“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 welcome.
“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.
“The point,” Koesler said after a moment, “is that this is how the delegate for religious was treated. Even though me delegate’s status is rather exalted in me Church,”
Koesler saw’that he was not getting through to Tully, so he attempted to clarify and amplify. “This job in this diocese was originally filled by a bishop, and later by a priest. At that time the position was termed ‘vicar for religious.’ Then, when nuns filled the position, the title was changed to ‘delegate,’ because a woman could not be called ‘vicar’-a tide reserved to the priesdy caste.
“Not only was the title changed-and changed to one lower in rank-but the delegate was further humbled by not being allowed to eat in the dining room with priests. All the while, the vicar-or delegate, whichever title one wished to recognize-outranked most of the priests in that dining room.
“You see, Lieutenant, if you were to put that job in the context of, say, the administration of the president of the United States, me position would be of cabinet rank. It’s not usually looked on in this way-but, if it were, she, Sister Joan, would be me highest ranking woman in the archdiocese of Detroit.”
Tully reflected on that for a few moments. “I see,” he said, slowly. “Well, then,” he challenged, “is your Church as racist as it is sexist?”
It was Koesler’s turn to reflect. “That’s not easy to answer,” he said finally. “I don’t think the Church is racist-though you couldn’t prove that by the number of black Catholics, let alone black priests or bishops. Generally, the Church has been on the scene and given witness in the civil rights movement. But I must admit that point is arguable.
“As for sexism, there can be no doubt we’re guilty-and I must confess we’re not doing much besides talk to remedy the situation.”
After another moment’s thought, Tully said, “You are an intelligent man. You can see what’s wrong. Why do you stay in?”
“In the Church? In the priesthood?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Because I love the Church and I love the priesthood. Even though I can see the warts and the blemishes, I still love it. I think if there weren’t a Catholic Church, somebody would have to invent it. I guess I love it more for what it sometimes has been and what it someday can be. Let me ask you, Lieutenant, is everything perfect in the police department?”
Tully didn’t need time for deliberation. “No.” He smiled, “Okay, I get the drift. Back to the nun and her job; What, if anything, would she have to do with parishes and schools closing?”
“Nothing, direcdy, that I can see offhand. She is not in a position to close any of them, or keep them open, for that matter. I suppose if she were to successfully recruit hundreds of young Women to become teachers in parochial schools, she would contribute mightily to the preservation of diose schools, But mat, I diink, would be next to impossible-for anyone-now.”
“Okay. But would she have any influence on somebody else’s decision to keep them open or close mem?”
“Like who?”
“Like Hoffer. Supposing Hoffer decided to close some parishes or schools, Would the opinion of the delegate for religious carry any weight?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t explained mings very well. Larry Hoffer couldn’t close a parish or a school no matter how much he might have wanted to”
“Because?”
“Because, in ecclesiastical as well as civil law, the archbishop owns everything.”
“Everything?”
“All properties, lands, institutions, buildings-everything that belongs to the archdiocese of Detroit-and not, for instance, belonging to one or another of the religious orders-everything’s in the name of whoever happens to be the archbishop of Detroit.
“So, for now, only Cardinal Boyle, as archbishop of Detroit, can close parishes or schools. But I must say this for Cardinal Boyle: He truly listens to the people he puts in charge of things. I can tell you from personal experience, when he appoints someone to a special job, he expects that person to do the job. But, at the game time, he does not abdicate his ultimate responsibility and power. So neither Hoffer nor Sister Joan would have the power or authority to effect a closing or extension of operation of any archdiocesan institution. But both of them could, and undoubtedly would, make their opinions known. And Cardinal Boyle would give those opinions careful consideration.”
“Okay.” Tully was zeroing in on what he considered the vital question. “We know what Hoffer thought: He wanted to close a number of parishes and maybe the whole school system. How about the nun? Would she have given the same advice to her boss?”
“I’m not sure. Possibly she herself doesn’t even know. I did hear some talk that at the most recent staff meeting, when Larry proposed the closings, Sister Joan argued against closing. But that was a brainstorming session. Her constituents probably would approve of the closings. Rather than have some schools with no nuns or maybe at most one or two, consolidating would give the religious more voice, clout. I think, when push came to shove, they probably would have sided with Larry.”
That’s two, thought Tully. His infant theory was gaining strength. Suppose the thread that held these serial killings together was the determination to close parishes and/or schools. The next step then would be to identify others among the Cardinal’s advisers who would counsel in favor of the closings. It might not be much of a handle, but it was better than nothing, which was precisely what he had been looking at before this talk with Koesler.
“Okay,” Tully said, “now do the same for the archbishop. Something about the man, about his job.”
“This is another case,” Koesler responded, “where I don’t know all that much about him personally. We had our first, and, as it turned out, last, chat just yesterday.”
“He’s been here about a year, hasn’t he?”
“Yes. So you’re wondering why if he’s been here all that time don’t I know more about him?”
“That, and why you happened to have your first meeting just the day before he got killed.”
“Lieutenant, I don’t know how often you meet with the chief of police or the mayor, but I’ll bet you stand a better chance of socializing with them than a priest does of hobnobbing with a bishop. So there isn’t much explanation necessary as to why I had no personal association with him before.
“As to why I met with him yesterday? He invited me to visit him.”
“The reason?” Tully hoped it would not be some sort of unrevealable secret.
“He had heard that I had some slight experience with the police and he wanted to talk to me about these murders. He had a premonition that Cardinal Boyle would be the next victim.”
“He thought Boyle was going to buy it, and the next one on the list turned out to be himself!”
“Strange … I know it’s strange. A turnabout of sorts. But that’s how it was.”
“Do you know anything about the man?”
“Sure. I was very much aware of his track record in Cincinnati.”
“That where he was born?”
“No. Florida. He was just a little older than Cardinal Boyle, They studied in Rome at the same time, became friends. They used to vacation together. That is all common knowledge, at least among priests … and a few laypeople who have a special interest in this sort of thing,”
“Like Carson and Stapleton?”
“Yes … I suppose so, Anyway, Foley seemed to mellow over the years he was archbishop of Cincinnati-but then, so has Cardinal Boyle in the years he’s been in Detroit. Some time ago Bishop Foley retired. He could have lived anywhere he wished. Odds were that he would retire to his native Florida. That he made his home in Detroit is a sign of the friendship he had with our cardinal.
“Which, I guess, brings us to what he did in Detroit. Probably one word describes it best-help. He, along with the auxiliary bishops, would visit parishes and confirm-that’s a sacrament that normally is conferred by a bishop. He attended meetings. He spent a lot of time with his friend Cardinal Boyle. He didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to do; he was, after all, retired.
“He had a substantial amount of dignity. He was an archbishop and there aren’t all that many archbishops. In retirement he remained an archbishop. He had plenty of dignity still, but, in retirement, not much clout.”
“Did he close any parishes or schools in Cincinnati?”
Koesler smiled. “you’re really building a case on these closings, aren’t you? I’ve got to admit, the theme does seem to emerge, though I don’t think I would have thought of it. But, no, as far as I know, he didn’t. Of course, the situation probably is nowhere near the same in Cincinnati as in Detroit.”
“How about now? What do you think he would have advised the Cardinal?”
“Again, I don’t know. But I guess we’re dealing in speculation here. Only Larry Hoffer is on the record firmly in favor of the closings. I think-and I’m basing this on all that I’ve read and heard about Archbishop Foley-that left to his own devices, he would have tried to avoid closing any parishes or schools by executive order.”
“Executive order?”
“I think it unavoidable that some schools, some parishes, particularly in large and basically poor urban areas, will close by attrition, if nothing else. I don’t think any bishop can prevent that no matter how he feels about it. But I doubt that Bishop Foley himself would have issued an order, in effect euthanizing these institutions. However, what he might have suggested to the Cardinal could be another matter.”
“Why’s that?” Tully’s spirits took hope. Until this final caveat, he had visions of his new theory going down in flames as Koesler supposed that Foley would not advocate the closings. Now the priest seemed to be speculating on what me opposite side of me coin might be.
“Of the two choices-to close or not to close-the easier way to go is closure. As Larry Hoffer would argue, it makes perfect sense financially. In a society that practically lives by ‘the bottom line,’ no other persuasion is necessary; most everybody would agree there’s no sensible alternative.
“In this context, some might object to closing institutions that are still able to survive, even if marginally. But few would insist on keeping the destitute alive. It would be like keeping a brain dead patient in a vegetative state on a heart-lung machine.
“So you see, Lieutenant: Struggling to keep these schools and parishes going when they are beyond self-help would be unpopular as well as a losing battle. That’s why I think it possible mat, even though Archbishop Foley might choose martyrdom for himself, I don’t think that his close friendship with me Cardinal would permit his advising this painful and frustrating course.
“Now, that’s only a guess. But it’s my best shot.”
“It’s a help. It’s a help.” Tully proceeded to gamer his notes and pack away the tape recorder he’d had running. “Now, I’ll have to see whether Carson or Stapleton is a better fit.”
“Better fit?”
“Uh-huh. Which one of them would find the threat of closing schools and parishes a sufficient motive to commit murder.”
“Do you really think anyone would find something like that a sufficient motive?”
Tully shrugged. “You tell me. Remember the guy in Florida last year who was a member of a church’s building committee and got so upset at proposed renovations that he wounded two people, took a hostage for several hours, and ended up killing himself? And”-his eyes twinkled-“he wasn’t even one of your Catholic zealots; as I recall, he was an Episcopalian.” He grew serious again. “You gotta remember, Father, we’re probably dealing with a psychopath here. It takes a crazy of some sort to get into serial killing. Something that might get a normal person upset enough to write an angry letter to the editor is the kind of stuff that gets mass murderers going.”
“Well, if you put it that way, which one seems more likely to you?”
“From everything you’ve told me about the tensions in the Church … I guess I’d put my money on Carson. He’s the one who wants to go back to a time before all the changes. Well, that’s the time when Catholic parishes and schools were going gang-busters. I don’t see Stapleton in the same frame of mind. But you never can tell. We’ll look both of ’em over good in terms of what we’ve just discussed.”
“There’s one thing,” Koesler said, as he retrieved Tully’s coat from the closet, “whoever has done this knows the victims’ routines exceptionally well. He’d have to know that Sister Joan regularly comes home late and that both Larry and the archbishop walk their dogs at about eleven at night.”
“A bit of dedicated surveillance would disclose that. Neither one of them, by the way, has an alibi for the times of the crimes. Carson lives alone and claims he was home at the times in question. There’s no one to say he was or wasn’t. Stapleton claims he was en route to a meeting or returning home or at a movie, by himself, at the crucial times. Again, no one to corroborate.
“We even brought in the two dogs to get their reactions, Hoffer’s mutt just sniffed each of them and sat down. Foley’s dog went wild over both of them. So: nothing.”
“If you brought in the dogs, Carson and Stapleton must know they’re under suspicion.”
Tully snorted. “They know okay. They’ve known for a while now. It’s a very delicate balance,” he explained. “Something like that series on TV-what is it-the cop with the antique raincoat …?” He tapped his forehead trying to recall the character’s name.
“Columbo?” Koesler supplied.
“That’s the one. You know how he keeps coming back, driving the perp crazy? Well, this is something like that: These guys get angry when we keep coming back at ’em over and over again. Especially Carson;he’s the type who yells ‘police brutality’ when a cop helps a little old lady across the street.
“The thing we don’t want to do is get them so shook up that they call in their lawyers. We don’t need that kind of headache. It’s a very delicate balance.
“But I should tell you: These two guys are not our only suspects. They’re just the leading candidates. Now we’ll be looking through all the others for that thread we found this afternoon. There’s someone but there who gets so worked up about closing Church facilities he’s flipped. We’ll get him,” Tully promised as he stepped out into a cloudy but dry winter’s day.
As he watched Tully hunch his shoulders against the cold, Koesler offered a brief prayer that the police would, indeed, get the person who was doing this before anyone else was harmed. Too many innocent people had been killed already. Please God, inspire the police, and there would be no more.
Still, he reflected as he turned back into the rectory, he had not “dived right in” to this investigation as both Archbishop Foley and Cardinal Boyle had asked. He was still only reacting.
He hadn’t contacted Tully; the lieutenant had contacted him. He hadn’t come up with any brilliant theory; he had merely answered Tully’s questions.
It was enough, Koesler told himself, that he be no more than an instrument in the solution of this mystery. He would like to have fulfilled the commission of the two bishops. But, quite frankly, he still had no clue as to where to begin.