Chameleon

intercepted by Mangiapane. There was even a confession-a confession Tully had distrusted from the outset. Now the confession was worthless. Reading would be tried for attempted murder, but that was it.

Of course it was possible that whoever had killed Helen had pitched the gun after the murder. And that somebody else had picked it up-and that that somebody had killed Hoffer. That was possible, but Zoo thought it entirely improbable; Zoo Tully’s years of experience, his every instinct, his gut, told him that whoever owned the gun used to kill Helen didn’t pitch it after the murder. He kept it. And used it to kill Lawrence Hoffer while David Reading was locked in the slammer. Zoo believed that, and he would operate under that assumption unless and until the facts proved otherwise. But he didn’t think they would.

Now, the most immediate questions. Did the guy who actually killed Helen want her? He didn’t come back to get the real nun. Would he have if Reading hadn’t decided to be a copycat?

The guy who killed Helen also killed Hoffer. What’s the connection? WasHoffer one of Helen’s clients? Her pimp? There had to be a connection. But what was it?

Joan Donovan and Lawrence Hoffer were both employed by the archdiocese of Detroit. That much Tully had learned from the investigation into the crimes against Joan and her sister as well as the report he’d read this morning on Hoffer’s murder.

But there was something more. Tully played out his memory as though it were a word processor.

The evening of Helen Donovan’s wake, Talking to Father Robert Koesler. Something about how well-attended the service had been when neither Tully nor Koesler had expected a crowd. Why the crowd? Ah, yes: Koesler had had the solution. Or, at least as far as Tully was concerned, what Koesler had said made sense: Sister Joan Donovan was a department head, as were many in the crowd. And many more worked for those department heads.

Now the question: Was Larry Hoffer a department head as well as Joan? That surely would be a connection.

He turned back to the report on the Hoffer killing. There it was: employee archdiocese of Detroit, head of finance and administration.

It was a connection. Was it the connection? How many other department heads were there? What, if any, connection might they have with Joan and Hoffer? Was this the beginning of open season on Catholic Church department heads? Or was it merely a coincidence?

Since the guy who killed Hoffer appeared to have failed with Sister Joan, would he be back for a second big try?

In any case, the thing Tully had most dreaded in the beginning of this investigation had come to pass: He was smack dab in the middle of the rigmarole of the Catholic Church. He who understood so little if anything about even mainline churches. And the most complex of them all, as far as he could tell, was the Catholic Church.

Tully had a sneaking hunch that the answers he was looking for-or might be looking for-were buried in that maze of ecclesial panoply and bureaucracy that was Catholicism.

Tully’s next thought was much more than a hunch; it was a certainty. If this was indeed a “Catholic” case, he needed a guide to get him through this most unfamiliar territory. And he knew just who this guide was going to be.

He opened the yellow pages to the section listing churches, found “Catholic,” then found St. Joseph’s downtown, and dialed.

He hoped Father Koesler hadn’t been kidding when he said he wasn’t planning a vacation.

13

It had been about ten that morning when Irene Casey called Father Koesler. Larry Hoffer’s murder had badly shaken her and she wanted to talk with someone. Koesler was the someone she’d selected. Did he have a little time for her?

If he hadn’t, he would have made time. Irene Casey was one of his favorite people.

When he had left the Detroit Catholic he had recommended that Irene succeed him. Cardinal Mark Boyle had concurred. That was how Irene had become one of the earliest, if not the first, of her sex to be editor-in-chief of a weekly diocesan paper.

Over the years Koesler and Mrs. Casey had remained fast friends. With her lively sense of humor and unfailingly thoughtful kindness it would have been difficult not to like her.

Under her leadership, the Detroit Catholic was very much a middle-of-the-road publication, which supplied her with enemies on the right as well as on the left. These enemies were not unlike those Cardinal Boyle attracted. Koesler felt strongly that none of these people understood or appreciated either Irene or the Cardinal.

When Irene arrived at St. Joseph’s rectory, Koesler ushered her into the spacious kitchen. It was not the most appropriate room in the house in which to entertain. But it was the warmest area in this old, old building, and it was a very cold day.

As soon as they entered the kitchen, Irene, familiar with the room from previous visits, began to make coffee. It was not so much that she yearned for coffee-although the warmth would be welcome; it was just that she felt it necessary to beat Koesler to the punch. As often as it occurred to her, she wondered why he consistently made such atrocious coffee. It wasn’t that difficult to make good coffee, but somehow he always found a way to botch it.

When they were finally settled at the kitchen table with their coffee mugs, she began filling Koesler in on what was happening backstage in the archdiocese. Little of what she told him was news to Koesler. His contacts were not identical to but were easily as good as hers. As Irene talked, he wondered again at all the confidential information this lady had. She knew where nearly all the Church skeletons were buried. But she would undoubtedly take all that juicy gossip to her grave rather than publish any of it. No wonder she had endeared herself to Cardinal Boyle.

Then she gave Koesler a blow-by-blow account of yesterday morning’s staff meeting. As she launched into the account, he offered a quiet prayer of thanksgiving that he no longer had to attend those meetings.

He was not surprised at the opinions expressed at the meeting. He could have predicted the position taken by each of the speakers.

Sister Joan was committed to the core city-enough to live there, which was a major step beyond those who expressed concern while staying so far removed they could scarcely find the city. She was sure to fear the elitism that would mark the closing of inner-city schools while the financially more secure suburban institutions stayed open.

And Clete Bash was the type who would see nothing wrong with that.

Everybody knew that Monsignor Del Young was holding on for dear life to Old Faithful. He had to be superintendent of something. Odds had it that if Del survived until retirement, he wouldn’t give a damn what happened to the system after that. Or anything else for that matter.

Koesler also could have foretold the fine public relations touch contributed by Quent Jeffrey. He probably could make his approach work. Whereas Clete would fumble it without doubt.

And what else could a money man conscientiously recommend other than cutting the losses and closing the marginal schools that had no choice but to drain the coffers of everything in sight?

The single item that did surprise Koesler was Larry Hoffer’s suggestion to close down the entire parochial school system. In all his private ruminations as well as the bull sessions with his confreres, Koesler had never given serious consideration to closing everything. He would have to think that one over.

Irene described in detail the ruckus that followed Hoffer’s proposal.

The shadow of a smile crossed Koesler’s lips when she described Cardinal Boyle’s futile attempts to mediate for moderation. Koesler could remember watching that process innumerable times. Boyle twisting his bishop’s ring, toying with his pectoral cross, inching forward in his chair, clearing his throat, gaining the floor, achieving peace for the moment, only to see all his efforts gurgle down the drain.

“I’ve seen some unruly meetings,” Irene concluded, “but nothing like this. Some of them-some of the priests even-went … berserk! That’s the only word for it!”