he was considered illegitimate. He seems to have compensated by attempting a constant overachievement.
“Frankly, carrying all that emotional baggage, I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did without a breakdown.”
“It was the drinking that threw me off the track in the beginning.” Koesler was addressing Koznicki. “I figured that if Dick was, by his own word, drunk pretty regularly on Sunday afternoons, and specifically on the two Sundays when the murders were committed, he couldn’t possibly have done them. But the doctor assured me it is possible.”
“Not only possible,” Scholl completed the thought, “but I’ve seen it in my own practice any number of times. People go through elaborate functions and have no recollection of them whatsoever. What probably happened here was that Father Kramer did not drink as much as he thought he had. Or that he had built up a pretty good tolerance for a considerable amount of alcohol. In any case, the relaxing effect of the drink helped him slip into the reaction. As much as anything else, it was a matter of duration. I think Father suppressed this pressure for as long as he possibly could, and then he reacted.”
“And he wouldn’t know? He wouldn’t have the slightest notion of where he’d been or what he’d done?” Koesler, still in a sense of near-disbelief, asked.
Scholl nodded. “A person must present a difficult report at work on Monday morning. A report for which he is completely unprepared. On Sunday he travels to Chicago. He is still there on Monday morning rather than in Detroit where he’s supposed to be. He has experienced a fugue, a flight. He has no memory at all of having traveled to Chicago. He doesn’t know how he got there or why he went. Only that he could not face that meeting. Then his defense mechanism took over.
“You saw earlier when I mentioned to Father Kramer the incident of his having gone to the archdiocesan archives to find the motto of Pope Pius XII, he remembered rather vaguely having done so. But he was unclear as to why he’d done it. Many dissociates can remember events that led to a fugue without any memory of the flight itself.
“What happens then—and, specifically, what happened in Father Kramer’s case—was that his personality began to disintegrate. One Sunday, operating under a completely distinct personality, he forged and made the branding iron he would later use. He hid it and when the fugue was over, forgot it entirely.
“But he was ready. He was ready to throw off all that pressure and stress.
“And so the tragedy took place. On two consecutive Sundays, Father Kramer—or, rather, a distinct other person within Father Kramer—stalked a likely victim. His subconscious mind had been feeding for years on the notion that his mother, having given birth to an illegitimate son, was a whore. So he went looking for an older prostitute. He accompanied her to a place of assignation. Then he killed her, ripped out her reproductive organs, and branded her.
“As he returned to his normal self, he had lost a good deal of his subconscious hostility, but could not possibly face what he had done—or, rather, what his other personality had done. So he made a sweeping denial of the tragedy and of his participation in it. Then he made a sweeping repression of all he had denied. In other words, first he denied it happened, then he repressed the denial. As a result, he made all of his actions inaccessible and unconscious.”
Dr. Scholl paused, satisfied that he had adequately explained Father Kramer’s pathological reaction to intolerable stress. And indeed he had, particularly as far as Inspector Koznicki was concerned. Koznicki was certain that Scholl would testify for the defense along with a parade of expert witnesses. And, from his vast experience, Koznicki knew their testimony would be effectual, particularly in Father Kramer’s case. It was almost the only possible explanation for what had happened.
“Finally,” Scholl concluded, “you both saw Father Kramer’s reaction earlier this afternoon when I, in effect, talked him through the whole scenario. At first, he seemed a bemused listener. After all, he had just been released from prison. Another man—Bush—had been indicted for all three murders. And Father was back in the safety of his rectory with no memory of what he had actually done.
“But, as my explication of what really had happened continued, Father changed. First, in an incredulous reaction. Finally, there was a radical change as the truth began to seep into his conscious mind and the inaccessible began to become accessible.”
Koesler would never forget it. Indelibly etched in his memory was
Fortunately, they had been able to get Father Kramer admitted to the psychiatric ward of the hospital under arrest and watch. He had been heavily sedated. He had a long, long way to go.
Father Koesler seemed more calm and self-possessed than he had even a few minutes before. Dr. Scholl decided everything was under control here and that it was more than time for him to get back to work. He made his farewells and departed.
Koznicki seemed undecided about leaving. “How about one more cup of coffee, Inspector?”
“Well, very good.” Seeing it was not Koesler’s coffee. “One more then.”
“What now?” Koesler asked as he poured coffee in both cups.
“Now?”
“The disposition of these cases. Like they used to do on the TV ‘Dragnet’ series. What’s going to happen?”
Koznicki rarely indulged in speculation. He firmly believed that police work ended in the courtroom. From that point on, it was up to the justice system. However, he couldn’t help but have an opinion based on years of experience. He could not bring himself to withhold that opinion when his friend asked for it.
“Arnold Bush,” Koznicki said. “I do not see any way for him to avoid murder in the first degree. If that is the verdict, there is a mandatory sentence of life in prison with no possible parole. The only way out, short of death, would be a pardon by the governor.”
“And Father Kramer?”
“Ah, yes, Father Kramer. That is another question. I believe we have just heard the totality of his defense in Dr. Scholl’s explanation of a dissociative reaction. Father is blessed with one of the finest defense attorneys possible. But even with a far lesser lawyer, I feel Father’s plea would be ‘not guilty by reason of insanity.’ And I believe that will be the verdict.”
“Then what will happen to him?”
“If that is indeed the verdict, Father will be sent to Ypsilanti for sixty days, to be examined and evaluated by forensic psychiatrists. Then, dependent on their findings, he would be committed to a state facility until he is pronounced cured.”
Koesler pondered for a moment. “Then there is a chance he will be free someday?”
Koznicki nodded as he blew over the surface of his hot coffee and tasted it. He wondered if there were any diplomatic way of suggesting that Father Koesler take a lesson or two in coffee-making from Mrs. O’Connor. Or from anyone, for that matter.
“And then what?” It was Koznicki’s turn to ask.
“Then?”
“If and when Father Kramer is pronounced cured and released from custody, what will happen to him then? What will the Church do?”
“A good question.” Koesler sipped the coffee. He could not tell the difference between Koesler-brewed coffee and anyone else’s. “I’m not sure. I think it would be impossible for him to return to a ministry here. Not with all the notoriety of this case.”
“But Father, the publicity has been nationwide. For all practical purposes, worldwide!”
“You’re right. It has. So then what? A missionary to the backwoods of some Third World country where there hasn’t been any news of anything? Something hidden away in one of the chancery offices? I don’t know. This sort of thing scarcely happens. Only once in my lifetime—and this is it.”
They were silent for a time. Koesler picked up one of the cookies Mrs. O’Connor had thoughtfully put out. He nibbled as he mused. Suddenly he brightened. “I think I have a solution, Inspector. But you’re going to accuse me of having watched too many soap operas.”
“I would never do that to you, Father. Your solution?”
