Canon Law.
The most recent statement Koesler found in Canon 983, which stated, in part, “The sacramental seal is inviolable, therefore, it is a crime for a confessor in any way to betray a penitent by wordor in any other manner or for any reason.” And Canon 984: “Even if every danger of revelation is excluded, a confessor is absolutely forbidden to use knowledge acquired from confession when it might harm the penitent.”
Imagine that: The violation of the seal is termed a “crime.” And one need not look far to find the punishment for that crime. Canon 1388: “A confessor who directly violates the seal of confession incurs an automatic excommunication reserved to the Apostolic See.” And anyone else-as in Father Nick Dunn-who violates this secrecy is “to be punished with a just penalty, not excluding excommunication.”
It was Communion time. Koesler washed his hands, almost compulsively.
This, the 1:15 P.M. Mass, was the final liturgy of Sunday. Dunn had also officiated earlier at the 10:30. Koesler, besides preaching at Dunn’s Masses, had celebrated the 8:30 and noon Masses. It had been straightway determined that Koesler would continue to offer the Sunday noon Mass as it was in Latin and Latin was Greek to Father Dunn.
After Communion, the Mass was quickly completed. Koesler and Dunn took up positions outside the front threshold to bid the congregation farewell and chat with anyone who wished to bend their ears. Several of the predominantly elderly group briefly greeted and welcomed Dunn. Father Dunn seemed such a nice young man. They hoped he would be with them on a more permanent basis. But they were told at the outset that he would be in residence at St. Joe’s only while he was going to school.
Koesler caught sight of the woman who had confessed to him yesterday, the former nun from 1300 Lafayette. This morning she had taken Communion for the first time in the number of months she’d been attending Mass here. She hadn’t yet registered as a parishioner. Koesler hoped that would happen. But he was not about to push it.
Soon the flock was gone and the two priests stood quite alone on the sidewalk outside the main doors of the church.
Koesler took the collection basket to the rectory while Dunn closed and locked the church. They met again minutes later in the spacious rectory kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind, Nick,” Koesler said, “but we don’t have a housekeeper on Sundays. There’s plenty of food in the fridge, though. So help yourself.”
“That’s okay. I don’t usually have much for breakfast or lunch.” Dunn began foraging through the refrigerator.
“Good, ” Koesler said. “I’ll make a pot of coffee.”
“Great. By the way, do you have any plans for dinner?”
Koesler usually ate in on Sundays and self-served the entire day unless he accepted an invitation from one or another of his friends. Or, occasionally he dined out with some other priests. Now he realized that his young resident was on his own in a strange city. “Why don’t we go out and get something later? There are some nice restaurants in the downtown area, and a few are even open on Sunday.”
“Sounds good to me.” Dunn had found some sliced lean roast beef and some lettuce. It would make a delicious sandwich. No quarrel there.
Koesler busied himself in and around the sink and the oven. Dunn constructed his sandwich, seated himself at the large dining table, and began paging through the weekend combination
After placing a mug of steaming coffee at both places, Koesler sat down at the table opposite Dunn. He took a few of the back sections of the paper and began paging through them.
Dunn glanced at his coffee. It was still steaming. He’d let it sit a while after adding a smidgen of milk.
After some minutes and several rapidly turned pages, Dunn said, “Oh, by the way, Bob, I took the liberty of phoning St. Waldo’s this morning.”
Koesler looked up, his brow knitting. “Oh?”
“Uh-huh. Actually twice. I called at about 9:00 and then just after noon.”
For no good reason, Koesler found himself annoyed that the calls had been made while he had been out of the rectory offering Mass in church. Dunn’s action put him in mind of a willful teenager defying parental rules. “And what did you discover?”
Dunn sensed Koesler’s budding displeasure. “Well, the first call reached an answering service. The second time I got through to the rectory by implying that this could be at least a developing emergency. Of course, when whoever it was at the rectory answered the phone-some woman, maybe the secretary or housekeeper-she wasn’t at all happy with me.”
“I don’t blame her.”
“Well, people in rectories ought to be available.”
“We could argue the point, but what did you find?”
“That Father Keating wasn’t there.”
Koesler made a brief study of Dunn, who seemed inordinately pleased with his discovery. Which discovery, Koesler concluded, only further indicated that what they had heard yesterday was probably true: The poor man was dead-murdered. “You actually asked for Father Keating?”
“Uh-huh. And from the tone of her voice, I could tell something was wrong.”
Koesler was not at all sure of the accuracy of Dunn’s instincts. “Tell me, what would you have done if when you asked for Father Keating, she had put him on the line?”
Dunn grinned. “I’d’ ve been pretty surprised. I don’t think I would have believed it was the real Father Keating. I would have figured they had somebody pretending to be Keating in the interim.”
“Pretending?”
“Sure.” Dunn seemed extremely confident. “We don’t know what’s going on out there at St. Waldo’s. Maybe they’ve gotten word that Keating’s been murdered and they’re covering it up for the moment.”
“And why would they do that?”
“Maybe the police are there. Maybe the police told them not to talk to anybody until they can get the investigation under way.”
“Nick, you have an overactive imagination. But now, if you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about it. In fact, whether you mind or not, I don’t want to talk about it …
Silence. A rather uneasy silence.
Dunn sipped his coffee. The temperature was about right. But the taste!
He must’ve tasted worse coffee, but couldn’t think where. The seminary? Maybe; but, if memory served, even that was not as disagreeable as this stuff. Should he say something to Koesler? No, better not; he wasn’t off to all that good a start with the pastor as it was. No use muddying the waters. He wished he had not thought of mud. He gazed into his mug. Did the coffee really resemble mud, or was it just that it tasted so bad that it blighted everything else? He watched Koesler turn the pages of the paper all the while sipping his coffee. Was it possible that he’d prepared two separate brews? Was it possible Koesler had no taste buds?
Meanwhile, Dunn continued to scan the first of the many sections of the paper Koesler had handed him.
He was amazed at the bulk of this Sunday newspaper. It must be as large as the Sunday
Father Dunn was not far wrong. Had he been in the Detroit area a few years earlier, he would have witnessed one of the last of the great wars between two big-city newspapers. Then, at the conclusion of a battle to blend the management of both papers-allegedly for fiscal survival-the United States Supreme Court ruled that there was no legal reason to prevent the
Both priests continued to read while exchanging sections of the paper. Suddenly Nick Dunn gasped.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t believe it! This is too much! It just can’t be! I don’t believe it!” Dunn wheeled the paper toward Koesler and pointed to a photo.
Koesler studied the picture, wondering what he was supposed to. discover.
“Oh, I forgot,” Dunn said, “you didn’t see him.” He tapped his finger on a figure in the photo. “Him! He’s the one-the one who went to confession to you yesterday. I’m sure of it!”
Koesler looked more closely at the picture. It hadn’t reproduced all that clearly. But, upon scrutiny, there was
