“It’s been years,” Costello said, “since anyone in our ‘family’ accepted a contract. Our understanding was that we were out of that business. I would have to guess that if there was an offer and Guido accepted it, the contract would have to have come from the outside.”
“The outside?”
“No ‘family’ would be involved. It would have to be from someone with no relationship with any of the families. Someone who knew of our past and counted on Guido to accept it.”
“It’s possible then?”
There was sadness in Costello’s eyes. “I don’t like to think of Guido betraying our trust. But yes, it is possible. Very possible. Whoever offered the contract would have to have a sweet pot …”
“A lot of money?” Koesler interrupted to clarify.
Costello nodded decisively. “A lot of money. If someone still active in a ‘family’ heard about it, it could have cost Guido his life.” Thinking on that, he added, “It did cost him his life.”
“But not,” Koesler said, “at the hands of anyone in a ‘family’”
“Not from what you’ve said,” Costello agreed. “It was most likely by the one who gave Guido the contract.”
“Then what about the confession? What about its being part of the contract?” Koesler asked.
Costello reflected for a few moments. Then, “It’s not uncommon for contracts to have other conditions attached to them. I’ve never heard of confession to be one of those conditions.”
“As I told you, the police think it was to keep me from freely participating in the ensuing investigation.”
Costello nodded. “And it was on the money. That’s why you were with the cops when they came to my house … right?”
“Yes. If the theory is correct, the contractor assumed, from my past involvement, that the police would ask for my help. And the guilty party didn’t want to chance my helping the police. So-and I guess we’d have to say he was clever-he had the one who killed Father Keating confess to me that he had done it, and in doing so, he sealed my lips.
“But, moving on: Do you think Guido could have done it? Killed a priest, I mean?”
“Guido told you it was because of gambling debts?”
Koesler nodded.
Costello shrugged. “The debts would have to be out of sight. But, yeah, sure: It’s like you’re doin’ business with somebody and you don’t like the business he’s in. But it’s business … so,you go along.”
“He’d kill a priest?!”
Costello nodded. “And go to confession too. If that’s what the contract called for.”
“Okay,” Koesler said. “Now we come to the last part. The bit about burying Father Keating with Monsignor Kern.”
Remo snorted and was about to laugh when a glance from Costello silenced him. Koesler had virtually forgotten there was anyone else in the room.
“That’s what turned this whole thing around,” Koesler said. “The matter was completely closed until they exhumed Monsignor Kern’s body. The police had discontinued their investigation into Father Keating’s disappearance. My lips were sealed permanently. Then came the matter of identifying Monsignor’s remains. And Father Keating’s body was nowhere in sight. I guess at that point, I was pretty sure Guido had lied to me. And I thought, if he lied about that, then about how much more?
“Anyway, at that point, Guido decided he’d better come clean. So first he told the guy who gave him the contract. Does that make any sense?”
“It would have been the honorable thing to do,” Costello said.
Somehow, in Koesler’s eyes, “honor” didn’t seem to have much of a role in this case.
“He was going to break a very important provision in the contract,” Costello explained. “One of the principal stipulations of the contract was to keep you on ice by confessing. Now Guido was gonna violate that part of the contract by telling you the confession was a fake. He had to tell the guy. It was the honorable thing to do.”
There goes that word again, thought Koesler. “But nobody would have known about any of this if he hadn’t added that bit about the burial. Why would he do a thing like that?”
“Why would Guido do a thing like that?” Costello closed his eyes tightly as if shutting out past memories. “Because that was part of Guido’s style. He always went too far. He thought it was clever. He did foolish things. Other times he bragged so much he made up stuff just to be a big guy.
“In the old days, he’d go out to make a collection. Then he’d come home with the money and tell us he broke the guy’s fingers for making us wait. He’d be a big guy, hot stuff. ‘The Enforcer!’ Then we’d find out he hadn’t done it: He got the money okay but he didn’t do anything to the guy. He’d learn a little. But what he learned was to brag about things we couldn’t check out-at least things he thought we couldn’t check out.”
“So,” Koesler concluded, “in light of his past boasting, it makes perfect sense that Guido would lie to me for no other reason than that he wanted to add a sensational but fictitious touch. Sort of like his signature?”
“Sort of like his signature,” Costello agreed. “Yeah, it got so he couldn’t help himself. If he didn’t think that what he had to do was very imaginative, he’d make up something. Just to impress people. I don’t know where the priest’s body is. Maybe only Guido knew. Now, nobody’ll know.” He shook his head. “I told Guido a hunnert times he had to quit doin’ that. He wouldn’t listen. Now. …”
There was silence for several moments.
“Is that all you wanted to know, Father?” Costello asked finally.
“Yes. You’ve cleared up a lot for me. I couldn’t figure out why he volunteered that bizarre story. I thank you very much for explaining it for me.”
“It is for us to be grateful to you. You went out of your way to get Guido a Catholic burial. We appreciate that, especially Mama. Like I said, we are in your debt. Anytime you want somethin’, you come to me. Hear? You come to me.”
For the life of him, Koesler could not envision a time when he would need any favor that Costello could provide. But one never knew. The future was unpredictable. Koesler rose and accompanied the trio to the front door.
After they left, Koesler reviewed the visit.
There certainly was no doubt who headed that family. Remo was around only to serve and protect Carl Costello. And, after the initial greetings, Mrs. Costello had been so still it was almost as if she had not even been present. So in charge had Costello been, Koesler wondered that the Double C had let Guido get away with his penchant for weird exaggeration. Such a futile vice. It was almost guaranteed to get him in trouble. And in this instance, it certainly had. Koesler could only ascribe Costello’s forbearance to the Indulgent Grandpa Syndrome.
Koesler returned to his office and slumped down in his chair.
At least it was over. Too seldom in life did all the loose ends get tied up in a neat, tidy fashion. When it did happen, it brought a sense of satisfaction. And he was sure that, at least as far as he was concerned, the matter of the missing priest was concluded.
Jake Keating, despite having grown up in a wealthy family, had proven himself a poor gambler when he lost all that money in stocks and bonds. What few people ever knew was that he also was a compulsive gambler. Put the two together-an unlucky and compulsive gambler-and you have the making of a peck of trouble-or tragedy.
So, inevitably, Jake got in over his head Koesler could imagine the bookies or whoever Jake dealt with being at first amused that “Father” lived to gamble and that, in addition, he proved to be a patsy. Then the amusement fading as Father ran up staggering debts. Undoubtedly there were threats. Finally, Don Whoever, the head man, hired Guido Vespa to kill Keating. It certainly would be an outstanding lesson throughout the gambling world that the bookies were deadly serious about collecting what was owed: Even a priest, even the pastor of Detroit’s wealthiest parish, was not untouchable.
If Guido had let it rest there, the gambling community-and they alone-would know what had happened to Jake Keating. The police had written it off as an unsolved case. Koesler and Dunn would have shared a memorable experience they could share with no one else.
But Guido had to add his distinctive touch to the plot. It was one of those exaggerations of his that would satisfy some inner compulsion and, at the same time, be safe, since no one would ever check it out.
Except that Guido didn’t anticipate the exhumation of Jake Keating’s purported resting-in-peace partner,
