Chameleon

“Yes, but Irene, couldn’t you almost expect something like that?” Koesler countered. “I mean, that is a volatile topic. Larry Hoffer scarcely could have said anything that would ruffle feathers more than suggesting that we abandon our school system.”

“You weren’t there!”

“No, but your description was graphic. I might just as well have been there.

“Irene, I don’t know; there may come a day when the parochial school system will be a there historical oddity. And maybe that time is now-or soon-I just don’t know. I must confess I’ve never given any serious thought to what it would be like having no parish schools. But I think when it happens, or if it happens, that they’re all closed, the finale will be not a whimper but an explosion. So I guess I can’t get overly excited that Hoffer’s proposal was greeted as you describe it.”

“Okay. But the point is, I remember thinking at the time that the emotion that came out in that room was close to violence!”

Koesler smiled briefly in disbelief. “You mean you thought they were actually going to fight? I mean, physically?”

“A couple of times, I thought some of them were close to doing just that!”

“Irene, I don’t think-”

“And then,” she interrupted, “I had this premonition that something violent, something terrible was going to happen. I really did!”

Koesler could tell that she was on the verge of tears. “I see,” he said, “and then …?”

“And then this had to happen. Larry was … was …”

“… murdered.” Koesler could tell she couldn’t bring herself to say the word. “But what about-”

“What,” she interrupted again, “what if the murder was caused, or occasioned, or triggered by something said at the meeting?”

“Irene …” Koesler touched her hand gently. “Irene, come on! You and I know these people. They’re priests and nuns and dedicated laypeople. They’re Church people. They may have their disagreements, and sometimes those disagreements may be deeply felt. But they’re not … I mean, I’ve been at these meetings too, before you, and I’ve seen how deeply they feel, how much they have invested of themselves in their work, how affected they are when their territory or interests are threatened. But they wouldn’t … not one of them would …”

“Then how do you explain it? I thought we were done with this horror when the police caught that David Reading person. After Sister Joan’s sister was murdered and Sister was almost murdered herself … that was so horrible. But it was over. It was done. They caught the killer. Now …”

“Irene, they did catch the man. It is over. Believe it. This is tragic; there’s no doubt about that. But it’s not connected. As much as we’d like it to be otherwise, living in this city has its dangerous aspect. There’s no getting around it. Larry was probably the victim of a random mugging. A mugging that went too far. It’s tragic. But it could have happened to anyone. It just happened to be Larry Hoffer.”

Irene seemed to be drawing some consolation and reassurance from Koesler’s explanation. “Then you don’t think …”

“Not for a moment. And you shouldn’t either. Of course we’re saddened by this thing. That’s natural. But we’ve got to go on.”

“I … I guess you’re right. It’s just that I witnessed … I saw how angry some of the people at that meeting were, And most of the anger was directed at Larry. And then when I heard this morning that he’d been killed …”

“I guess it was only natural. You were sort of primed to link the two, the argument and the hostility, with what happened to Larry. But, think a bit. Who? Which one of those people at the staff meeting could have done it? Can you think of a single person there who might actually be capable of murder?”

Irene gave it brief consideration. “I … suppose not. But then I never focused on any specific individual. It was just so coincidental.”

“That’s it, Irene: coincidence. An eerie coincidence. Natural.”

Mary O’Connor stepped apologetically into the kitchen. “Excuse me, there’s someone on the phone for you, Father.”

“Did you get a name?”

“Yes, a Lieutenant Tully with the police department.”

Koesler did a quick appraisal of Irene Casey. She seemed more at peace man she had been earlier. He wasn’t sure his words had completely calmed her but they had been a help. No doubt about that. He felt he could accept me call. So, thanking Mary and excusing himself to Irene, he picked up the phone near the refrigerator. Irene could not help overhearing Koesler’s side of the conversation.

“Yes, I remember Lieutenant … yes, at me funeral home.

“You want to come here? Well …

“Well, I was going to ring some doorbells. The Lafayette Towers complex … 1300 … just check in with some of the people who live in my parish. There hasn’t been much evangelization carried on in this parish in recent years and … yes, evangelization …

“Well, it’s a kind of recruitment … I guess I could postpone it for just this afternoon if you think I can be of some help, but I don’t-

“Sure. Okay. I know you’re practically next door. But could you delay just a few minutes? I’m with somebody now and …

“Okay. I’ll see you in a little while.” He hung up.

“You’re having company? Now?” Irene asked.

“Lieutenant Tully. He’s with the Homicide Department. He wanted to see me. But don’t feel you have to rush off. He won’t be here for a few minutes.”

“No, no, we’re done. It’s okay. You’ve been a big help,” Irene responded. “Actually, just being able to talk to someone, express my fears, did the trick, I think.”

Thanks a heap, thought Koesler. Nothing I said helped. It was the talking cure again. Koesler had seen it work any number of times, especially in confession-or the sacrament of reconciliation as it was now called. “Well,” he said, “if you’re sure … really, there’s no hurry.”

Irene rose, left the table, and went directly to the cupboard.

Koesler smiled. “What in the world are you up to, Irene?”

“Just going to make a pot of coffee before I go.”

“No need for that, Irene. I can do it. No trouble.”

“No, you’re going to have an important visitor and you’ll want to serve him some coffee. Or at least offer it to him. I can get it done in a jiffy.”

“Well, if you insist. Thanks.”

Some day, thought Irene, the right moment will come to tell him about his coffee. Maybe even teach him how to make it. For now, she was reluctant to expose her friend’s culinary failing to a stranger.

She made the coffee and left, confident that she had saved Father Koesler from embarrassment. And the policeman from a taste worse than gall.

14

“Good coffee,” Tully observed.

“Thanks.” Koesler saw no reason to explain that someone else had made the coffee. The fact that Irene Casey had brewed it was irrelevant and immaterial, as the movies had them say in court.

Mary O’Connor had admitted Tully just a few minutes ago. She’d led him to the kitchen, whose comparative coziness Koesler preferred on a cold and windy day such as this.

A few initial questions from Tully elicited the fact that the kitchen, cozy as it was, was not what he would term secure. The secretary, the janitor, or any number of others might drift in at any time. So, at the officer’s insistence, the two had repaired to Koesler’s office, where the wind whistled through the closed but drafty