Lawrence Sanders - Tenth Commandment

'You may go right in,' she said. 'Turn left outside, go to the end, and turn right. Last office.'

We found the Bishop's office with no difficulty. The door was opened before we had a chance to knock. The man greeting us was tall and broad, though somewhat stooped and corpulent. He was wearing an old-fashioned suit of rusty cheviot and a grey doeskin waistcoat with white piping. His polka-dot bowtie was negligently knotted.

He had a very full, almost bloated face, ranging in hue from livid pink to deep purple. The full, moist, bright rose lips parted to reveal teeth of such startling whiteness, size, and regularity that they could only have been 'store-bought.' Set into this blood pudding of a face were sharp eyes of ice blue, the whites clear. And he had a great shock of steel-grey hair, combed sideways in rich billows.

'I am Bishop Oxman,' he intoned in a deep resonant voice. 'Won't you gentlemen come in?'

He ushered us into his office and seated us in leather armchairs in front of his glass-topped desk. Perce Stilton slid his identification across the desk without being asked, and I hastily dug in my wallet and did the same with Mr Tabatchnick's business card.

While the Bishop was examining our bona fides slowly and with interest, I studied the bare office, its single bookcase, artificial rubber plant, and a framed photograph behind the Bishop. It appeared to be Bishop Oxman's seminary graduating class.

He returned our identification to us, sat back in his swivel chair, squirmed slightly to make himself more comfortable, then laced his pudgy fingers across his paunch. He wasted no time on pleasantries.

'Detective Stilton,' he said in his rumbling bass-baritone, 'when we spoke on the phone, you stated that a situation had arisen concerning one of our pastors that might best be handled by discussing it with me personally.'

He glanced briefly at me. 'And privately.'

'Yes, sir,' Percy said firmly but with deference. 'Before any official action is taken.'

'Dear me,' Bishop Oxman said with a cold smile, 'that does sound ominous.' But he didn't seem at all disturbed.

'It's something I think you should be aware of,' Stilton went on, speaking with no hesitation. 'Mr Tabatchnick here represents a young woman who claims she was swindled out of her savings and an inheritance — slightly over ten thousand dollars — by one of your clergymen who promised her he could double her money in six months.'

'Oh my,' Bishop Oxman murmured.

'This young lady further alleges that she was persuaded to hand over her money by the promise of the pastor that 314

he would marry her as soon as her money increased.'

'What is the young lady's name?' the Bishop asked.

'I don't believe that is germane to this discussion at the present time,' Percy Stilton said.

'How old is the young lady? Surely you can tell me that?'

Stilton turned to me.

'Mr Tabatchnick.' he said, 'how old is your client?'

'Twenty-three,' I said promptly.

Oxman turned those piercing eyes on me.

'Has she been married before?'

'No, sir. Not to my knowledge.'

The Bishop raised his two hands, pressed them together in an attitude of prayer, then put the two forefingers against his full lips. He appeared to be ruminating. Finally:

'Is your client pregnant, Mr Tabatchnick?'

Stilton looked at me.

'Yes, sir,' I said softly, 'she is. I have seen the doctor's report. My client attempted to contact the clergyman to tell him, but was unsuccessful.'

'She called the phone number he had given her,' Stilton broke in, 'a number she had previously used, but it had been disconnected. Both she and Mr Tabatchnick went to his apartment, in the Murray Hill section of Manhattan, but apparently he had moved and left no forwarding address. Mr Tabatchnick then reported the matter to the police, and I was assigned to the investigation. I have been unable to locate or contact the man. I felt — and Mr Tabatchnick agreed — that it would be best to apprise you of the situation before more drastic steps were taken.'

'And what is this clergyman's name?'

'The Reverend Godfrey Knurr,' Percy said. 'That's K-n-u-r-r.'

The Bishop nodded and pulled his phone towards him.

He dialled a three-digit number and waited. Then:

'Timmy? Would you see if you can find a file on 315

Godfrey Knurr? That's K-n-u-r-r,' he rumbled, then hung up. Speaking to us again, he announced with solemnity,

'Unfortunately this is not a unique situation. But I must tell you that frequently the minister involved is entirely innocent. A young woman misinterprets sympathy and understanding. When the pastor tries to convince her that his interest is spiritual she becomes hysterical. In her disturbed state, she makes all kinds of wild accusations.'

'Yes, sir,' Stilton said, 'I can imagine. But a complaint has been made and I've got to check it out.'

'Dear me, of course! In any event I'm glad you came to me before pursuing the matter further. It's possible the clergyman in question is not a clergyman at all, but a con man acting the role and preying on lonely women.'

But such was not to be the case. The Bishop had hardly ceased speaking when there was a light tap on the office door, it was opened, and a young man entered with a manila folder. He placed it carefully on Oxman's desk and turned to leave.

'Thank you, Timmy,' the Bishop called. Then he picked up the folder and read the label on the tab. Then he looked at us. 'Oh dear,' he said dolefully, 'I'm afraid he's one of ours. Godfrey Mark Knurr. Well, let's see what we've g o t. . '

He began to scan the documents in the folder. We sat in silence, watching him. One of the things he looked at was a glossy photograph.

'Handsome man,' he said.

We waited patiently while the Bishop went through all the papers. Then he shut the folder. 'Oh dear, oh dear,' he said with a thin smile, 'it appears that Mr Knurr has been a naughty boy again.'

'Again?' Stilton said.

Bishop Oxman sighed. 'Sometimes,' he said, 'I feel there should be limits to Christian charity. The Reverend Knurr came to us from Chicago where he served as assistant pastor. He seems to have been very popular with the congregation. It appears that he became, ah, intimate with the twenty-two-year-old daughter of one of the vestrymen.

When her pregnancy could no longer be concealed, she named Mr Knurr, claiming he had promised to marry her.

In addition, she said, she had made several substantial loans to him. Loans which were never repaid, needless to say. The affair seems to have been hushed up. Knurr, who continued to protest his innocence despite some rather damming evidence against him, was banished from Chicago and sent here.'

'Can they do that, sir?' I asked curiously. 'Can the church of another city stick New York with one of their problems?'

'Well,' the Bishop said, 'Knurr may have been part of, ah, an exchange programme, so to speak. One of their bad apples for one of ours. Of course there was no possibility of Knurr getting a church here. We are already burdened with a worrisome over-supply of clergymen, and their numbers are increasing every year. But I assure you that the great majority of our pastors are honourable, Godfearing men, deeply conscious of their duties and responsibilities.'

'So what did you do with Knurr?' Stilton asked.

'He retained his collar,' Oxman said, 'and was allowed to make his own way, with the understanding that because of his record, assignment to a parish was out of the question. According to these records, our last communication from the Reverend Godfrey Knurr was a letter from him requesting permission to open a sort of social club for underprivileged youngsters in Greenwich Village. He felt he could raise the required funds on his own. Permission was granted. But there is nothing in his file to indicate if he actually followed through on his proposal. And, I am sorry to say, there is no current address or telephone number listed.'