William Kienzle - Body Count

Had he been curious, it would have been simple for Koesler to discover that the first Mrs. Dunstable had been committed to a rather nice rest home for the mentally disturbed. And that she was there to this day. Koesler’s assumption at that point would have been that her unbalanced condition was proved to have existed prior to her marriage to Dunstable. Otherwise, if he had married a sane woman who later became ill, the marriage could not have been declared null on those grounds. The marriage would have been found valid and there would have been no way the Church would recognize Dunstable’s freedom to marry. Nor would the Church have convalidated Dunstable’s civil second marriage.

These would have been Koesler’s assumptions if he had been aware of the first Mrs. Dunstable’s present whereabouts.

These assumptions would have been only partly incorrect.

The first Mrs. Dunstable had been quite sane, though not entirely wise, when she married. Years of psychological abuse, the never-ending demand for perfection, service, sacrifice, and dedication to Dunstable, along with his requirement that she perform in public as a loved and pampered spouse, drove the poor woman bonkers.

He divorced her when she slipped into a psychotic state, and he had her committed. But God did not will that Dunstable remain alone. At least that’s the way he saw it. He married again. But his previous marriage prevented the second marriage from being valid in the eyes of the Church.

Dunstable was more than uncomfortable with this. It was common knowledge that he was Catholic-a pillar of the Church-and that, the second time around, he did not have benefit of clergy.

Enter Father Keating.

From experience and manipulation, Keating knew that one could find any number of psychotherapists-psychiatrists, psychologists-who could be counted on to categorize someone as sane or insane, depending upon which state was desired. And in conjunction with his search into the first Mrs. Dunstable’s past, Keating was able to come up with several such therapists. Those who judged her to be quite sane at the time of her marriage were discarded. Those who found that her unfortunate condition had been alive and thriving as early as her teen years were the ones interviewed for the record.

Thus, with some expediting from a bishop or so, the nullity was granted and a quiet convalidation was witnessed by Father John Keating himself.

“Yes,” Dunstable reaffirmed, “Father Jack was with me-with us-when we really needed him. I don’t know what we’d have done without him.”

Koesler was touched by the seeming sincerity of this tribute. “How did he help?”

Dunstable was most willing to go into some detail. “He just was … there. He opened the canonical procedure. He helped with the presentation of the case-even picked out the witnesses and arranged for them to testify. Just shepherded the whole thing through from beginning to end. Even had a bishop-a friend of his-smooth the way. But,” he emphasized defensively, “that doesn’t mean I got any special consideration because of my position. It’s not that I bought this dispensation!”

“I understand,” Koesler said. “I understand. Thank God the day is past when the Church can be accused of selling these decisions.”

“That’s right.” Dunstable seemed gratified that Koesler understood. “Father Jack actually kept the cost to an absolute minimum.”

Tully had been paying only cursory attention to the records that marched past his eyes. He had been paying even less attention to the conversation between Koesler and Dunstable. But he hadn’t banked on silence. Like someone half asleep in front of a blaring television when someone turns it off: One is not prepared for silence, so one comes wide awake.

Dunstable had a similar reaction. Why hadn’t Father Koesler replied? Their conversation had been running so smoothly. The priest should have said something to the effect of “Wasn’t that thoughtful of Father Jack?” Instead, he said nothing.

The silence was electric.

“Excuse me, Mr. Dunstable,” Koesler said quietly after a few moments, “did you say something about Father Keating keeping the cost of your nullity declaration to a minimum?”

Dunstable felt unsure of himself, an exceedingly rare state. What had been a casual conversation with Koesler, with no indication that either Mitchell or Tully was paying any mind, had suddenly taken on some undefined significance.

The aura of hauteur appeared to have dissolved. “Well, Father Jack explained how a case like mine would have to go to Rome. All the documents, all the testimony would have to be translated into Latin. Attorneys in Rome would have to be retained to argue the case.

“Really, gentlemen …” Dunstable addressed not only Koesler, but the others, since everyone now was paying rapt attention. “… he didn’t have to go through all that. Don’t you see: It’s just one more example of how kind and thoughtful Father Jack was during my time of need.

“Of course,” he added, “I understand that things cost money.” He smiled-a we’re-men-of-the-world smile. “We all have to live, after all. I presented a case that had to be worked on. Well, you pay for work. No one understands that better than I. Those lawyers in Rome have to eat! After all, I am well able to pay. Father Jack explained that if I were poor, there would be no charge. I think that rather thoughtful of the Church-not charging the indigent.”

He smiled, smugly this time. “Really, gentlemen, I don’t understand your concern with this. I just said that with all this in mind that Father Jack went out of his way to keep my costs at a minimum. All things considered, I think that a rather touching example of how special that very special priest was-is.”

Koesler, Tully, and Mitchell merely looked at Dunstable.

Dunstable began to squirm a bit. Mitchell was beginning to get the point. Tully had no idea what was going on. But a sixth sense told him that something telling was happening and that this case had just taken a pivotal turn.

Without speaking, Koesler returned to the desk, alongside Tully. After a few moments, he said, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Dunstable, but exactly how much was that charge for processing your case?”

“Well,” Dunstable sputtered, “I don’t see how that’s here or there …”

“Answer him. ” Tully’s quiet voice was incisive, commanding.

Dunstable licked his lips several times. Finally, he decided he was not on trial. He had done nothing wrong. Simply paid a bill. If they were so goddam curious about the cost of his dispensation, well, hell, he’d tell them. “The total cost was a mere five thousand dollars. And with all that was involved, I considered it a bargain. And I know the value of money,” he added, as if daring anyone to argue the point.

Koesler gave the impression of being dumbstruck. Out of the corner of his eye, Tully glanced at him. “What is it?”

Without taking his eyes from Dunstable, Koesler said, “There is no charge for processing marriage cases. There hasn’t been for a good number of years. The diocese absorbs the cost. Been doing so for almost fifteen years-well before Mr. Dunstable’s case.”

Koesler slumped into the chair behind the desk. He massaged his forehead as he tried to make sense of this peculiar revelation. “Mr. Dunstable,” he said, “I assume you made this payment with a check.”

Dunstable nodded.

“Then,” Koesler continued, “who did you make the check out to?”

“Why … why …” Dunstable tried to recall. “I made it out to the parish, I believe. Yes …” He was more certain now. “… to St. Waldo’s.”

“Now that doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Koesler asked of no one in particular.