William Kienzle - Chameleon

“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.

It was still early, but people were already crowding into Blessed Sacrament. The cathedral would be filled by the time the Scripture Service for Archbishop Foley would begin.

Father Koesler stood in a long line of people moving almost imperceptibly forward to view the archbishop’s remains. The line moved so slowly that he had plenty of time for his stream of consciousness to dissolve into myriad unconnected thoughts.

He looked about at those already seated, standing against the walls, or, like himself, waiting to pay respects at the coffin. Since his chat this afternoon with Lieutenant Tully, Koesler tended to regard many familiar faces as suspects. He was not eager to believe that either Stapleton or Carson had committed these murders. But somebody had. Who? Monsignor Young? Hardly. But until this case was solved, almost everyone could be a suspect.

Koesler’s height enabled him to see the entire interior of the cathedral more easily than many others who also served by standing and waiting.

The sanctuary, formerly enclosed on three sides, had been transformed into the equivalent of a thrust stage, open on three sides. Thus, the altar, once so remotely situated near the rear wall, was now proximal to most of the congregation.

Directly in front of the altar was the archbishop’s bien Koesler could not see it in full view. It was as yet only a flash of brilliant white revealed periodically as those in line ahead of him shifted from one foot to the other.

Above the bier, suspended from the cathedral ceiling, was the huge ceremonial red hat that had belonged to Cardinal Edward Mooney, Detroit’s first Cardinal. It would hang there alone as long as the cathedral stood. By the time Mark Boyle was elevated to Cardinal, Pope Paul VI had done away with much of the ancient panoply of the office, including the cappa magna , a grandiose garment of watered silk and ermine, as well as the great red hat.