Chapter 24

Father Richard Boyd gets back to me at one-thirty in the afternoon at my office with the information I need. Monsignor Bernard Moore was indeed going through the process of laicization at the request of the archbishop himself.

“He fought it Cate,” says Richard Boyd over the phone. “From what I can gather, there was a formal paper filed by Monsignor Moore requesting to be transferred to Italy for six months. He wanted to be placed in a specific monastery there for what he said were health reasons. That would delay the process of laicization for awhile. His request was denied.”

“You say specific monastery as if this is a place that’s known to priests who want to have a place to hide.”

“There are places where any clergy who are ill, physically or mentally, can go to recover. These places have existed for centuries. Usually these monasteries, and there are a few scattered around the world, are for those whose spirits are sick; those men who need to live quietly and contemplatively for a period of months. The therapeutic approach is intense prayer and penance. It used to be for young priests who had fallen in love and wanted to leave holy orders to get married. It was a mandated time-out for them if you will. I don’t know if that’s true anymore though. Now, well, I have heard rumors that some men accused of sexual abuse have been sent to these places over the years.”

“But basically it’s a place where a pedophile could go to hide with the consent of the hierarchy,” I say. “It keeps them from being prosecuted by the law.”

“It sure seems that way, but many in the Church are cooperating with the legal system now, so I can’t be sure. However, and this you didn’t hear from me, I know that there are archbishops who have moved priests accused of sexual misconduct from parish to parish. It’s spoken about by the older priests here sometimes. Moore may have been one of them.”

“Where is this Monsignor Moore now then?”

“That’s the thing; no one knows where he is. He seems to have disappeared. I did some snooping around and found out that he was supposed to attend a very important meeting with the archbishop in the late afternoon about two weeks ago. That day he went for his usual mid-day walk and never returned to the residence. When he didn’t show up for the meeting, his room was checked, but he wasn't there and nothing was taken. All his clothes and even the special silver chalice he was given when he became a monsignor were still there.”

“Are you sure the church isn’t hiding him, Richard? Maybe sent him to another diocese? That’s been documented in the past.” I know I sound cynical but pedophile priests have been hidden before.

“That’s always a possibility, but I don’t think that’s the case here. There’s nothing to indicate that and there would be what I like to refer to as cryptic monetary footnotes; a sentence about a possible change of residence or a domicile review. I don’t see that here. I think he’s really missing.”

“Okay Richard, I’ll have to take your word for it.” I pause. “This must really be bothering you; I mean you are a priest after all.”

“Yes, but I’m one of the good ones, remember? I do have to tell you though that this is certainly testing my faith, but I can handle it. I pray a lot and then go for a run.”

“Alright then I guess I can ask you for one more favor. I need you to look up the name of a murdered priest from upstate New York. I was the investigator who found his body last year, same method of murder and mutilation as the others, but no one ever knew much about him.” I give him the name of the first murder victim. “Can you find out if he went through that process of laicization?”

“I’ll try to get back to you either late today or tomorrow. I don’t want anyone here knowing what I’m doing and I’ve got other duties waiting for me.”

I tell him there’s no rush, just a personal need to know. I hang up thinking about how this one particular priest is one of the good guys and how hard it must be for him to do what he’s doing. God bless him.

I need to talk to someone in charge at the archdiocese office. Remembering what Will had told me about his meeting with the archbishop in New York City, I pretty much know what to expect. Outrage, denial, hidden threats, and anger. I’m prepared for all of them. Before I leave for the archdiocese, I think about just how I’m going to gain access to a top-ranking cleric there and get him to talk to me. I make a decision; I’m going in as the private detective. No lies about why I want info, no illusions. I need to go home and change into my jeans and sneakers. No frills, no lady-like image. I need to look tough.

“Myrtle, put my cannoli in the fridge; I won’t be back until late.”

She just nods and says she’ll see me later or tomorrow.

****

The archbishop totally loses whatever cool he had when I was first ushered in. The fact that he had received me as calmly as he did is to his credit. I had shown my ID and pretty much intimidated the receptionist by making my voice loud enough so that people waiting in the outer office looked at us. Lucky for me there were several important-looking people there.

The priest who was called by the receptionist didn’t want to make a scene, which I assured him I was perfectly capable of doing if I didn’t get to see the archbishop.

Admonishing me to please lower your voice he brought me directly to a waiting area outside the archbishop’s office. I sat exactly thirty-eight minutes before the door opened and a voice told me to enter.

The archbishop’s haughtiness and look of disdain doesn’t intimidate me one bit He looks at my private investigator’s license, tosses it on his desk towards me and says, “You have fifteen minutes Cate Harlow. Make the most of them.”

I explain why I am here and what information I want from him.

“There is ample evidence to suggest that a Monsignor Bernard Moore who resides here is a pedophile. That’s a crime for the police, not for me, but his past actions directly relate to a cold case I am investigating. I need to speak with him on this matter, but my sources tell me he has somehow vanished. And that has happened only after he was asked to undergo the process of laicization.”

The bishop quickly hides his look of surprise at my bluntness. Looking sternly at me he says, “I have no idea what you are talking about and I have no more time for this nonsense.” He waves a hand at me in dismissal. I’m not deterred.

“If the monsignor is being hidden somewhere at your orders you are harboring a pedophile, and, as such, are an accessory to a crime.”

His Excellency looks up and narrows his eyes at me.

“You people come here to my archdiocese, in the very place where I live, my sacred home, and not only demand, but expect, that I will give you information about one of my monsignors? You treat a man of God like a common criminal? You track him down as if you are a hunter. It is unjust that you act in this manner, Ms. Harlow. I am outraged and so, I am sure, is God. This is sinful.”

I am pretty ticked off by what the archbishop is saying and am having a hard time keeping my own anger under control. I manage to take a breath before I speak.

“Playing the God card won’t work with me, sir. With all due respect your Excellency, the monsignor is a criminal; he's a pedophile.”

“Stop using that word, Ms. Harlow!”

“Why would I do that? That’s what we call a man who has sex with a child, a pedophile. There is solid written evidence that he raped a boy as young as ten. I’m quite sure that child wasn’t the only one. And to be blunt, sir, no one would have to track him down if the Church had dealt severely with him and other pedophile priests and made sure they were voluntarily brought to justice instead of hiding their heinous crimes. All you did was move these criminals, these predators, from one hunting ground to another every time you sent them to another parish. Do you even realize what you’ve condoned by your inactions? Don't speak to me of injustice, sir; the horrible injustice is what you and others in the church’s hierarchy have willingly allowed to be done to millions of innocent children. The real sin here is that you knew what was happening and you did nothing about it, nothing.”

“How do you dare have the audacity to speak to me in this manner?”

I refuse to defend what he terms my audacity and continue.

“You know about laicization, Your Excellency, and so do I. Some pedophile priests are actually paid money to leave the clergy, which means that they’re protected and helped to transit out of the priesthood. Instead of bringing this hideous crime to the authorities, you choose to give them the means to start a new life. What about the lives of their victims? Are you aware that the sexually abused child grows into adulthood damaged and filled with horrible memories? Alcoholism, drug addiction, even suicides are rampant for those victims.”

The archbishop leans back in his chair still fixing me with a cold stare.

“I’m not easily intimidated either, Ms. Harlow, and certainly not by the likes of you. I refuse to give you one bit of information about any of my clergy. You have no legal proof, there are no police with you, no one is handing me a warrant. You’re just some hack private investigator who wrongly assumes that you can muddy the reputation of a highly religious and respected man with lies and falsehoods.”

“Lies and falsehoods? Excellent sermon, Your Excellency, but save it for your congregation. I’ll write a statement for the prosecutor's office that I suspect you of having harbored a pedophile. That makes you a criminal also. The police will be visiting you really soon.”

“Get out!”

“How many other pedophile priests have you hidden and helped to continue their vile activities?”

“Get out!”

The priest who showed me into the waiting room appears from another room. The bishop coldly tells him to escort me out.

“Show this person out of my office, out of the residence, and off of the property.”

The priest comes close to me and reaches for my arm. I glare at him to keep his distance from me as I walk out into the hallway.

“You know, his Excellency is a good and holy man,” says the priest opening the outer door for me. “Do you know Latin?” I nod and he says, “His Excellency is truly ‘qui vivit in sanctitate’.”

“ A man who lives in holiness? Really, Father? That’s not the impression I got. Diabolus hic vivit,” I say to as I step outside. The devil lives here.