Father Koesler, Dr. Price, and Lieutenant Tully walked together down the hall toward the elevators.
As they neared Tully’s squad room, the Lieutenant said, “Father, if you got a few minutes, I’d appreciate it if you could clue a couple of my people on a couple of questions.”
Koesler thought of the pandemonium undoubtedly continuing in and around his church. Suddenly, Police Headquarters appeared to him as a place of sanctuary from the church. He felt like Alice on the other side of the looking glass. “Okay with me, Lieutenant.”
They bade the doctor good-bye as she continued toward the exit.
Homicide Division comprised seven squads. Each had its own high-ceilinged, rectangular, large and shabby office. Koesler and Tully entered the lieutenant’s squad room. Two detectives appeared to be waiting for their boss and the priest.
“You remember,” Tully said to Koesler, “Sergeants Mangiapane and Moore.”
The introductions were pro forma. Indeed they all knew each other. Fate-it could be nothing less-had linked them all in several homicide investigations in the past.
“I’d like you to tell us,” Tully said, “how you came to have a wake for a Jewish man at your church.” It was the first time in frequent queries when the accusatory tone was not used; this was for nothing more than information.
So Koesler told them about the-then-widow’s pleading the case. He explained the family situation. That the two children had been raised Catholic. And that though they might not be very active Catholics now, they certainly had no ties with the Jewish faith.
Neither did Dr. Green, who was, by anyone’s measuring stick, Jewish in name only.
Finally, Mrs. Green, a Catholic, had discussed possible funeral arrangements with her husband when death had seemed far off.
Koesler did not mention the opposition he’d encountered along the way-from many phone callers and principally from Father Dan Reichert. Nor did he mention his own instant research through canon law to ascertain the Churchly legality of this service.
None of that, Koesler felt, was relevant or pertinent to the police investigation. None of this had come up in the recent session with Koznicki and Price, for whom the main question was whether the incident could possibly be a genuine miracle, or, more probably, a state of coma. And, further, if a coma, then was its cause deliberate or accidental?
Now that a properly instituted investigation had begun, a wider area of interest was in order. Mangiapane and Moore took notes.
“So,” Tully said, “after Mrs. Green left you, what did you do?”
“I wanted to relax and read. What I actually did was answer the phone. It rang almost continually.”
“Was that unusual?” Moore asked.
Koesler smiled. “There are days when the phone doesn’t ring. Yes, this was very unusual. You see, I’d hoped there wouldn’t be much of a crowd. After all, the man died-oops, was declared dead-just hours before Margie came to see me.”
“That her first name-Mrs. Green-Margie?” Tully asked.
“Margaret,” Koesler said. “She prefers Margie. Anyway,” he went on, “my hope wasn’t successful. We had a churchful. I guess the two children and their friends-even enemies-got on the horn and informed a whole bunch of people.”
“What time did you get to the church?”
“About 6:30. I was early. I was supposed to meet with the widow-sorry, I guess I can’t quite get over the fact that he’s alive-anyway, I was supposed to meet Mrs. Green about seven. She was going to supply me with some background so I could say something personal at the wake. It never worked out.”
“So,” Tully said, “you were not in the church when the body was delivered?”
“Far from it. I don’t even know-though I could find out-when the body was delivered. By the time I arrived, quite a few people were there.”
“Damn,” Tully muttered.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s just possible someone might have given him a shot of Narcan,” Tully said.
“What?”
“Narcan. It’s a drug that reverses the effect of morphine. I’ve seen them use it in the E.R. a few times. It’s my guess as to one way they could’ve pulled this off. Say somebody knows Green’s OD’d on morphine-somebody who maybe even gave it to Green himself. Then, while Green’s on display in the church, this guy gives the doc a shot of Narcan. Little by little, it takes effect-and the doc comes out of it.”
“But why would anybody want to do something like that?”
“Beats me. Granted, this is all just farfetched conjecture. But if we knew that happened, and if we knew who did it, that person would have a lot to explain. Tell me, Father: While you were in church, did you stay close to the coffin?”
“No, not at all. For one thing, there was a steady flow of people in line to view the body.”
Tully considered this. “Less likely anybody could deliver a shot with all that traffic. If it happened, it probably had to be done early on-before the crowd gathered. Could be helpful … fewer people for us to check out.”
“Did you know many of the people at the wake?” Mangiapane asked.
“No …” Koesler thought for a moment. “I think … well, no … I did recognize two people. One is a priest, Father Daniel Reichert. He’s retired but still active-helping out in parishes.” Reichert’s archconservatism did not seem germane.
“He the one who got quoted all over the place … the one who’s claiming this is a miracle?” Mangiapane asked.
“The very one. But I don’t think you’ll be reading much from him in the future.”
The detectives recognized a “no comment” order when they heard one.
“Miss Lennon-Pat Lennon-was the other one I recognized-you know, the reporter from the News.”
“She the only media person there?” asked Tully.
“At the time, the only one I recognized. And I’m familiar with some of them.”
Tully smiled and shook his head. “How in hell does she do it?” It was rhetorical.
“You knew only two people in a crowd that size? And in your own church?” Mangiapane seemed amazed.
“The deceased … uh, the man in the coffin, was a long way from being a parishioner. As was the case with everybody there. This wasn’t a parochial event for St. Joseph’s parish; it was a wake for Dr. Moses Green. People who knew him or had some association with him attended. I didn’t expect many of my parishioners to be there … and there weren’t.”
“Father, you mentioned ‘enemies’ of Green being there,” said Moore. “Could you explain this … I mean, like how you might know they were enemies?”
He had been dreading that question. The word enemies had escaped his lips earlier. And when he’d used the word, he very definitely had in mind the five people who had spoken to him before the service was to begin. If he had it to do over, he would not have used that specific word. Yet he knew that one way or another he would be asked about anyone who had talked to him at the wake. As it turned out, except for a comment or two from Margie, those five were the only ones who had said anything at all to him.
He had thought about the question, but he hadn’t decided how he would respond. This was a troublesome area of no clear-cut moral determination. Five people had approached him. He had made an overture to none of them. None of them had come close to making their confidences a confession. So what each of them said was not protected by the “seal” of confession.
For one who hears confessions in a sacramental setting, the next step away from the “seal” would be a professional secret-the sort of confidence that protects communication between physician and patient, attorney and client. It also applies to priests when something is said in confidence and the person wants it kept secret. The only difference between the seal of confession and a professional secret is the possibility of a reason that would override the professional secret and force it to be revealed. Occasionally revelation is called for in a professional matter, but never may the seal of confession be broken.
The problem here was: Was what had been told him last night meant to be a professional secret? Was it meant to be a secret at all?
Would any of those five have said what they did, in such frank and open detail, if they had not been certain Green was dead? Probably not. But did that make a secret of what they said?
Not one of them had used any disclaiming language such as: “Just between you and me …” or, “I wouldn’t want this to be repeated …” They had merely told Father Koesler about their problems with Green and what they thought of him. And not one of them had a good word to say about Green.
More and more, Koesler recalled his reaction to each of the five: If Green had not died of natural causes, if he had been murdered, each one of these people could be a prime suspect.
And now Lieutenant Tully was looking into the affair, trying to determine whether this could be a case of attempted murder.
Even though none of them had requested confidentiality, should Koesler hand the police five suspects, one or more of whom possibly had attempted to murder Dr. Green? On the other hand, he wanted very much to be as cooperative as possible. This spirit of cooperation had marked his relationship with the police from the very beginning of his pseudoprofessional contact with them.
Now he had to make a decision. Sergeant Moore’s question about Green’s “enemies” still hung in the air. Koesler had mentioned that some of Green’s enemies had been present at the wake. How, Moore wanted to know, did Father Koesler know they were enemies?
“I may have misspoken … or, maybe, I overspoke,” Koesler said finally. “I guess I just assumed that in that large crowd there would be relatives, friends, and enemies.
“Specifically, five people approached me to tell me something of their relationship with Dr. Green. Not one of them did anything to hide the fact that they were talking to me. That much is common knowledge. Anyone present in the church paying attention could tell you who those five were. So I will give you their names-which is really all I know for sure about them.
“But to be perfectly frank, I would feel awkward going into what they said. Each was operating on the premise that Dr. Green was dead. What they said while operating under that premise surely is different from what they would say now that we know he is alive.
“Indeed, they may just have been getting some deep-seated feelings off their chests.”
There was an awkward silence. It was unique that Father Koesler would publicly back away from a police request.
“We aren’t working on a criminal investigation,” Tully said finally. “We’re trying to find out whether a crime has been committed. If you don’t want to tell us what these people talked about, we’ll pass for the moment. Would you feel okay about writing down their names?” Tully pushed a pad and pencil in front of Koesler.
Wordlessly, the priest began to write.
“This is just a shortcut, Father,” Moore said. “Like you said, we could get the names from any number of people who were at that wake.” She seemed a touch embarrassed at having asked the question that led to this uncomfortable moment.
At that point, a detective from another squad stepped into the room. He was carrying a small portable TV. “Oh, here you are, Zoo. You got the father with-oh, yeah.” He hadn’t at first noticed the seated priest, who was busy writing. “I think you might be interested in this.” He plugged in the set.
Koesler, the antithesis of a dedicated fan of daytime TV, glanced over at the forming picture. As the image on the screen cleared, Koesler recognized the voice: Dan Mountney, reporter and weekend anchor for Channel 4, the local NBC affiliate.
Koesler tried to make out what was on the screen. It looked familiar, but …?
From Mountney’s tone, this was live coverage of some sort of breaking news. It was late afternoon; Koesler could only guess at what scheduled programming was being preempted. Probably a talk show or one of the soaps. In any case, regular viewers were certain to be upset enough to flood the offending station’s switchboard with complaining calls.
“To recap,” Mountney said, signifying that this was at least the second time around, “we are here at St. Joseph’s Church in downtown Detroit.…
St. Joseph’s! He hadn’t recognized it immediately because he’d never seen the church in black and white on a small screen-and also because the camera, rather than focusing on the edifice, was panning around the crowd-a crowd that seemed to have at least doubled since he had last seen it in real life.
“As we know,” Mountney continued, “this church was the scene last night of what some say was a miracle.”
“… some say”-a careful disclaimer, thought Koesler. Probably at next mention the reporter would refer to it as “the alleged miracle.”
“For those of you who have not been following this story, a wake service for prominent physician Dr. Moses Green was being held in this church last night when, at about 7:30 P.M., the corpse awakened-returned from the dead ….” Mountney shrugged. “So far, it’s up in the air. Some say he was mistakenly declared dead. Others claim that the doctor actually returned from the dead. Or, maybe it was the longest near-death experience anyone can remember.
“In any case, crowds of people have been coming and going all through this day. About half an hour ago, this church was the setting for yet another alleged miracle.”
Koesler’s eyes widened. Tully, Moore, and Mangiapane shifted their gaze momentarily from the TV screen to Koesler.
“A woman in a wheelchair had been praying in this overcrowded church for what some eyewitnesses say was several hours. As I said before, she suddenly shouted out. Some say she was uttering a prayer. What is certain is that she got out of her wheelchair and fell to her knees. The crowd, as you might expect, gave her lots of room. She then literally crawled to the sanctuary where, overcome by emotion, she fainted.”
“Dan, do you know where she is now?” the off-camera voice of the anchor asked.
“Not really, Mort. She had been brought here by a couple, reportedly, her sister and her brother-in-law. They got her out of the church as quickly as they could, and drove away. No one seems to know their names or anything else about them.
“We have a couple of eyewitnesses, Mort.”
The camera pulled back to include Dan Mountney and a small, scruffy-looking man with widened eyes and mouth slightly agape. He seemed eager for as much of his fifteen minutes of fame as possible.
“This,” Mountney said, trying not to get any closer to the man than necessary, “is Mr. Malloy.”
“Everybody calls me Charlie Malloy.”
Mountney smiled almost in spite of himself. “Okay, Charlie Malloy. You were there when this happened. Can you describe it for us? What happened?”
“Well, sir, there we were in this terrible crowd. It was so bad you couldn’t move an inch without apologizin’. And the noise! Some people prayin’. Lots of other people just talkin’. Right out loud, mind you. In the church. All that lack of respect. And here we were, right where there’d been a b’Jesus miracle just last night.”
“Right, Charlie Malloy, can you tell us about the woman?”-a hint of impatience-“The woman in the wheelchair?”
“I was just gettin’ to that. She was a pious one. I was kinda payin’ attention to her on accounta she was in this wheelchair. And the crowd wasn’t makin’ allowances for that, y’know. I was afraid she was gonna get knocked over.”
Charlie Malloy, every once in a while, would reach for the microphone in an attempt to take it from Mountney’s hand. Each time Mountney resisted, almost playfully.
“Well, then, all of a sudden, she lets out this scream.”
“Could you make out what it was …what she was saying? Was it a prayer?”
“Well, if it was, it’s not one I’m familiar with.… I mean it wasn’t the Our Father or the Hail Mary.” He grinned. “Which is about as far as I go with prayer.”
“All right, Charlie Malloy, so she screamed. And then?”
“So then she screamed. And then a bunch of women-maybe some men too, I’m not sure-started screamin’ too. I think the wheelchair woman scared them. But everybody backed away from her … which made it that much harder to stand there or even breathe-you r’member I said how crowded it was in there?”
“I remember.”
“Then she sort of threw herself out of the chair. And the chair sort of fell over sideways. And then, the lady started movin’ toward the altar. Everybody was yellin’ things. Some was yellin’ what she was doin’, I guess for the benefit of all the people behind who couldn’t see what was goin’ on. Some was yellin’ encouragement to her. But she didn’t need any help; she was crawlin’ on her knees right for the altar. I’ll tell you, I couldn’a done it … and I got good legs. Yessir, she was cured. Right then and there. It was a miracle. An ever-lovin’ miracle.”
“Did she leave the church then?”
“Sort of. She got to the altar. Then she sort of fell over.”
“Prostrate?”
“You could say that. Then this couple-I guess they brought her-they picked up the chair and put her in it. Then they went like crazy towards the outside door.”
“Do you know her name? Or if anybody got her name? Or the names of the couple she was with? Any identification?”
“It happened so fast! And we were so surprised by the miracle! She was cured. Then she was gone.” Malloy made one more grab for the mike. But Mountney, skilled at this sort of jousting, was too quick for him.
Dan Mountney was about to turn the telecast back to the station when he tipped his head to one side listening to a message through his earpiece. “Mort, I’m told that we’ve located someone who, indeed, did speak to the woman in the wheelchair just as she was getting into the car.”
The camera swung wide again to include a man, obviously stunned, in the black suit and roman collar of a priest. “And you are …?” Mountney asked.
“Father Daniel Reichert.”
“A Catholic priest?”
Reichert didn’t reply; he just looked offended.
Koesler’s eyes widened again. Tully, Moore, and Mangiapane glanced at him.
This telecast was drawing to a close. The reporter had no time for games with this eyewitness. “You know the woman? The woman in the wheelchair?”
“I’ve never seen her before. I was able to speak with her for only a few moments. Her escorts were very determined to get her out of here. I think they let me speak to her because I’m a priest.”
“Did you get her name, Father?”
Reichert nodded. “Theresa Waleski.”
“When she entered the car, the car that drove her away, was she assisted, or did she get in under her own power?”
Reichert reflected momentarily. “She was helped in. But I don’t think she wanted to be. Everything was very chaotic. So I can’t be sure whether she wanted to stand on her own … but that’s the impression I got.”
“I see. Father, we have only a few seconds left. A miracle or not?”
Reichert hesitated only a fraction of a second. “They have eyes, yet they see not. They have ears, yet they hear not.”
Mountney shook his head ever so slightly. “Well, Mort, on that rather cryptic note, we’ll pass this back to you.” Mort Crim, back in the studio on Lafayette, kitty-cornered from the Detroit News, began a summation of the story. Tully switched off the set.
“Well,” Moore said after several moments’ silence, “at least he didn’t claim it was a miracle.”
“All but,” Koesler said. “If, or when, the Cardinal sees that, I think St. Joseph’s parish will be off limits for Father Reichert.”
“First time I ever heard of a priest who couldn’t go to church,” Mangiapane commented.
“It’s happened,” Koesler said. “But that’s historical.”
“We’ll get going on these names you gave us,” Tully said. “I’ll have one of the guys give you a ride home, Father.”
“No need; it’s only a few blocks.”
“Let me guarantee,” Tully said, “that the closer you get to your church, the harder it’s gonna be to move. Especially when they find out you’re the pastor.”
Koesler nodded. “Thanks, Lieutenant.” Upon consideration, he accepted the ride with gratitude.