William Kienzle - Shadow of Death

“You three, Toussaint, Koznicki, and yourself, you were tried in our court, a court where I am judge and jury. I have no need of your ‘due process.’ I have no need of your meticulous evidence. I have need only of vengeance. I hold the three of you responsible for the death of Don Ruggiero. One of you has paid his debt in full. The others will pay. I have so judged. It is inevitable.”

“But it’s been so long! So many years!”

Licata shook his head. “We are always willing to postpone revenge if necessary. We will wait until the proper time and the proper place. This insane plot to kill Cardinals became the proper time, and England and Ireland became the proper place.

“You would have no way of knowing this if I did not tell you. Since Don Ruggiero had been badly frightened, perhaps even frightened to death before he was decapitated, we arranged a special surprise for your friend Toussaint before his beating. With the aid of some papier-mâché and a clever artist, we set up a special Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussaud’s just for him.

“You look surprised. You shouldn’t be. After all, if we could discover the Rastafarians’ assassination schedule, it was nothing for us to obtain your group’s tour bus schedule.

“I promise you, he was frightened—just as Don Ruggiero was—before your friend became unconscious for the rest of his life. We deliberately left his cranium untouched to assure he would remain conscious long enough to experience the maximum of pain and fear.

“And you would have been able to see his fear, if you had accompanied him as you had planned.”

“And if I had been there?”

Licata spread his hands wide. “What can I say? You would not now be here.”

“But, at most,” Koesler said, “Toussaint was considered merely a suspect in those killings—and that by a very few people. And on those grounds, you would have killed him . . . and Koznicki . . . and myself?”

“I told you, we dispense our own justice. The Jews have a saying, ‘If I am not for myself, who will be for me?’ No one of us is attacked without our vengeance. All must know there is no escape from our vengeance. And now your Reverend Toussaint is enjoying a living death. Don’t you think that a most fitting revenge?

“But enough. Now that I have told you all this, I will tell you something else: You were very foolish. Padre, to come to me. You should have known that if your theory is correct, you—and Inspector Koznicki—represent unfinished business for us. We will bide our time, but eventually, we will take care of the Inspector.

“But for now, our business will be finished as far as you are concerned . . . once and for all.”

He pressed a button on his intercom.

The door opened.

But instead of his henchmen, two homicide detectives entered, guns drawn.

“Louis Licata, you are under arrest for the attempted murders of Ramon Toussaint, Walter Koznicki, and Father Robert Koesler. You have the right to remain silent . . .”

2.

“No doubt about it, it was a real coup,” said Father Koesler.

“I mean, everybody wanted the Cardinal as a guest speaker the minute he returned from Ireland. Not only was he a new Cardinal, but there was all that publicity about those attempts on his life and all. But it was old Eddie Breslin who got him first as guest of the Detroit Economic Club.”

“You don’t suppose,” said Wanda Koznicki, “that could be because Mr. Breslin is Chairman of the Board of General Motors, and is, with bonuses and stock options, perhaps the wealthiest man in town, do you?”

“Wanda,” Koesler replied, “I would wager that Mr. Breslin is at least the wealthiest Catholic in town. And yes, I imagine that might have had something to do with it.”

Mary O’Connor brought in a fresh pitcher of iced tea. Ordinarily, she would not have been at St. Anselm’s on a Sunday afternoon. But, since Koesler was entertaining special visitors, the parish secretary had volunteered to return after the morning Masses to serve refreshments. And the refreshments were welcomed by all on this sunny afternoon in late July.

“What surprises me, Bob,” said Emerenciana Toussaint, “is that you were at an Economic Club luncheon. Economics was never your strong suit. Why, if it were not for Mrs. O’Connor here, you wouldn’t know whether you were within or without a budget. You have said so yourself.”

Mary O’Connor blushed.

“You’re so right, ‘Ciane,” said Koesler. “And in fact, I wasn’t there. But a friend in PR at GM told me about it. Mr. Breslin had reserved a table for six. And after the luncheon and the speeches, Mr. Breslin signaled his people to come up and meet the Cardinal.

“Well, it turned out that the first five in line happened to be Catholic and the sixth was not. So each of the five tried to genuflect and kiss the Cardinal’s ring—which, as you all know, the Cardinal would rather people didn’t do. So, each one ended up going halfway down toward the floor with his right knee before the Cardinal gave his hand a tug. It looked as if they were doing a sort of half-curtsy, my friend said.

“And then he said that when they had all gone through the line, the non-Catholic came up to the others and said, ‘What in hell were you guys trying to do?’

“‘We were trying to kiss the Cardinal’s ring,’ one said.

“‘That’s crazy,’ the man said, ‘I kissed Breslin’s!’”

Everyone laughed.

“The Cardinal . . . and how is the Cardinal?” asked Ramon Toussaint. He winced as he shifted slightly in the upholstered chair. Even after a convalescence of two months, he was still partially crippled . . . and would be for some time to come. But the doctors in London had decided—and Toussaint had concurred—that the rest of his healing could be better done at his home. Now, on their way back to San Francisco, the Toussaints had stopped off to visit Koesler and the Koznickis.

“He’s fine, as far as I know,” said Koesler. “Busy as ever, they tell me. Though some say he’s a bit more reflective. But, I suppose that’s to be expected after what he’s been through.”

“After what he’s been through!” exclaimed Wanda.

Koesler chuckled. “On second thought, I don’t suppose what he’s been through could hold a candle to what we’ve been through.”

“If what he has experienced has rendered him more reflective,” Toussaint commented, “the three of us ought to be in a Cistercian monastery!”

“The three of us,” said Inspector Koznicki solemnly, “are very fortunate that we are not in a cemetery.”

His comment transformed what had been a lighthearted gathering into a serious group forced to face the sobering, recent proximity of death.

“The Inspector is correct,” said Toussaint, after a brief silence. “If you had not found the real cause of our being attacked. Bob, we would most certainly have continued to watch out for Rastafarians while we would have been picked off from an entirely different direction. How did you figure it out?”

“Several suspicious incidents and a healthy dose of luck.” Koesler picked up the pitcher of iced tea and offered refills to his guests.

“First of all, the Haitian who spoke to me in Dublin—the one who claimed to be your friend, Ramon. When he told me there would be no Rastafarian attack in Ireland, he was either telling the truth or lying. If he were lying, the only possible reason would be to lull us into lowering our guard during that ecumenical service in St. Patrick’s. Such a lie would certainly not be aimed at lowering my guard as far as my own safety was concerned; none of us had any reason to expect me to be attacked, in any case. But it was, indeed, I who was attacked.