and Tuesday and Thursday. If there’s a meeting-parish council or one of the council’s commissions or anything like that-he’s pretty reliable. That’s the reason the crew got shook up when he wasn’t there when he was supposed to be.”
It didn’t make much sense. Tully could not imagine living in that manner. For him, his job as a police officer consumed almost his every thought. And while he well knew that not everyone by any means matched his dedication to work, he had had the impression that priests, ministers, and rabbis came close to matching him. Especially priests; wasn’t that why they didn’t get married and have a family-to be totally dedicated to their work?
“Well,” Tully said, “in Keating’s laid-back schedule, was there anything on the docket for Friday evenings? Saturday mornings? Someplace he should be? Someplace we could look for him?”
“The secretary said that Fridays he spent nearly the whole day working on his sermon for the weekend Masses,” Mangiapane said. “So it was a little odd that he took off Friday afternoon. He usually spent Friday nights at the rectory. And he was always around Saturday all day to make sure everything was all set. The housekeeper would have expected him for Friday dinner even if he hadn’t told her he’d be back. So everybody got more and more worried as the weekend went by and no Father Keating.”
Tully glanced at both officers. “What kind of car did he drive?”
“Lincoln Town Car, ’91, black, in tip-top shape,” Moore read from her notes.
“The make and plates,” Tully said, “we got that on LEIN?”
“Sure thing, Zoo,” Mangiapane said. “We got ’em on first thing.”
There was silence for afew moments. Tully seemed deep in thought. Finally he spoke.
“Something’s missing.” He looked at them both again. “A dimension. Like this priest seems to be no more than two dimensions. He’s like a shadow. There are all kinds of people who know him-some pretty good. But there’s nothing clear-cut about their descriptions.”
“I got the same impression, Zoo,” Moore said.
“Me too,” Mangiapane admitted.
There was another prolonged silence.
“Here’s an idea, Zoo,” Mangiapane said brightly. “What we seem stuck on is this guy’s personality and his lifestyle, but most of all his personality. And we’re not getting much help from the people we’ve questioned.”
“What’s your point, Manj?”
“Well,” the big sergeant spoke hesitantly, “sometimes … in the past … we, uh … we’ve called in help.”
“‘Help’?”
“Experts … for advice … you know, in areas where we’re not familiar. Like … the personality of a particular priest. And his lifestyle.”
Tully thought he knew where Mangiapane was leading. “Like … who?”
“Well, I was thinking … Father Koesler. He’s been a good resource in the past.”
Tully considered for a few moments. Mangiapane remained impassive. Moore looked interested. Finally Tully spoke. “Call in some outside help? I don’t plan on this case lasting that long. It’d cost us time to talk him into it, time to get him up to speed, time to brief him.”
“We’re not exactly breaking any speed records right now, Zoo,” Mangiapane said. “Father Koesler could maybe get us a shortcut or two. Finish this thing up and” — Mangiapane knew this would be the clincher-“we could get back to our regular cases.”
Tully reflected. “It might work,” he said. “It just might work.”
It was just a few minutes before 6:00 and dinnertime at St. Joseph’s rectory. The aroma of the cooking roast and vegetables drifted through the rectory. Fathers Koesler and Dunn were sipping, Dunn a Beefeater martini, Koesler a bourbon Manhattan. The aroma of the food promised satisfaction, the drinks were relaxing, the weather was ideal. All seemed well.
The two priests were discussing Dunn’s first day at the University of Detroit Mercy.
“I’ve always found,” Koesler was saying, “that the worst place to try to find a parking spot was on a college campus until you get a permit to park on the college campus. But of course you’ve got to park on the college campus in order to apply for the permit. Sort of a catch-22.”
Dunn smiled. “I guess you’re right. I haven’t been on all that many campuses. But U of D seems to have licked that problem-at least temporarily. They give you a day pass that at least gets you to a visitors’ lot. After that, I got my sticker and did some registering.”
“Really. What are you signed up for?”
Dunn took an index card out of the inside pocket of his jacket, “Let’s see; there’s Introductory Psychology, Abnormal Psychology, Psychology of Religion, and Death and Dying.”
“Isn’t that a pretty big bite?”
“No, I don’t think so. After all, I’m just auditing, not going for credit. I won’t do all the required readings. I’m really interested in the Abnormal, Religion of course, and Death and Dying. Intro to Psych is a prerequisite for all of them. Besides, I’m a holy priest of God and it’s a Jesuit school; I’m counting on their being kind.
“By the way, I’m officially a ‘special student.’ I hope they mean that in a positive way.”
“I’m sure they do. Good luck.” Koesler raised his glass in salute, then drained the last of the Manhattan. That’s the way it used to be, he thought. Then it was no more. The perks accorded men of the cloth seemed to melt away during the sixties and seventies. Now, who knows, maybe it’s coming back …
The phone rang. Mary O’Connor was gone for the day. And the housekeeper had made it abundantly clear that she was not to be disturbed, especially during the home stretch of meal preparation. Koesler answered the phone. “St. Joseph’s.”
“Father Koesler?”
He knew the voice. Something inside Koesler quivered. “Yes, this is he.”
“This is Lieutenant Tully, Homicide.”
Suspicion confirmed. “Yes, Lieutenant.”
Dunn looked up, suddenly interested. Of course he could hear only Koesler’s end of the conversation.
“We’re in the middle of an investigation. Actually, it’s a missing persons case at the moment. But there are reasons Homicide has been brought into it. To be brief, do you know a Father John Keating?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” But he was thinking,
“I don’t know whether you knew it, but he’s been missing since Friday. By now, several police departments are searching for him. But we’re coming up short on what makes the man tick. We need to fill in some missing spaces. Would you be willing to help?”
“Really, Lieutenant, I don’t know how I could be of help.”
Dunn was rapt. Hot damn! I’ll bet that’s Keating they’re calling about. They’re following my scenario; they’re asking Koesler to help.
“You’ve helped us in the past, Father. We think you might be able to help us now. How about it?” When Koesler did not reply immediately, Tully added, almost offhandedly, “If you have any doubts, I could ask Walt Koznicki to call.”
Oh, God! That’s the last thing in the world I want. It would take tremendous concentration and carefulness not to let anything from that confession escape his safekeeping even with just Lieutenant Tully looking over his shoulder. How much more difficult it would be with an old friend like the inspector. “I don’t know, Lieutenant …” Koesler’s tone was apologetic. “I’m awfully busy and pressed just now.”
Tully’s sigh was deep. “I can’t force you to help us. But the longer this priest is missing, the greater the probability that we’re not going to find him.”
Silence.
“He
Briefly, Koesler considered the number of times he had responded to a request for assistance from the police. At no time had there been a greater ostensible reason for him to cooperate than in this instance. Outside of an intolerable secret such as he was now guarding, there was no adequate reason for his not providing all the help and direction possible. But there was no way he could tell the police, or anyone, why he was reluctant about getting involved. There was no way out of this. He had to get involved. Maybe he’d find a way to help without touching on the secret. It would be an extremely narrow line to walk. He breathed a quick prayer for guidance. “All right,
