Masquerade

13

Technicians were all over the place. To the unpracticed eye, it seemed to be chaos. But, as in an ant colony, there was a distinct and definite purpose to everything. Lights popped as photographers captured the scenes that the detectives wanted preserved on film. Measurements were taken, samples gathered, and people interrogated. Questions! Endless questions!

Standing to one side, conversing as they observed the preservation and enshrining of the scene of the crime, were Father Koesler and Inspector Koznicki.

Koesler was bringing Koznicki up-to-date on what had preceded the death.

“Then, when you came into the dining room tonight, you found the body of Rabbi Winer. And you were the first to find the body, Father?” Koznicki asked.

“That’s right,” Koesler said. “At least I presume I was first. If I hadn’t decided I could do with a nightcap, probably nobody would have discovered the poor man until tomorrow morning.”

“And you went to Reverend Krieg’s private supply?”

“I didn’t really think about that until I got to the dining room. As I told you, Inspector, the college put in a wet bar with most of the standard liquors: gin, whiskey, Scotch, vermouth, beer-but no cordials. What I had in mind was a touch of cognac or Benedictine.

“Well, I was at the door of the dining room when it occurred to me that only Krieg had the liqueurs and he kept his private stock under lock and key. That’s why I was surprised to see the door of Krieg’s cabinet open.”

“The cabinet belonged to Reverend Krieg?”

“Not really. It, along with all the furnishings, belongs to the college. But Krieg had appropriated it. It appears to be the only cabinet in the room that can be locked.”

“I see.” Koznicki briefly answered a question from one of the officers. “Then someone left the cabinet unlocked?”

“Not necessarily,” Koesler said. “Before dinner this evening-before Krieg showed up-Rabbi Winer tried the door of the cabinet, to see if it had been left unlocked. It hadn’t. But Sister Janet told us-and everyone was present to hear her-that an extra key to the cabinet was kept”- Koesler pointed-“just inside that door. And it must have been that key that was used; after I called you, I checked and it wasn’t on its hook. And your men found a key under the rabbi’s body.”

Furrows appeared in Koznicki’s forehead. “But. . but what could have been the purpose of locking the cabinet when another key was readily available?”

“Games, Inspector, games. We have been playing lots of games ever since this group assembled. It has everything to do with what I told you about how Krieg wanted these four writers in his stable. I think it is certain that that is the principal purpose for this writers’ conference.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Ostensibly four successful writers and one successful publisher assemble for a workshop. One should naturally conclude that the purpose is to help amateur writers to get published to their heart’s content. But in this instance, seeing as how Krieg in effect set the whole thing up, the purpose of the conference is to give Krieg one last shot at getting writers he wants under contract to him. Thus we had games: the psychodrama; Kreig’s having a suite downtown as well as a room here, his own menu when he doesn’t want to eat the food we’re eating, his own liquor supply-that sort of thing. I think the Reverend Krieg has been trying to impress these four people that he is in control of everything, including, by inference, them.”

“Interesting.”

“Yes. And I’ve told you of the writers’ reaction to all this. Extreme hostility! To a degree that has surprised me.”

“Indeed.” Koznicki answered another whispered question, then turned back to Koesler. “One would think that if a writer did not wish to sign a contract, that would be it. Even if the publisher were to be more persistent-as Reverend Krieg evidently has been-still, there should not be all this tension and talk of murder.”

Koesler shook his head. “But, that, Inspector, is what has indeed happened.”

At that moment, Sergeant Phil Mangiapane approached Koznicki. “Doc Moellmann thinks it was cyanide, Inspector.”

One eyebrow raised slightly. “Unusual for the medical examiner to give an opinion so quickly,” said Koznicki.

“He didn’t say for sure it was cyanide. He thinks it is. But if you ask me, he’s pretty damn sure-uh, ’scuse me, Father. The M.E.’s got this glint in his eye and he’s giggling a little bit. If I had a bottom dollar, I’d put it on cyanide.”

Koznicki suppressed a grin. Obviously, Mangiapane had grown accustomed to Moellmann’s many eccentricities. If the M.E. was relishing this, he was, indeed, pretty sure.

“What happened,” Mangiapane continued, “was that the rabbi was sitting at the table when he took the drink. The Doc says he must have gone into instant convulsions. .” The detective referred to his notes. “Then he probably clutched the table and the cloth was dragged off the table when he slipped off the chair and onto the floor. Doc says he was dead within four or five minutes.”

“What was the rabbi drinking?” Koznicki asked.

“Frangelico,” Mangiapane said, and immediately returned to his notes. “Doc says whoever put the stuff in picked the right kind of booze: Both the Frangelico and the cyanide have an almond odor. So the guy wouldn’t think anything odd about the aroma of the Frangelico as he opened it and poured it. Oh”-he began reading his notes verbatim- “and Doc says the condition of the body also suggests cyanide. He says the lividity is the clue. The guy looks all red. Doc says the poison paralyzes the enzymes in the body that allow the transfer of oxygen from the blood to the cells. The body is full of oxygen, but the oxygen is unused.” Mangiapane looked particularly pleased with himself.

“Is there any chance any of the other bottles have been poisoned?” Koznicki asked.

“Doc doesn’t think so. There’s no special odor to any of the rest of the booze. But he’s takin’ it all downtown for tests. And, of course, he’ll do the autopsy on the rabbi. But, like I say, he’s pretty sure.”

“Hmmm,” Koznicki said, “I wonder-if Dr. Moellmann is correct-I wonder how the killer knew to tamper with just the Frangelico specifically.”

“I have an idea,” Koesler said. “Last night after dinner, Krieg offered each of us a drink from his supply. Of all the choices possible-and I think he’s got one of everything and probably back-up bottles of each-”

“He’s right, Inspector,” Mangiapane interjected, “not only one of everything but the best of everything.”

“Yes,” Koesler agreed. “Well, Winer chose Frangelico. And, now that I think of it, he was followed by the Reverend Krieg. So, even anyone who hadn’t known beforehand, could, if he or she paid any attention last night, have noted that Winer and Krieg favored the Frangelico. It just so happened that I was standing off to one side, and since I was not conversing with anyone, I was able to observe what everyone else was drinking.”

“Excuse me, Father,” Mangiapane said, “but Krieg wasn’t the one who was murdered; Winer was.”

“The supposition at this moment, Sergeant,” Koznicki said, “is that the Reverend Krieg was the intended victim and that Rabbi Winer was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time drinking the wrong liqueur.”

“Oh. .”Mangiapane felt foolish.

Koesler wanted to explain and, at the same time dispel, Mangiapane’s embarrassment. “You weren’t here, Sergeant, when I was telling the Inspector what’s been going on here over the past couple of days.”

For Mangiapane’s benefit, Koesler recounted in some detail the interaction that had taken place, omitting only that which Tully and Mangiapane had learned when they had responded to the false alarm last night.

“So, you see, Sergeant,” Koesler summed up, “while there has been a great deal of animosity shown by the writers to Krieg, it has been Krieg’s overt aim to get any or all of the writers under contract to his publishing house.

“Although I can’t really envision any of these religious people actually committing the sin of murder, from everything that’s been said, a plausible case could be made that one or another of them might actually try to kill Krieg.

“And, as for the possibility that Krieg might be involved, the last thing in this world that he would do would be to kill one of the writers he was trying to sign.”

Mangiapane had followed the discussion attentively; he now proceeded to summarize. “So,” he said, “the idea is that someone put the poison in the Frangelico thinking that Krieg would drink it-based on the fact that that was his liqueur of choice last night. But, before Krieg gets to the bottle, Winer takes a drink, and that’s all she wrote.” He seemed content.

“It was not a bad plan, as I see it,” Koznicki said. “The killer might think that he had a fail-safe scheme. After he-or she-poisoned the Frangelico, he-let us simplify things-would figure that he would be present after meals when one would expect liqueur to be served. If anyone other than Reverend Krieg approached or accepted the Frangelico, the killer would be able to take some action-drop the bottle, or “accidentally” spill the contents of the glass or some such. But, as you said, no after-dinner drinks were offered due to the argument. Then, if it so happened that the Reverend Krieg would stop off for a nightcap alone and drink the poison”-Koznicki spread his hands-“so much the better. But what the killer did not foresee was that someone else would drop in unexpectedly, use the extra key and, unfortunately take the fatal drink.”

“And that,” Koesler said, “is what must have happened. Rabbi Winer must have come back downstairs from his room later in the evening. I can well imagine that he might have had trouble getting to sleep. Of all of us, he undoubtedly had the most hectic day. He probably thought that a drink or two would calm him down and help him get some sleep.”

“So,” Mangiapane continued the scenario, “he comes in. He’s the one who checked before dinner to see whether the cabinet was unlocked. He’s the one who was specifically told about the whereabouts of the duplicate key. So he goes directly to the key, unlocks the cabinet, pours himself a small glass of Frangelico, sits at the table, and. .

“He probably downed the glass in a gulp, went into convulsions, clutched at the cloth, and pulled it with him as he fell to the floor. And that’s how we found him.”

“And,” Koznicki concluded with a tone of regret, “the one who poisoned the liqueur was not there to intervene.”

“And so he became a murderer,” Mangiapane said.

Koznicki looked up as from a reverie. “He or she was a murderer from the outset. Except that the real victim was not the intended victim. Which means, of course. .” He gave no indication of completing the remark.

Koesler completed it. “. . the intended victim-Krieg-still lives. Will the killer try again? Or, now that everyone has been alerted, will the deed be aborted or postponed?”

“Good and relevant questions, Father,” Koznicki said. “I do not think the person we are dealing with is the type to be permanently dissuaded because of one failure. There must have been sufficient motivation. It required too much deliberation-courage, if you will-to dare the deed in the first place. I think there will be another attempt. We must be vigilant.”

“Excuse me,” Mangiapane said, “I’ve got to get back to Zoo.”

Koznicki and Koesler were left alone with their private thoughts.

“I specifically wanted Lieutenant Tully on this case,” Koznicki said finally.

“He’s your best, isn’t he,” Koesler said.

“There are many fine officers in the Homicide Division.”

Koesler smiled. “But he is your best, isn’t he?”

Koznicki smiled back. “Yes.”

“Do you anticipate this case being that difficult to solve?”

“I have no idea. Only time will provide that answer. It is not the difficulty in itself that will be the problem. It is the victim. It is,” Koznicki made a small but encompassing gesture, “the setting.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“There may be a great number of murders in the city of Detroit, but we do not as a rule kill members of the clergy.”

Koesler’s eyes widened in understanding. “The image!”

“Precisely. The city administration will be most eager to have this case closed as quickly as possible. The media will have a field day with this story. A visiting rabbi murdered in a Catholic college at a workshop given to the study of religious murder mysteries!”

“Of course. Put those ingredients together and the story almost writes itself. So that’s why you assigned the case to Lieutenant Tully.”

Koznicki nodded. “He will have all the help he needs or wants.”

“This is sort of like that case years ago, when we first met, isn’t it? Remember: when those priests and nuns were being murdered by that demented man who left a rosary as his calling card.”

Koznicki grimaced. “How could any of us forget that? But, yes, there is a similarity. Again it was a case of who was being killed-priests, nuns, save the mark! Then as now, the city’s reaction was to do everything possible to expedite a solution. And, again, Father, due to the nature of this case, I would very much appreciate it if you would give us the benefit of your observations-in a most unofficial capacity of course. If that is not asking too much?”

“Of course, Inspector. But I don’t know that I’ll be of much help.”

“Nonetheless, if you please?”

“Certainly.”

Koznicki was not playing a hunch. Over the years he had come to rely on Father Koesler in cases such as this. Whenever Catholicism was introduced into a murder investigation, Koznicki could depend on Koesler to provide a unique contribution toward the solution.

Koesler had the background. He’d been a Detroit priest for the past thirty-five years. He had ties to and easy familiarity with most of the priests and many of the nuns of the Archdiocese of Detroit. He was at home in the old Church as well as the new. He kept up with theological developments. Thus, when there was an understandable gap in the knowledge of things Catholic on the part of the police, Koesler was able to fill in that gap nicely.

Beyond that, Koznicki had learned that, despite the priest’s demurrers, Koesler had an uncommonly keen eye for detail. His observance of Krieg’s choice of Frangelico as an after-dinner drink was an excellent example. Koesler’s powers of observation had been demonstrated in any number of investigations over the past several years.

Besides these very good reasons, Koznicki wanted Koesler in the inner circle of this case for the simple fact that the two enjoyed each other’s company.

Mangiapane returned. “Father, Zoo., er. . Lieutenant Tully wants-uh, would like you-in the room across the hall-uh, now.”

“Okay,” Koesler glanced at Koznicki.

“I will just come along too,” said the Inspector.

Tully had not requested Koznicki’s presence. But Mangiapane well knew the department’s pecking order. “Yes, sir!” he said fearlessly.