The Greatest Evil

as if to rid his mind of cobwebs.

“Later, Martha married again,” he continued. “There were no ‘surprises’ in this wedding. Depending on who was judging it, Martha was either a widow, or a woman who hadn’t had a valid marriage. The man she was marrying was a Catholic and a widower, who, like Martha, was free to marry. But due to Martha’s private war with Catholicism, they married before a judge. They moved away and I lost touch with them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had died by now.

“In any case,” he concluded, “I don’t know anything more about them.” He shrugged. “Not a very happy tale, is it?”

“No. And Vince Delvecchio seems to be at the heart of each event in this tragedy.”

“Yeah.”

The doorbell couldn’t be heard in the basement. So the two priests were startled when Mary O’Connor appeared at the door of the meeting room. “Fathers, Bishop Delvecchio is here.”

The two men looked at each other. “Well, Zack,” Koesler said, “let’s go fight the dragon.”

“Easy for you to say,” Tully replied. “You know,” he said, after a moment, “I’m actually trembling.”

They climbed the stairs and made their way to the living room, where the bishop awaited.

Bishop Delvecchio was not seated. Instead, he stood in approximately the center of the room.

He was thin to the point of gauntness, with a fragility that brought, to mind Pope Pius XII, though Delvecchio was much taller than the late Pontiff. His black suit seemed of modest material, but the creases could cut paper. A small patch of episcopal red was visible in front, where the clerical collar met the clerical vest. Stretched across his chest was the silver chain of his pectoral cross. His shoes were shiny enough to credit that black patent leather really could reflect up. Neither nature, age, nor use had contributed laugh lines around his mouth or eyes.

The bishop held a large manila envelope. Presumably it contained the papers that would make Father Koesler a Senior Priest.

Suddenly, Koesler’s eyes widened, as if the figurative bulb of discovery had lit above his head. “Look, pardon me,” he said without preamble to the bishop. “I’ve got to make a couple of phone calls. I won’t be long. Zack will entertain you till I get back.”

Father Tully, looking as dumbstruck as if he’d been poleaxed, almost glared at Koesler. “You wouldn’t do this to me!” he muttered through clenched teeth. But Koesler was already headed for the door.

As he started down the hall, he heard Tully offering Delvecchio a drink. The bishop declined.

Koesler had no time to commiserate with Tully. He had to make some calls. He prayed he Would be able to reach those who were on his mental list. If so, and if the responses were what he expected, this matter might well be wrapped up this very night.

29

As he came up from the basement, Koesler heard angry voices. Concerned, he hastened toward the living room.

The conversation ceased as both men turned toward him.

“Bob,” Delvecchio said, “I’ve had a really ugly day. And”-he glowered at Tully-”this evening has worsened a migraine: I pray you hold me excused. There really isn’t any ceremony called for; all I need is to give you this envelope. All the necessary papers are in here. This takes care of everything; all you’ll have to do is go talk to the boss. You may arrange that at your mutual convenience.”

“Wait,” Koesler said. He made no move to accept the proffered envelope. “You and I have to talk. We have to talk tonight. You don’t have to stay for the party … but, believe me: We have to talk.” He put special emphasis on the final four words.

Delvecchio stared at him for several moments. A knowing expression grew into a confrontational gaze. “Okay, Bob. Maybe you’re right. Maybe in the middle of a horrendous headache would be a good time for a showdown we’ve put off too long.”

“Let’s go to the basement,” Koesler said as he gestured toward the door. “We won’t be disturbed there.” He stood aside to allow the bishop to precede him. As he left the room, Koesler stage-whispered to Tully that they were not to be interrupted.

Tully nodded, but mouthed to Koesler, “This has not gone well!”

Koesler nodded understanding and followed Delvecchio downstairs.

They stood on opposite sides of the pool table. Koesler assumed that Delvecchio would fire the first round, if only to get everything off his chest and start to work on losing his headache.

But the bishop, silent, only stood and stared at Koesler malevolently.

“Vince,” Koesler said finally, “whatever happened to the kid who had to play the organ during Requiem Masses … the kid with the devil-may-care personality … the kid who was fun?”

“He grew up. He learned that rules are important. And that life is serious business.”

“Long as we’re talking about rules, how about the Golden Rule?”

“You’re a fine one to invoke the rule of doing to others as you’d have them do to you! How would you like it if your sister debated you in public on moral theology?”

“I suppose you’re referring to Lucy and the abortion question-”

“‘Question’? There’s no question. Not among Catholics. It’s a serious sin. And carries the penalty of excommunication!”

“Of course abortion is a serious matter. But that depends on how one defines abortion. And excommunication? You know as well as I that a person must know beforehand that an ecclesial penalty is attached to a sin before one can incur the penalty.”

“And you believe that Lucy didn’t know?”

“That’s what she said. You just didn’t ask her. And you should have.”

“You believe she was telling you the truth?”

“Of course I do! I believe she was telling me the truth about not knowing about the penalty and about believing that a person, for an adequate reason, could terminate a pregnancy within the first trimester-without sin.”

Delvecchio, arm raised, finger pointing at Koesler, said, “You know very well the Church’s official stand on abortion!”

“Of course I do. But we’re not talking about me; we’re dealing with what I believe is Lucy’s well-formed conscience.”

“Should we have gone along with Hitler’s ‘well-formed conscience’?”

“Hitler was a homicidal maniac. We’re talking about a sane, serious, and conscientious young woman. We’re talking about the supremacy of conscience.”

“Supremacy of conscience!” Delvecchio spat out the words.

“It is as John Henry Cardinal Newman said …” Koesler again invoked one of his favorite epigrams. “‘I will drink to infallibility. But first I will drink to conscience.’”

“You’re just playing with words!”

“And you were trying to intimidate your sister so she would be on the defensive if and when the media tumbled to the story of the Monsignor and his Sister the Abortion Doctor. But”-Koesler raised his hand in a stop- traffic gesture-“we’ll get back to Lucy later.

“Earlier this evening, Zack Tully asked me what made you tick. This as a prelude to taking you on about this Oath and Profession thing.

“In telling him what I knew about you, some questions came to mind. I found some answers in my own experience, as well as from a few phone calls I made here tonight.”

At any other time, or to anyone else, the bishop’s fish-eye might have been daunting. But Koesler, like a locomotive picking up steam, was not to be sidetracked.

“This steady march of yours to the conservative right wing began with Frank Morris’s suicide. You were in complete agreement that he should have no Church funeral, even though he had attended Mass regularly and tried his best to get his marriage ’fixed up.’ The denial of Christian burial dumped all the guilt of suicide on Frank. You