Damico was quoted as saying, “I miss Nonny. She was so nice.”
I sat back in my chair. “Man,” I said.
“Aw.” Vicky placed a hand on my shoulder. I felt the edges of the rings she wore digging into my skin. I twisted my body around so that her hand came away.
“Let’s keep going,” I said. I switched out the roll of microfilm. I looked at my watch. Where the hell was that call from Poppy?
“Now what?” Vicky said.
“They caught the guy who killed the nun.”
“Oooh. Who knew microfilm could be so much fun?”
I spun the handle. The pages blurred past. I stopped every few to see where I was: March, May, July. Now the year was 1950. I stopped on August 5. Two stories dominated the top of the front page. “Gardener Arrested in Disappearance of Nun,” ran across five of the eight columns. The other, which I had not seen in the Pilot catalog, ate up the other three columns: “Arrest Boosts Sheriff’s Bid for Re-Election.”
“Look at that,” I said.
“What?”
“History really does repeat itself.”
I spun the handle again. The next story would have to have everything the arrest story had and more. I stopped at August 7, 1950.
ACCUSED KILLER MURDERED IN PINE COUNTY JAIL
By Carl L. Wick
Pilot Staff
STARVATION LAKE — The man accused of the long-ago murder of a young nun was killed in an apparent fight at the county jail here.
Joseph E. Wayland, 51 years old, died of internal injuries allegedly inflicted by another inmate at the Pine County Jail. Pine County sheriff R. Lawrence Spardell said the two had a disagreement over a game of craps.
Wayland was stabbed in the throat with a crude weapon the other man had fashioned from a spoon smuggled out of the jail mess, Spardell said.
The sheriff declined to identify the other man, pending an arraignment scheduled for Wednesday before Pine County circuit judge Franklin Carey.
Wayland was arrested last week on charges of first-degree murder in the disappearance of Sister Mary Cordelia Gallesero.
Sister Cordelia, as the Felician nun was known at St. Valentine’s Catholic Church here, was reported missing in August of 1944. She was 30 years old at the time. The nun’s body was never found despite a massive search.
Wayland worked as a gardener at St. Valentine’s at the time of the nun’s disappearance.
Charges were filed based largely on the testimony of an unnamed Catholic parish priest who said Wayland confessed to the crime during the sacrament of penance.
The unnamed priest told police that Wayland revealed in the church confessional that he had bludgeoned the nun to death with a shovel after she rejected his romantic advances, and disposed of her body in Torch Lake.
Fr. Nilus Moreau, pastor of St. Valentine’s, referred questions to the Archdiocese of Detroit. Fr. Timothy Reilly, a spokesman for the archdiocese, denied that a priest had violated the sanctity of the confessional, but said, “We pray for the Lord’s love and tender mercy for Sister Cordelia, the men in the jail, and their families.”
Pine County prosecutor Michael Carey said plans were being made to dredge Torch Lake, but he wasn’t optimistic about finding the nun’s body so long after her murder.
Of the jail killing, he said, “This unfortunate turn of events appears to close the case of Sister Cordelia’s demise, and I sincerely hope we won’t have to speak of it again.”
Wayland has previously been convicted twice of public intoxication and was acquitted in 1939 of a charge of aggravated assault after allegedly striking a man with a bar stool.
His wife of 28 years, Esmerelda, died in childbirth in 1930. He is survived by a daughter, Mrs. Susan Breck of Plymouth, Michigan, and a grandson.
“Whoa,” I said, forgetting Vicky.
“What?”
I was focused on the last sentence of the clip. Breck, I thought. Again I did some math in my head. The Breck at Tatch’s camp could have been Wayland’s grandson.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just… I can’t believe I never knew about this.”
“It probably wasn’t something people were proud of,” Vicky said. “Anyway, it happened a million years ago. Did you see those clothes in the pictures? Crazy.”
I reread the story, focused again on the last sentence, and tried to get into my reporter’s garb, distance myself, be objective. Could it be mere coincidence? Could this Susan Breck be unrelated to the Breck who had insinuated himself into Tatch’s camp and convinced its dwellers that they could dig their way to liberation? Was Breck somehow connected to Nilus and, therefore, to Mrs. B? What was he really digging for?
“Are you getting hungry?” Vicky said.
“Huh?”
My phone rang. Thank God, I thought.
“For chicken and dumplings?”
“Hang on.”
I may have grabbed the phone a little too eagerly. Vicky folded her arms in that pose women adopt when they have an inkling that they’re about to be handed bullshit.
“Yeah?” I said into the phone.
“We’re down one-zip after two,” came the voice. It was Poppy. He was yelling. I flattened the phone hard against my ear.
“Excuse me?” I said. “This is Gus Carpenter.”
I could hear the din of the crowd across the ice from Poppy, who was probably standing by our bench, scanning statistics. “I said we’re down by one,” Poppy said, louder. “Dougie had a rough start, and they’ve got Tex all bottled up. But we’re still in it.”
“I appreciate that,” I said.
“You what?” Poppy said. “Gus?”
I waited as if listening to someone filling me in about something. I knew I was being a shithead, but I felt I had no choice.
“You there?” Poppy said.
“I understand,” I said into the phone. “Of course.”
“Let me guess-this involves a woman,” Poppy said. He hung up. I stayed on, knitting my brows. Vicky moved closer.
“All right, understood,” I said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I clicked the phone off.
“You have to go?” Vicky said. She looked skeptical.
“Something’s going on with Mom.”
“Is she all right?”
“Well… I’m not sure.”
“Who was that?”
“Somebody at the sheriff’s office.”
“Oh. Your ex, I suppose?”
I decided that by saying nothing I would let her think that.
“I can’t believe she could just throw away a good man like you.”
I stood. “Sorry, Vick. I’ll have to take a rain check.”
“How about tomorrow? Sully’s gone till Saturday.”
I busied myself with folding up the copies and finding pockets for them. I couldn’t look Vicky in the eye anymore. “We’ll see.”
“No. We won’t, will we?”
