believe, or are led to believe, that priests come out on some sort of assembly line: You’ve been taught something by one priest, you’ve been taught by them all.
“But that’s not the case. Priests differ a lot, especially since the Second Vatican Council.
“Father Reichert, for instance, is a good man. But he has some peculiar notions. When he and I were young priests, we were taught-and we taught in turn-that there was a ‘primary purpose’ to marriage: the procreation and education of children. That’s been changed a bit to where there’s no longer a ‘primary purpose’; the love that promotes growth between a married couple is equally as important as having children and bringing them up in the faith.
“Besides, even back when we were young priests, an operation that would affect the fertility of either spouse would not have any bearing on the couple’s right to the sacrament of matrimony. Lots of people who, for one reason or another, can’t have children get married very validly. Physical causes that make bearing children impossible have nothing to do with the will and desire for children.
“Take my word for it: There is nothing in what you’ve told me to prevent you from having a Catholic wedding. Got that?”
Koesler’s explanation was rewarded by the open, relieved smiles of Claire and Stan.
“You’ve made me feel a whole lot better, Father,” Stan said. “I gotta admit that when Father Reichert told us we couldn’t get married because of Claire’s operation, I was pretty angry … not at anyone in particular, just at the situation. But when we found out about the abortion, something inside me just about exploded. I gotta confess, I really was close to doing something … violent.
“And I still feel that way. Lucky thing the doc is dead … lucky thing for me, anyway.”
Chapter Six
They parted with the couple promising to stay in touch, and Koesler assuring them that Father Reichert would no longer be a problem.
But, Koesler wondered, what did Stan mean by, “Lucky thing the doc is dead … lucky thing for me, anyway.”
That’s what Stan had said.
It could only mean that if Green were not dead, Stan would still feel like killing him for what he’d done to Claire. Then Stan would have to suffer the consequences of murder. But the job was done: The doctor was dead- and it would cost Stan nothing.
Was it a mere stroke of luck that the doctor had died?
Of those who had spoken to Koesler this evening, each and every one seemed to have a very credible, pressing bone to chew with Green.
Cameron was about to lose his establishment, the nearest and dearest thing in his life. The restaurant-bar was his dream. A dream he had turned into reality. Green was about to squeeze Cameron out of the business. But, then, in almost a deus ex machina, the doctor dies. How convenient!
Claire and Stan were willing to live with the consequences of a criminal operation even though it threatened their desired Catholic wedding. That was due to a literalist, idiot priest. When they’d learned the operation was by no means necessary, that the surgery was, in fact, an abortion, to Stan, at least, the deed called for vengeance. From his own lips, Stan had been ready to murder. Conveniently, the doctor had died. The coincidences were piling up. Coincidences weren’t supposed to do that.
Koesler interrupted his own thought process by checking to see if Margie Green was finally accessible. The line of well-wishers seemed as long as ever.
What could all those people who knew Green be saying that could possibly comfort the widow-“Thank God the bastard is dead”? That had to be the antithesis of what people say in situations such as this. But what else could they say?
From all Koesler had heard this evening, that sentiment seemed fitting.
And what could
Koesler stood, looking toward the widow, lost in unfocused thought, when he became aware that someone was tugging gently on his coat sleeve. He looked down at a very attractive but obviously troubled young woman. He had never before seen her, not in person or in a photo, and yet he was all but certain who she was. “Judith Green?”
Her expression changed to one of mock exasperation. “Cameron, isn’t it? He pointed me out to you, right? I saw you talking to him.”
“Not really. Your name did come up in conversation-but, no, he didn’t identify you to me.”
“I don’t know whether to be pleased or angry. I’m sure he had nothing good to say about me. I can’t be one of his favorite people. But … you could pick me out of this crowd just on what he said about me?”
“Not quite. I could hardly single you out from anyone here. But I must admit I kind of half expected you to come and talk to me. So it wasn’t that extraordinary a guess.”
“Let me assure you, Father, I had no intention of speaking to you until I saw Jake bending your ear. I don’t know exactly what he told you, but I can be damn sure I wouldn’t be happy with it.” Ignoring the priest’s wincing expression, she continued. “Don’t get me wrong: I don’t blame the poor schlemiel. He certainly got the short end of the stick with me. But there’s another side to this story-and more than that. I want you to know
She wore a coat seemingly several sizes too large. He would have to take on faith the opinion of an expert- Jake Cameron-that she possessed a faultless figure.
Her short dark hair fell in bangs above an oval face, giving her a pixieish appearance. This was intensified by thin eyebrows arched as in surprise, a small, pouty mouth, and high cheekbones.
Her expression … where had he seen that expression-and recently?
Of course: her mother. There was a lot of her mother in Judith Green. Though she possessed possibly the most determined expression he had ever seen, oddly, something about the eyes indicated hurting. Despite all that determination, this young woman did not always get her way.
All in all, a very interesting face.
Judith Green. Nothing particularly ethnic in either the name or the face. Technically, of course, she was not Jewish, since her mother was not. Which did not address the contention that had she lived in Nazi-occupied Europe, she would surely have been included in a pogrom beginning with humiliation, leading to a gas chamber, and ending in a furnace.
Koesler found it impossible to quibble with that analysis.
She sighed. “I suppose Jake told you about everything, beginning with my audition for Virago?”
Koesler nodded. He had already heard more than he wanted to know about her short-lived liaison with Jake Cameron. But she obviously wanted to tell him about it. It just might do her some good to get it off her chest.
“That was his fault right off the bat,” she said. “Delusions of grandeur on his part. Whatever gave him the idea that as talented a dancer as I was would perform in his bump-and-grind shop? Good God, I gave him the full shot just to try to discourage him. I kind of hoped he would put two and two together and figure out I was some kind of setup. But the better I danced, the more the dummy just blindly went along with the scam.”
“You mean you didn’t want to get that job?” This was not the perspective he had gotten from Cameron.
According to Jake, right from the start, Judith “Young” had tried-successfully-to delude him into a stupid plot that would end in entrapment. According to Jake, this was a plot hatched by Moe Green in which his daughter had played the central role-and most willingly.
Koesler was now hearing another side of the story.
“I’ll try to be brief as possible, but you need some background.…
“It started when I was fourteen-no, make that ten. There wasn’t much going on heterosexually in a parochial
