30

 

Pat Lennon was obsessed with Joe Cox. She did not know what to make of the direction this story was taking.

At the outset he had made it clear that if this papal visit could not qualify as page-one news of itself, he might steer it there.

She understood that Cox, in returning from his discredited position in Chicago, faced an enormous challenge to regain his premier position on the Detroit news scene. Based on her rather intimate knowledge of him before Chicago, she had once considered him above manufacturing news. Now …

Incontestable was his provoking an actual fight during rehearsal of the symposium. And he owned that story.

In their latest conversation, Cox had bragged about how he’d been able to get an interview—one on one—with Cardinal Schinder. He had allowed as how, if something happened to Schinder, the importance of that interview could be inflated.

And now, Cardinal Schinder was dead—murdered.

She did not want to even consider the possibility that a man she once loved could become a cold-blooded killer. But she could not turn away from that possibility Not now. When someone found that missing ring, if it was found in the possession of Joe Cox … well, so be it.

She had to force herself away from this preoccupation with Cox. Thinking about him was not going to get her job done. And as far as she could see, her job now was to try to come up with the Cardinal’s ring. It had been good of Tully to let her in on the briefing on the ring. If she were to be the one to find it, she would cut him in. In their present relationship that was a given.

Tully had part of a major police force to search for the missing ring. She, for her part, could count on a few of the reporters she worked with. But she decided first to try to go it alone. And she was not without resources.

Seated at her desk in the city room of the News, she flipped her Rolodex, dialed, and spoke urgently and rapidly to a series of possible sources, with no luck. The only bright spot in this endeavor was the rare quality of the missing ring. It wasn’t as if she had to go into long and vague descriptions. This ring, while by no means unique, was unusual enough to need only a few words for identification. As far as she knew there were only a few rings matching it in this whole area. And those were the commemorative rings sometimes worn by the Detroit bishops who had attended the Council.

That much made her quest easy. The rest was difficult.

She assumed—correctly, as it turned out—that the police were centering their efforts on pawnshops and jewelers in and closely around Detroit proper. It made no sense to duplicate what was already being done. So she concentrated on the far suburbs. Although if she had a last dollar, she would have bet it on the cops.

Her initial efforts were directed at people she knew personally and professionally. Now she had just about exhausted those contacts. This was like searching for the needle in the haystack with the added discouraging possibility that there was no needle. After all, whoever had taken the ring may simply have wanted the ring, and had no intention of pawning or selling it.

It was with tired finger and voice that she tried still another number. This was an elegant woman who did business from her home in Clawson, a northern suburb near the opulent Birmingham-Bloomfield area. “Nancy, Pat Lennon here. I’m looking for a ring.”

“I’ve got it, sweetie. About time you tied the knot.”

Lennon smiled despite her frustration. “It’s not for me. And I’m not getting married.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve still got the ring.”

“God, I hope so. This one’s a man’s gold band. The front flares out into a shape like a bishop’s miter. It’s engraved with a picture—some men and a dove …”

“… and some Latin words.”

Lennon was instantly energized. “My God, I think you’ve got it! Have you? Have you got it?”

“No.”

“What? But you just came up with a perfect description!”

“I don’t have it. But I was offered it. An hour or so ago.”

“What happened?”

“Kid came in with it. Never saw one like that before. The two didn’t go together … you know: the kid and that ring. Anyway, I didn’t want any part of it. It looked like trouble, and believe me, I’ve seen trouble.”

Lennon felt a wave of relief. A kid! That very definitely did not come close to describing Joe. So, for the moment at least, she didn’t have to be concerned about him. “What happened?”

“Well, as I said, there was this kid and a ring that went together like the Rolling Stones and Mozart. No way was I going to do business with him. But I didn’t want any trouble. He looked real nervous. I could see him pulling a gun or something. So I told him it was a real nice piece but that I didn’t have the kind of clientele that would be interested in it. At best, all I could give him was what the gold was worth—maybe thirty, thirty-five, forty dollars tops. I told him the ring was worth lots more than that. And I gave him the name and address of Mannie’s, down Livernois in Ferndale. Fortunately, I had made him an offer he could easily refuse. And he left. But I don’t think he was going to try any further.”

“Why’s that?”

“He left without bothering to take Mannie’s address.”

“Oh, great! So he just disappears.”

“No, I got his license. He was driving an old rattletrap, but it moved pretty good.”

“You got his license? Great!”

“It was one of those personalized plates. I’ll spell it out: H-A-R-P-O.”

“Harpo like in the Marx Brothers?”

“You got it.”

“Nancy, if I ever do get married, you’ll get all the business for all the rings.”

“Thanks, honey.” As good as she looks, thought Nancy as she hung up, I’m not going to plan my retirement party to immediately follow her wedding.

For Alonzo Tully, Christmas had come just a bit early. But he was more than satisfied with the gift.

The Golds had been presented gift-wrapped by Pat Lennon. All that was needed was some by-the-book police work. Tully had felt remiss that he could give her nothing but a scoop. But that scoop had been his premature present to her.

The Freep was now ahead by only one. Two for Cox, one for Lennon.

It seemed silly, almost juvenile, but that was how the investigative-reporter game was played. More importantly, in that context, this story of violence surrounding the pope’s visit had belonged to the Free Press with Cox’s story of the explosive outburst at the symposium rehearsal. No matter that the story had been virtually created by Cox.

The Freep had gained a further grip on the story with Cox’s scoop on what had turned out to be the murder of Father Hanson. Two for the Freep,

Enter Lennon. Her story would be in the early morning edition of the News and she would continue to develop it as the day—and editions—progressed. One for the News.

Meanwhile, Tully was allowing himself and his squad to savor the satisfaction of a good tight arrest. This was particularly gratifying to Tully. Because Anne Marie had been victim of a similar assault, Tully had desperately wanted this one. And he got it on a silver platter.

Now, Tully, Mangiapane, and Moore were standing around a coffee machine in Homicide, on the fifth floor of headquarters.

“That kid Harpo comes by his nickname honestly,” Moore said. “For a while there I thought he was a mute.”

“Andrew Watson”—Mangiapane used Harpo’s real name—”just needed a little of the right stimulus. Like his parents and the promise of life without parole.”

“Just the same …” Moore dropped the Styrofoam cup in the waste-basket. “… I don’t think he’d have opened up without the deal.”

“For him it was a bargain that was just too good to pass up,” Mangiapane said. “He gives us the gang, ’specially that sleazebag Vanderwehl, and he skates.”

“We had Harpo for conspiracy. And we could’ve made it stick without much trouble. But he didn’t actually pull the trigger,” Tully said. “He didn’t even rape the woman. He just held her down. Which was bad enough,” he added grimly.

Angie again felt nausea at the thought of what the gang had done to that poor woman.

“Harpo sang good,” Mangiapane said, “but then so did Bonnie. Although they both held out longer than I thought they would.”

“It was that goddam loyalty they thought they owed Rick Vanderwehl,” Tully said. “He was the linchpin of the gang. One of those rare birds completely without redeeming value.”

“I gotta admit, Zoo,” Mangiapane said, “it does my heart good to see the ‘tough guys’ when the veneer shatters. I’m glad the other kids saw him crying and sniveling.”

“So much for ‘the leader,’” said Moore. “God knows how long it would have taken us to crack this if it hadn’t been that Harpo was the misfit of the gang. He came from the other side of the tracks … the middle-class kid in with the rich kids.”

“Yeah,” Mangiapane said. “Harpo happened to be a first-class mechanic and none of the rest of them could—or would—turn a screwdriver. Add to that, he’s a curiosity who says a word every century or so whether he needs to or not.”

“The boys, when they dumped the body,” Moore added, “didn’t know that Harpo had stayed behind to get the ring. And when it wouldn’t come off, the Cardinal’s finger did. Getting to know these kids more than I ever wanted to, I’m really quite sure none of them would have objected to taking the ring—even to the point of hacking off the finger. But, of course, none of the others would have tried to sell it. Harpo was the only one who didn’t get enough pocket money to keep up with them.”

“It’s odd,” Tully said, “what a strange way the media played into these kids. They were after the pope, but they wanted us to widen the loop of security so they’d have a better shot at him. And that’s why they took out the Cardinal: to force us into that broader defense. But we were already committed to that move after the murder of Father Hanson. Only the kids didn’t know that because this time there was no leak.

“The leak the Freep got told the public the method of execution was a broken neck. That’s why Schinder ended up with a busted neck: The kids were trying for a copycat killing.”

“But he’d have gotten murdered in any case, don’t you think?” Moore asked.

“I’m sure of it,” Tully said. ‘Although I’ve got to wonder why he thought he could handle whoever was on the phone all by himself.” Tully shook his head. “Probably says something about the guy’s arrogance …” Tully wondered if maybe something like that came built in with the position. But on further thought, he’d never heard anything like that about Cardinal Boyle. Boyle had the reputation of being a gentleman. Reserved, but never, to Tully’s knowledge, arrogant.

“All the same,” Tully said, “if Schinder had told us about the call, it would’ve at least given us a chance to send a tail along, or some backup … and he’d probably still be alive today”

It was quiet as the three officers again thought back over these events. “Just strange the way the media got tangled in this case,” Tully reiterated. “Not to mention how lucky Pat Lennon got in finding that jeweler. At the very least that saved us a ton of time.”

“But,” Moore said, “there’s still a killer loose out there.”

They knew it.

There had been a cap on this celebration from the start. Certainly everyone was both happy and relieved to close a really messy, multiple case of three counts of assault as well as three counts of murder in the first degree. One very bad actor was certain to be off the streets for the rest of his life. And a bunch of easily led kids would be doing a variety of time behind bars. One would walk away in exchange for cooperation. But Andrew Watson, alias Harpo, was deeply impressed and thoroughly shaken.

In addition, a possible “series killer” was proven a sham—thanks to an extraordinary medical examiner, good, solid police work, and a resourceful and obliging reporter.

Which, when all was sorted out and filed, put the police back at square one: Who killed Father Hanson and why?

Lieutenant Tully led his two sergeants into their squad room where most of the squad had already gathered. Shortly the rest of the team came in; the full complement was now on hand.

Tully smiled at them. “Well, we’ve done what we think the killer wants us to do: We’ve expanded the circle of security. Short of the feds, who won’t get involved until the pope arrives tonight, there’s a full house—practically the entire Detroit force and a beefed-up segment of county and state law enforcement.

“Whoever it is that wants the pope is banking on our having to protect just about everybody who has any part in this papal visit. Well, we can’t protect everyone in the world. But we’ll concentrate on the people the killer seems to have singled out: the participants.

“So we’ve got almost all of the seminary covered. I don’t think anyone from the outside can penetrate that security.

“The kids—the Golds—had what they thought was an effective plan to create a major diversion after the pope lands on the seminary grounds. They figured that when we checked out the disturbance, they’d hit the man. The one thing wrong with their plan was that the feds would never have responded to that. They would depend on us to take care of the periphery. They would have just closed tighter around the pope.

“Still and all, with a good portion of security diverted, it was more possible—particularly since it will be dark out there—that one or another of them might’ve gotten in range to fire on the pope.

“The one thing they didn’t figure is that anyone getting close and attempting an assassination would be dead. But dead perps are small consolation when the main man gets hit.

“So we owe the Golds one. We’ve talked the Church guys out of having the outdoor reception. We’ll sweep the pope from Metro to the Cardinal’s home in Palmer Park.

“But we shouldn’t think for a minute that any of these measures will discourage the perp. The assumption is he wants the pope, and he’ll go to any extreme to get him.

“We know what we’ve got to do to protect the pope. What we’ve got to figure out is how to keep this guy from working his way up to a better shot at the pope by picking off innocent bystanders—namely, the participants, like the guys in the symposium.

“Which brings us back to Hanson—the one guy already killed. Any thoughts?”

Silence.

“Geez, Zoo,” Mangiapane said finally, “the next guy on the list—if there is one—could be … anybody.”

More silence.

Tully looked around the room. There seemed no other response forthcoming. He stepped to the squad room door and motioned someone to come in. Father Koesler entered the room.

Even though most of the squad was acquainted with the priest from past cases, Tully wanted to impress upon his people that Koesler had been called in as an expert resource person. He wanted the squad to consider carefully what the priest would be telling them.

Koesler, Tully announced, would bring the squad up to speed on the peculiarly Catholic aspects of this murder investigation. So far, excluding the copycat killing of Cardinal Schinder, one priest had been murdered as an adjunct to this papal visit. There was the possibility if not the probability of more killings.

“There’s always an element of danger when the pope is around,” Koesler began. “But you know that better than I. The only time, so far, a pope was shot was in his own backyard—St. Peter’s Square. He’s in more danger when he travels, of course, because each setting is different from all the others. So each requires different precautions, and each must be safeguarded and secured differently.

“Which introduces the elements of unfamiliarity and surprise. And there’s still a kind of mystique whenever the pope travels because for lots of years he didn’t. He was called ‘The Prisoner of the Vatican.’ Even now, because his trips are relatively few and far between, there is something special about them. And that special quality can attract dangerous nuts. So there’s always that element of danger.

“This visit is also somewhat different than the others because of the message he is expected to deliver. Actually, it seems no one in authority can verify what that message is going to be. But that doesn’t matter; it’s been newsed about so much that everybody is taking for granted the rumor is the fact.

“So whether he actually does it or not, he might just as well state—infallibly—that artificial birth control is wrong for everybody, all the time, no matter what the circumstance.

“This is no change whatsoever from what has been Church teaching for a long time. But in recent years very few people have paid any attention to his teaching. Still, even though the vast majority don’t take the doctrine seriously, it causes problems. There are some Catholics—many, even though a small percentage overall—who still follow Church teaching no matter how many others say it’s silly.

“There’s an even greater impact on world population. The Vatican is one of the states that formulates world policy on lots of matters, one of which is whether overpopulation is a serious, world-threatening condition. The Church’s doctrine on artificial birth control is an impediment to a unified and more forceful position. Population control would be simpler, more effective if the Vatican would add its voice to that of all the other nations. The Vatican presents its stand on this question as ‘truth.’ It’s a little difficult to buck that.

“Still and all, people around the world—everybody from individuals to nations—can and do reject Catholic policy.

“That might change dramatically were the Church to claim this doctrine was not just its ordinary teaching authority, but that it was protected by the considerable power of infallibility.

“If this were to happen, nations would be put on warning that this Catholic position was definitely not going to change or even be compromised—maybe forever. And Catholics who had rejected this teaching in practice would have to reevaluate their conduct. Perhaps they would have to leave the Church. For priests, the choice of conformity or continued disobedience would be a matter of deciding whether to leave the priesthood.

“And this radical disaster I just described touches only the surface. It would be the first in a series of shocks that would challenge choices.

“Now, in the face of all this, we have a symposium that is supposed to lead into—contribute to the Holy Father’s statement. But, for reasons not really relevant here, this symposium is delivering a mixed message.

“The presentation that was supposed to have been delivered this morning was not. And that was due to the murder of the presenter, Father Hanson. And, since I was supposed to be the moderator of that session, I know what point Father Hanson would have made. He would have denied on historical as well as on theological reasons the doctrine of infallibility”

“Lemme get this straight, Father,” Mangiapane said, “the special reason so many people are mad—upset—whatever, is because they expect the pope to say that the Catholic Church teaching on birth control is infallible. And Father Hanson was gonna claim there ain’t any such thing as infallibility?”

“That’s about it.”

“Then one kind of hypothesis we could make,” Angie Moore said, “is that Hanson was silenced so he would not publicly state that the pope doesn’t have this special power.”

“I guess so ….” Koesler felt he was beginning to infringe on the realm of police affairs. And he certainly didn’t want to do that. He was comfortable only in doing what Tully had asked him to do: be a resource person who could guide these officers through the maze of Catholic teaching, customs, dogmas, beliefs, whatever.

“What did we used to call this in the military,” one of the officers said, “a preemptive strike?”

“Yeah,” another chimed in.

“In this hypothesis,” Moore added to her original observation, “the killer would have to be in agreement with the pope on the issue of infallibility, no?”

Koesler nodded. “And there are millions who fit that description … probably thousands right here in the Detroit archdiocese.”

“Wait a minute!” Mangiapane was obviously perturbed. “Are you saying maybe the pope took out a contract on the priest?”

Tully chuckled softly. “No. But I’m glad you put that question on the record. We’re brainstorming and anything that comes to mind is good.”

“Father Koesler,” Moore said, “since Vatican II, almost everything and everybody is labeled conservative or liberal … tell me if I’m wrong.”

“No … generally, I’d say that’s true.”

“Then let’s say the pope’s belief in infallibility is a conservative statement. Whereas Father Hanson’s opinion on infallibility would be in the liberal camp. Right so far?”

“Right.”

“Okay, then from what you know of the rest of this symposium, is there another setup like the one on infallibility? Conservative versus liberal?”

Koesler set his jaw, then said, “Some more than others.

“That’s the way it was set up by Monsignor Martin, who is a pastor here and was in charge of putting together the symposium. It’s not—very definitely not—what the Holy Father or the Vatican had in mind. As a matter of fact, last night, Cardinal Schinder arranged a dinner meeting for just the conservative presenters plus all the moderators. So I was present. He had it in mind to bolster the presenters and … well … influence the moderators to tip the scales as much as possible toward the conservatives.

“So, earlier today, when I first heard of the murder of the Cardinal—even before we were told about the broken neck—I would not have been surprised to learn that someone in the liberal camp had done it.”

“Well …” Moore hesitated as if searching for the next logical avenue of thought. “Let me ask you this, Father: Is there any other session scheduled for this symposium that is comparable to the one on infallibility? One that, maybe, could have a similar impact?”

“Oh, sure. That, as far as I can judge, would be the one on moral theology.”

“What?” Many of the officers were confused. One confessed to his confusion.

“There were two main concerns about the pope’s statement. One had to do with infallibility—we’ve already discussed that. The other was the topic that was going to be the subject of this infallible statement. That would be the Church’s teaching on family planning and birth control. Well, that—this Church teaching—is the subject of one of tomorrow’s sessions.”

“And,” Moore asked, “is there the same radical clash between the conservative and liberal schools?”

“I’ll say! The conservative speaker, a Father William Palmer, will present the standing Church policy: that being that the only licit way to limit conception is abstinence, rhythm, or a slightly more reliable form of the rhythm method called natural family planning.

“The liberal presenter, a Father Norbert Rasmussen, will dismiss any concern as to method. He will argue that the only moral choice is between having or not having a child. Once that choice is made, the method of preventing conception is completely the choice of the couple—with no moral sanction on any method. With the exception of abortion—if abortion were used simply as a method of birth control.”

“So,” Moore concluded, “it’s just as big a problem for the pope, isn’t it? I mean, instead of running into a challenge to infallibility, he’ll be confronting an argument against the Church’s teaching on conception and contraception.”

“Uh-huh.” Sergeant Moore, thought Koesler, was proving herself a most logical detective.

“So,” Moore continued, “the pope can say this doctrine is protected by his infallible statement—without being publicly challenged, since that priest is dead. Only to have another priest expert claim the protected doctrine isn’t even a doctrine.”

“That’s about it.” Koesler felt that his value to this brainstorming session was about over. The detectives had learned from him all they needed to formulate whatever police response would be appropriate. However, he felt it would be impolite simply to walk out. To signify that he was finished, he found a chair in a corner of the room and sat down.

Tully again took over. “Okay. I think we’ve got as good a bead on this thing as we’re gonna get—thanks to the good Father here. Any ideas on the best course to take from here?”

Silence. Everyone had an idea but they all hung back, waiting for somebody else to step forward.

Finally, Mangiapane, fearless, ran with the ball. “Like I said before, whoever’s gonna get it next—if it isn’t the pope—is anybody’s guess. But this Father Rasmussen seems to be an odds-on favorite. So how ’bout we pull in tight around him? Dare the perp to try to get at him?”

“That’s a step,” Tully said. “Anybody else got any idea?”

“Yeah,” Moore said. “This is just a slightly different approach to what Manj said. But what if, instead of beefing up security around Rasmussen, what if we hang him out there like bait?”

“Dangerous,” Tully noted. “Gives us a much better chance to nail the perp—but dangerous.”

“Sure it is,” Moore said. “We’d have to explain it to Rasmussen—get his cooperation and consent. But we’d be way ahead on protection for him and, if we’re dealing with some twisted mind, the pope too maybe. And that’s tomorrow. In effect, we got till tomorrow to get this guy or we’re gonna have a real big problem. Whatever the killer’s motives in taking out a priest, I’ve got a creepy feeling his bottom line is. the pope. Maybe he hits on liberal theologians to throw us off his ultimate target. Either way we catch him with Rasmussen as bait.”

Tully looked at his detectives and read general acceptance of Moore’s plan—the same plan that had been in Tully’s mind even before Moore expressed it.

“Okay, let’s go with it. Now, where do we set Rasmussen up? Someplace where we can bait the trap and still protect him?”

“How about that downtown parish,” Mangiapane said. “St. Aloysius. It’s not that far from the seminary.”

Once again, Koesler had to take the floor. “St. Aloysius would be ideal, except that it’s in the same building as the Chancery—headquarters for the archdiocese. And the Chancery, actually, would be a great place to put somebody if you really wanted him to be protected. That building has a great security system.”

“Then where?” Moore asked.

“Well …” Koesler gave the question some thought. “How about the archbishop’s residence in Palmer Park? It’s in a well-populated but prosperous section. Not all that challenging to someone who’s good at breaking and entering. And there are plenty of places to conceal officers throughout the mansion.”

“Sounds good,” Tully said. “Let’s get cracking. Oh, and wait a minute: So it doesn’t look too much like a setup, let’s see if we can get another liberal panelist in there with Rasmussen.” He looked at Koesler. “Who would you suggest?”

“Somebody else from the liberal side …?” Koesler reflected. “Okay. I’d suggest Father Duncan. He’s the liberal on the liturgical panel. I know him. I’m sure he’d go along with this.”

“Okay.” Tully signaled a halt to further discussion. Time to move. “Make sure information on who’s staying where is readily available. Now, let’s set our little trap and see who out there is hungry.”

As his squad got busy, Tully reflected on how he and the squad had originally been exempted from papal duty to pursue the more pressing homicide cases that would undoubtedly occur during these several days. What Inspector Koznicki could not have known was that the papal entourage would open the door to Detroit’s most pressing homicide investigation in memory.