaggerating?”

“A litde. But you have collaborated with the police on occasion … no?”

“Well, y … e … es, a little bit. But mostly my contacts with the police have been a matter of chance. Bad luck or good luck. Being at the wrong place at the right time. Or vice-versa.”

“Whatever the cause, you have had occasion to contribute to police investigations.” Foley gazed at the priest intently. “Specifically regarding homicide … no?”

“Well, yes. But I fear that you have the notion that I play policeman from time to time. And I assure you, I don’t. Unfortunately, there are hundreds of murders in Detroit annually. Once in a great while, there is a distinctly Catholic cast to one of these killings. A missing monsignor, say, or churches being desecrated by murder-Something like that. Sometimes I have simply happened to be at the scene when something like that occurred. Sometimes, since I have had contact with a few homicide detectives, sometimes I’m asked to provide an explanation of things Catholic that seem relevant to the investigation.”

“Relax, Father. I have no intention of accusing you of playing policeman. It’s just that Cardinal Boyle mentioned, just as you have, some of the circumstances that got you involved in these investigations. Which set me to wondering whether you had been called upon to assist in the matter of Larry Hoffer and Helen Donovan. It seemed to me that these cases qualified as the type you get involved in.”

Koesler was not inclined to discuss his involvement in these cases, any more than he had been interested in being asked by Lieutenant Tully to get involved. But he recognized the position Foley held in the Church and this archdiocese. Koesler respected Foley’s rank and, without knowing him well, nonetheless liked the man.

“Lieutenant Tully-he’s a Detroit homicide detective I’ve been associated with in the past-called on me a couple of days ago. The current police investigation is based on the hypothesis that the murders of Helen Donovan and Larry Hoffer are linked in that Ms. Donovan was mistaken for her sister Joan. And that this is the work of a serial killer who has some peculiar reason to target leaders of diocesan departments. Because, of course, that’s what Sister Joan is and Larry Hoffer was.

“The point is, Excellency, that this hypothesis was formulated by Lieutenant Tully. And he feels, understandably, at a loss in the archdiocesan structure-Church bureaucracy. That’s why he came to see me. He wanted me to interpret things. Well, I’d guess you would agree that’s easier said than done. The deeper you get into the administration of a large diocese like this, let alone the Curia in Rome, the more you’re apt to feel you’re in the middle of a maze. Unless it’s a part of your life, like me.”

“Or unless you’re part of the bureaucracy and the maze, like me.

Koesler smiled. “I suppose you would understand it better than most. Anyway, I tried to draw him a road map, as it were.”

“I’m sure you did. Tell me, did this lieutenant say anything to you about how the investigation was going?”

“No, Bishop. It was pretty much a one-way conversation. I did most of the talking and explaining.”

“There aren’t any suspects, then.” Foley made it a statement, not a question. And it was said with a trace of sadness.

“Well …”

“There are?” A touch of hope crept into Foley’s tone.

“I didn’t get this from Lieutenant Tully.” Mentally, Koesler evaluated the source of his information. Cletus Bash claimed that the identities of the two prime suspects were given him as a matter of police security and secrecy. But the secrecy was aimed at the media.

“Frankly, Bishop,” Koesler said, “my source is Father Cletus Bash. He got his information from press relations people with the city and the police. The information is, I believe, protected by neither a professional and certainly not a confessional seal. It would be a shame if it were leaked, primarily because of the damage it probably would do to a couple of men who have not even been charged with a crime.”

“I fully understand, Father, I’d be obliged if you would tell me what you know. It will go no further.”

Koesler shrugged. He was not at all happy with this dilemma that was not of his doing. If Tully had not sought his help, if Bash had kept his mouth shut, if Archbishop Foley had not asked for the information with such sincerity; if none of this had happened, Koesler could now be ringing doorbells in high rises, trying to augment his tiny flock.

“All right, First, I should make it clear that this information is second or third hand and that I have no idea, even if this information is correct, how seriously the police regard these men as suspects. But the two are Arnold Carson and Fred Stapleton.” Koesler allowed the names to sink in while Foley tried to put faces on those names.

“Arnold Carson …” Foley’s voice was barely audible, as if speaking to himself. “Arnold Carson …” a bit louder, “Isn’t he the right-winger?”

Koesler nodded.

“Leader of the Tridentines, isn’t he?” Foley pursued.

“Very good,” Koesler said.

“I remember him,” Foley said. “He’s forever in the media. Abortion-whether it’s pro-choice or pro-life, he’s there throwing his weight around, saying things calculated to get quoted. Yes, I can see him now I’ve got a clear picture.

“And the other one. What did you say his name is?”

“Stapleton, Fred Stapleton.” Koesler briefly considered offering some specifics but thought better of it. Let’s see if the archbishop can come up with it, he thought.

“Stapleton,” Foley repeated. “Let’s see, he’s in medicine, a doctor. Medical? No, a psychologist. That’s it, a psychologist.”

“And a former priest,” Koesler added.

“Of course. That’s why I remember him. He’s a priest … or was one, I guess. He too is heavy in the media. Never met him but I’ve seen his picture many a time. I know I would recognize him if I ever saw him. But why in God’s green world would he be a suspect?”

“He’s a very active member of CORPUS. Are you familiar with that organization?”

“Certainly. But why should that make him a suspect? CORPUS is a pretty … I want to say ‘tame,’ but better make that ‘gentlemanly’ bunch. They just want to function as priests again. Always seemed logical to me,” he added.

“I agree, Bishop. But as we’ve already noted, you’re not Pope.”

“Yes, I see what you’re driving at,” Foley said. “Just because we see no problem with bringing these qualified men back to practice doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. A right-wing minority, some highly placed Cardinals and bureaucrats and the Holy Father himself are very strongly opposed.”

“Exactly. And that contributes to a certain level of frustration on the part of those men who are knocking on the door. Almost everyone I’ve met in CORPUS is extremely self-controlled. They tend to see the rightness of their cause and they seem to make a super virtue of perseverance. They’re just going to keep knocking until the door finally is opened to them. And they’re confident it will be one day. I can’t say I’m that confident it’s going to happen,” he added.

“You may very well be right. The opposition to them is, I think, not a majority. But it is powerful. But, back to this Stapleton. Perseverance is not his long suit, I take it.”

“We were pretty close in the seminary, Excellency, but I haven’t seen him for quite some time. I knew him as a patient, thoughtful person. But others, who are more currently acquainted with him, say he’s changed. That his frustration is on the verge of-or already is-running over. Some even say they can picture him becoming extremist. I can’t see that myself. But, again, it’s been awhile.”

“I see.” Foley seemed lost in thought. Koesler did not intrude.

Abruptly, the archbishop looked sharply at Koesler, “I suppose,” Foley said, “you’re wondering what this is all about … my asking you to come down here and all?”

“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. But 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.”