“The conclusion of all this is that until the opposite is proven beyond any doubt, we presume nothing miraculous has occurred in St. Joseph’s Church over the past several days.”
Father Shuler took a half step away from the mike and Ned Bradley took a half step toward the mike to ask if there were any questions, when, from somewhere in the midst of the reporters, a loud voice rang out in a furious tone.
“This is a disgrace! How can you thwart God’s will! What right do you have to reduce the obvious intercession of Almighty God!”
All turned toward the speaker. Bradley tried to identify him. From where Koesler was seated, he could just about make out the shouter. But he didn’t need to; Koesler easily recognized the voice. Probably because he had heard it so often recently.
Father Dan Reichert was cooking on all burners.
“These are miracles,” Reichert said. “God is preparing to speak to us. He is readying us for His message. He is showing us His power. And you-priests! — are busy quoting arcane rules! How dare you! Just ask Father Koesler. He knows the truth. God has selected him to provide the forum for the presence of the Lord!”
Bradley pivoted toward Koesler, his posture and demeanor wordlessly inquiring tentatively whether Koesler wished to respond to the irate priest. Reichert was considerably more than Koesler had bargained for. Nonetheless, he slowly nodded, got up and approached the mike.
At first, it seemed that Koesler would not have to take any sort of stand at all. Reichert continued to castigate the committee’s findings, conclusions, and lack of faith in the power of God. For Koesler’s sponsorship of these “miraculous” events, however, Reichert had only praise.
With friends like Reichert, thought Koesler, who needs enemies? His second thought was that in a moment or two, the media people were going to have another feeding frenzy. This morning they’d about torn a physician to bits. This afternoon the fodder would be the lack of harmony among the clergy on this matter. His third thought was that, once more, Ned Bradley had lost control of a news conference. His final thought before being forced into the spotlight was that Cardinal Boyle was not going to be pleased.
When, eventually, he was able to break into Reichert’s monologue, Koesler attempted to spread some oil on the roiling waters. He discovered again that straddling the fence was as ineffective as it was uncomfortable.
In the end, he found himself back on Dan Reichert’s list of undesirables.
The good news was that, with one thing and another, the media centered in on Reichert and Monsignor McKeever. The latter had reentered combat as soon as he could, with some decency, displace Koesler at the mike.
Bradley tried and failed to pinpoint where things had taken a wrong turn both this morning and this afternoon. After all, he was no neophyte; he had attended many news conferences in his years as a working journalist.
Bradley had loved the thrust and parry of give and take. Now he wished only that this would all go away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was almost time for him to leave for the service station. It was almost time for her to leave for Carl’s Chop House. Both had drawn late shifts. At least they’d been able to spend some time together this afternoon.
Claire McNern and Stan Lacki had slept until nearly 3 P.M. They awakened slowly, playfully. They made love, which made them feel as if they inhabited a continuum, since they had fallen asleep just after making love.
Claire stretched out, taking far more than her side of the bed. Stan sat propped against a pillow at the headboard. He lit a cigarette. Claire overreacted, vigorously waving the smoke away. He had sworn several times to quit cold turkey on their wedding day. That promise was the one and only hesitation he had about marrying Claire.
Claire wore a satisfied smile and nothing else.
“Whatcha thinkin’?” he asked.
“About marrying you.”
Stan matched her smile. “It won’t be an awful lot different.”
“Sure it will. We’ll have our own home.” Presently, each rented an apartment. They got together at whichever place was more convenient. “And we can have a garden. We can decorate the place any way we want.”
Stan was swept up in her musings. “And we can have friends in. We can have parties. And we’ll have a big driveway so I can repair cars on the side.”
“Don’t go crazy over that now. We don’t want the place to look like a junkyard.”
“Hey, go easy on that junkyard bit. My repair work is how we both got dependable used cars. You’ll never have to worry that some clunker will give out on you. That’s why I drove the tow truck-I’m going in early so I can take your care in and fix it. You’ll have to take a cab to work. That way I’ll rest easy that you’re safe.”
She slapped him lightly on the thigh. “You don’t have to worry about me, sweetie; I can take care of myself.”
“I do worry. There’s nothing much going on around Carl’s. The area is almost deserted-like whole chunks of the city.”
“Silly! I always park in the lot. And we have valet parking, so there’s always somebody there. So-nothing to worry about.”
After a double drag on the cigarette, he snuffed it in the ashtray, which was near to overflowing.
“Honey,” she said, “don’t you think you ought to start quitting now? Enough things are going to change once we get married without you trying to go cold turkey.”
“I can do it. Besides, there aren’t that many new things that will be happening.” He grinned. “It’s not like we’ll have to get used to what we want in sex. I don’t think there’s much more we can learn.”
“I’d like to try.”
“If you think you can try something new, I’m game. You been reading some sex book?”
“Would that be all bad? We could learn some new things. We always can learn more.”
“I guess.”
Stan shook another cigarette out of the pack and tapped the filtered end against the night tabletop. The tobacco firmly set, he lit the cigarette with his dependable Zippo.
“Another one?” she groaned.
“Claire, get off my case, okay? I told you: once we’re married. Until then, let me smoke in peace.”
“Rest in peace!”
“Claire!”
“Okay, okay. Let’s talk about the house some more.”
“You sure you wouldn’t rather get a quick nap? We’re gonna be working late tonight-real late.”
“What do you mean ‘real late’? I’m getting off at the usual time. And that’s not real late. What’s cookin’?”
“Gerry’s not going to relieve me. He got called away. His mother in Charleston got real sick. He’s got to go there. The boss asked me to cover for him. It’s triple time, hon.”
“You’ll be alone practically all night!”
“I’m like you, honey; I can take care of myself.”
She frowned. She was serious and he was being flippant. “Not when somebody’s got a gun,” she protested. “And here, everybody’s got a gun.”
“I’m behind bullet-proof glass. And if anybody finds some way of getting through that, we’ve got our orders: Give ‘em the money. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“But I do.”
“Triple time! ‘Cause it’s not my shift and I’m staying overtime.”
“The hell with triple time!” In some sort of protest, she pulled the sheet up over herself.
“The money’s good, Claire.”
“We could use it; we don’t
