reason, he said, “Look, Lieutenant, what is this? We both know I’ve been around the block a few times. If I done anything to this priest-and God forbid I did! — I’m gonna have his car parked in front of my house? Like I hang a red flag from the car’s antenna? Be reasonable, Lieutenant. Gimmee credit for being more than a dumb school kid!”
“Maybe one of your family left it there.”
“And I didn’t check into it?”
“You didn’t notice the car until today.”
“I didn’t say that. Besides, Lieutenant, why would I have anything to do with a missing priest?”
“Maybe one of your family had something to do with it. Maybe Guido. Maybe Remo. Sonny here doesn’t look too clean,”
Remo stiffened. Costello checked him with a gesture.
“Look, Lieutenant,” Costello said, “nobody here had anything to do with your missing priest. Ain’t there supposed to be a motive for this kind of thing? Why would we mess with a priest? Especially a priest from Bloomfield Hills?”
“That’s what we want to find out, Carl. Why? Somebody want him iced bad enough to hire a hit? Unpaid bills? Lots of possibilities.”
“You been reading too many detective stories, Lieutenant. Whoever put that car there probably had a grudge or something. We didn’t have nothin’ to do with it.”
“You didn’t have anything to do with the car. You didn’t have anything to do with the priest.”
“What I said.”
“Then you won’t mind if we look around your house, eh, Carl? You got nothin’ to hide.”
For the first time, Costello’s demeanor became deadly serious. “For that, Lieutenant, you gotta have some paper.”
Tully rose. Koesler and Moore followed suit. “We’ll be back.”
The four found themselves out on the sidewalk. Only a few of the gawkers turned to look at them, and those spared only a momentary glance. The police checking out the abandoned car were far more interesting.
“Anyone’s rump get hit by that door?” Mangiapane asked.
Moore laughed. “We did get ushered out rather firmly,” she agreed.
But Tully was all business. “Manj, stay here. Make sure that we question everybody in every house on this block. Neighboring blocks too. We ought to be able to find somebody who saw something out of place-anything odd. That car didn’t just grow there.
“Angie, get a warrant. I want our people to go through every inch of that place. Somebody there is in on this. Maybe not the whole family. But someone.
“I’ll take the father home. I want to check with Organized Crime, see what they’ve got on this family. OC ought to have the latest sheet on Costello. I got a hunch if I let OC know what’s going on, they might be able to put some pressure on the family.”
On their return trip downtown, Tully was the only one to speak. He made a single statement. “In the beginning, I thought this whole investigation was a waste of time. At least the time of Detroit Homicide. But now that it looks like the Costello family could be in this thing … well … it’s down to: Is Keating in hiding somewhere, or has he been wasted?”
And Father Koesler agonized that it was impossible for him to give Tully the answer.
11
It was almost 6:00 in the evening when Lieutenant Tully dropped off Father Koesler before St. Joseph’s rectory with, for Tully, profuse thanks for the priest’s help and time throughout the day.
As Koesler turned from the departing car he was momentarily awed, not for the first time, by the massiveness, the fortresslike character of St. Joe’s rectory and church in the last clear light of day. He could hear, in his imagination, “A Mighty Fortress is Our God.” One of his favorite hymns.
There were no lights visible in the rectory. Not surprising; both the housekeeper and Mary O’Connor would be gone for the day. It would be deathly quiet now for at least another hour, when his appointments and meetings would begin. Perhaps he could squeeze in a nap before the evening busyness began. Offered his druthers, he would have preferred a nap to dinner. He was that tired.
Then he remembered. Nick Dunn. He had no idea where his visiting priest might be now, but Dunn’s presence would have to be taken into account. It struck Koesler that this was just a little bit like being married in that he had someone else to consider instead of scheduling for himself alone.
He entered the dining room to find Dunn doing some sort of paperwork at the dining table. “Oh, there you are,” the younger priest said brightly.
“Here, indeed, I am. Have you eaten?” Koesler hoped that Dunn had finished dinner. Therein lay a chance that he might sneak in that nap.
“No, it’s in the oven. All I have to do is heat it. I was hoping we could talk over supper.”
Damn, there went the nap! “Okay. But we’ll have to shake a leg. I’ve got an appointment in about an hour.”
“Plenty of time. Shall I fix us a drink?”
“Thanks. But make mine light. Plenty of water. I’ve got a busy evening ahead.”
Dunn began heating dinner, prepared the drinks, and joined Koesler at the dining table.
Koesler tasted his drink. It was very light-scotch and water with a heavy emphasis on the water. It occurred to him that he hadn’t expected to see Dunn this evening. “Don’t you have a class at this hour? On the Mercy campus?”
“I cut it.”
“You cut your first appearance? What’s the course?”
“Psychology of Religion. How much psychology can there be to religion?”
“Plenty. I thought these papers all over the table were your notes from class.”
Dunn shook his head. “They’re notes, okay, but not from class. We’ll get to them shortly. First, how did your day go?”
That explained it: Dunn was so obsessed with the police investigation that he had cut class and postponed dinner in order to eat with Koesler-all just to learn what had happened.
Very well, then. But he would skip over his early morning meeting with Mrs. Pietrangelo. That wouldn’t interest Dunn.
On to the cops and robbers.
Koesler recounted the course of the investigation: the drive out to St. Waldo’s; a resume of what he’d told Tully of Koesler’s contacts with Keating through the seminary and priesthood; Fred Mitchell’s description of Life With Father, as Keating’s associate.
Koesler skipped the bit about Lacy De Vere’s frustrated attempt to gain entry to the rectory and Pringle McPhee’s success. Next, he told of the drive to the far east side, describing in some detail the meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Costello and Remo Vespa.
Toward the conclusion of Koesler’s narrative, Dunn, who had been hanging on to every word, served the reheated dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. While it tasted good, Koesler surmised that Mrs. Costello’s meal was even better. If his olfactory sense could be trusted, that is what the Costellos, and likely the Vespas, were eating, probably at this very moment.
Koesler wiped sauce from his lips. “And that,” he concluded, “pretty much brings us up to date.”
“Hmmm,” Dunn commented, after the manner of Bulldog Drummond, “and Guido Vespa wasn’t there.”
