“somebody else is involved. Like it says in the Bible, An enemy hath done this.’ Somebody who knew what Guido had done, some enemy of Guido’s, moved Keating’s car to that neighborhood and left it there. If this person knew that Guido wasn’t going to be there, and if this person knew that Guido alone-and nobody else in his family-knew about this contract-then what a beautiful way to get revenge! The Costellos, the Vespas, whatever, would have no idea where that car came from. They would have no reason to get rid of it. It wasn’t any business of theirs. But the cops will find it eventually and they’ll be able to trace it to its owner easily. And the Costellos and Vespas are in big trouble.”
Dunn seemed to expect applause.
Koesler thought it over. “It certainly sounds plausible. Next time I get a chance, I’ll try to find out if Guido was at the house anytime since Friday.”
The doorbell rang.
“That would be my appointment,” Koesler said. “I’d better go let them in.”
“Them?”
“A couple. She’s a Catholic. He’s thinking of converting.”
Dunn looked puzzled.
“Something wrong?” Koesler hesitated at the doorway.
“Something else just occurred to me. I guess I’m playing devil’s advocate to my own theory. I know you’ve got to get the door, but could you give me another minute before you start in with them?”
“Sure. I’llbe right back.”
And he was. “So?”
“It’s money,” Dunn said.
“You need some?” Koesler was joking, or so he hoped.
“No … no. Keating. From what you’ve told me, he had plenty of money. Of all the problems he had in his lifetime, money had to be the least of them … no? Then why couldn’t he pay off his losses? Especially since the alternative was death.”
“It’s true, Nick, he did grow up with money. And he always had some special perks-like his contacts in the auto industry. But his parents left him merely comfortable, not wealthy. He didn’t have much more ready cash than the average priest. If he vacationed well, it was because some of his parishioners adopted him into their lifestyle.
“No, I could well imagine that, if he gambled as compulsively as Guido Vespa said, he could well have been in over his head.”
“Okay then, how about his parish? Maybe the wealthiest parish in this diocese, no?”
“Sure it is. But … steal from the parish to pay off the Mafia? Oh, I don’t think so.”
“I suppose the diocese would find out one way or the other in an audit.”
“Well, there’s not going to be an audit. Not for a long while, anyway.”
“Oh …” Dunn looked surprised. “Why not?”
“The diocese doesn’t audit until there’s a change in pastors. Take it from one who moved from one parish to another about a year ago. The diocese sent its auditors to my former parish as well as to this one.”
“Okay, but we know Keating isn’t going to come back. What about that?”
“We belong to a select few who know that, Nick. To the diocese, the parish isn’t vacant. They just don’t know where the pastor is. Trust me. There was a similar case a while back where a pastor had to go away for a long period of treatment. They merely appointed an administrator for the interim. Undoubtedly that’s what they’ll do now.”
Koesler turned to leave, hesitated, then turned back. “Besides, in response to your
“And finally, Nick, if he had used money from St. Waldo’s coffers and paid his debts, he’d be alive today.”
Dunn brightened. “So my theory stays intact!”
Koesler smiled grimly. “Your theory stays intact.”
Koesler walked down the hall toward the office where the couple awaited. As he walked, he could not shake the nagging thoughts surrounding the case of the missing Father Keating.
Something about this case troubled him. Something besides the confessional technicalities quandary. Something that had been pulling at the corners of his consciousness from the very beginning. One thing was certain: Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with either Nick Dunn’s scenario or his own doubts.
Actually, he thought, Dunn had done an excellent job of putting clues together to build a credible theory on what was behind the disappearance of Jake Keating. Except that Koesler had no real expectation that either he or Dunn would find any legitimate avenue to share what they knew and what they speculated. In all likelihood, it would all be buried in that completely isolated field protected by the sacred seal of confession.
Nonetheless, Koesler wondered what it was beyond that that troubled him.
12
It was only an informal, casual understanding, nothing signed in blood or a legal contract. But Pat Lennon and Pringle McPhee met in the News cafeteria most mornings before getting down to work. No hard feelings if one, the other, or both didn’t show up.
By pure coincidence both arrived at the food counter simultaneously this morning. They greeted each other as enthusiastically as possible for the early hour. As the two moved down the line, most of the men in the cafeteria watched them, some surreptitiously, others openly. Each of the women was used to drawing male attention. Of the two, Pat was the more experienced in handling such attention.
They seated themselves at their usual table in their usual corner. Like many workers they were creatures of habit.
As usual, Pringle had selected a generous breakfast while Pat had coffee and toast.
“I meant to tell you,” Pringle said, “that really was a great obit you wrote for Hal Salden.”
“Well, thanks.” It was somewhat unusual to receive praise for writing an obituary. But in this case it had been a labor of love; Pat really had respected and liked Salden. She was pleased that Pringle had appreciated her effort.
“I especially liked the way you brought out his professionalism,” Pringle said. “He was a really good reporter. He was always interesting and even fun to read.”
Pat smiled as she spread a thin layer of marmalade on her unbuttered toast. “Yeah. I think religion writers today have a lot to live down. Most of today’s writers are genuine professionals. But a while back … well, there were some pretty weird characters covering religion. Let’s just say a lot of them didn’t do religion any favors. But today’s crop is by and large professional. And Hal was among the best of them. He respected his field, and it showed. He would have been really good at whatever beat. But religion was lucky to get him.”
“I agree. And I think you brought that out in the obit. Are the cops any closer to getting his killer?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re on that story too, aren’t you?” Pringle was eating a bit more rapidly than usual.
“Uh-huh. It’s curious. They haven’t got any suspects yet. But most of all, they haven’t got any motive. From what some of the witnesses say, it seems that the weapon was an automatic of some kind. There were two other people wounded, but Hal took the most rounds by far. It was like the gunman was not all that expert, but for all of that, Hal is dead.”
“But why?” Pringle wondered. “It isn’t all that rare for a reporter to be injured in the line of duty. But usually it’s just an accident-being at the wrong place at the wrong time. So why aim at a reporter? You don’t like the news he’s reporting? That’s literally killing the messenger!”
“Hold on, Pringle. The cops haven’t decided yet that Hal was the intended victim. I think the current theory is that the gunman is a psycho. If that is the case, they don’t know whether the guy was sore because the priest was
