Requiem for Moses (18 page)

Koesler smiled. “There are days when the phone doesn’t ring. Yes, this was very unusual. You see, I’d hoped there wouldn’t be much of a crowd. After all, the man died—oops, was declared dead—just hours before Margie came to see me.”

“That her first name—Mrs. Green—Margie?” Tully asked.

“Margaret,” Koesler said. “She prefers Margie. Anyway,” he went on, “my hope wasn’t successful. We had a churchful. I guess the two children and their friends—even enemies—got on the horn and informed a whole bunch of people.”

“What time did you get to the church?”

“About 6:30. I was early. I was supposed to meet with the widow—sorry, I guess I can’t quite get over the fact that he’s alive—anyway, I was supposed to meet Mrs. Green about seven. She was going to supply me with some background so I could say something personal at the wake. It never worked out.”

“So,” Tully said, “you were not in the church when the body was delivered?”

“Far from it. I don’t even know—though I could find out—when the body was delivered. By the time I arrived, quite a few people were there.”

“Damn,” Tully muttered.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s just possible someone might have given him a shot of Narcan,” Tully said.

“What?”

“Narcan. It’s a drug that reverses the effect of morphine. I’ve seen them use it in the E.R. a few times. It’s my guess as to one way they could’ve pulled this off. Say somebody knows Green’s OD’d on morphine—somebody who maybe even gave it to Green himself. Then, while Green’s on display in the church, this guy gives the doc a shot of Narcan. Little by little, it takes effect—and the doc comes out of it.”

“But why would anybody want to do something like that?”

“Beats me. Granted, this is all just farfetched conjecture. But if we knew that happened, and if we knew who did it, that person would have a lot to explain. Tell me, Father: While you were in church, did you stay close to the coffin?”

“No, not at all. For one thing, there was a steady flow of people in line to view the body.”

Tully considered this. “Less likely anybody could deliver a shot with all that traffic. If it happened, it probably had to be done early on—before the crowd gathered. Could be helpful … fewer people for us to check out.”

“Did you know many of the people at the wake?” Mangiapane asked.

“No …” Koesler thought for a moment. “I think … well, no … I did recognize two people. One is a priest, Father Daniel Reichert. He’s retired but still active—helping out in parishes.” Reichert’s archconservatism did not seem germane.

“He the one who got quoted all over the place … the one who’s claiming this is a miracle?” Mangiapane asked.

“The very one. But I don’t think you’ll be reading much from him in the future.”

The detectives recognized a “no comment” order when they heard one.

“Miss Lennon—Pat Lennon—was the other one I recognized—you know, the reporter from the
News.
”

“She the only media person there?” asked Tully.

“At the time, the only one I recognized. And I’m familiar with some of them.”

Tully smiled and shook his head. “How in hell does she do it?” It was rhetorical.

“You knew only two people in a crowd that size? And in your own church?” Mangiapane seemed amazed.

“The deceased … uh, the man in the coffin, was a long way from being a parishioner. As was the case with everybody there. This wasn’t a parochial event for St. Joseph’s parish; it was a wake for Dr. Moses Green. People who knew him or had some association with him attended. I didn’t expect many of my parishioners to be there … and there weren’t.”

“Father, you mentioned ‘enemies’ of Green being there,” said Moore. “Could you explain this … I mean, like how you might know they were enemies?”

He had been dreading that question. The word
enemies
had escaped his lips earlier. And when he’d used the word, he very definitely had in mind the five people who had spoken to him before the service was to begin. If he had it to do over, he would not have used that specific word. Yet he knew that one way or another he would be asked about anyone who had talked to him at the wake. As it turned out, except for a comment or two from Margie, those five were the only ones who had said anything at all to him.

He had thought about the question, but he hadn’t decided how he would respond. This was a troublesome area of no clear-cut moral determination. Five people had approached him. He had made an overture to none of them. None of them had come close to making their confidences a confession. So what each of them said was not protected by the “seal” of confession.

For one who hears confessions in a sacramental setting, the next step away from the “seal” would be a professional secret—the sort of confidence that protects communication between physician and patient, attorney and client. It also applies to priests when something is said in confidence and the person wants it kept secret. The only difference between the seal of confession and a professional secret is the possibility of a reason that would override the professional secret and force it to be revealed. Occasionally revelation is called for in a professional matter, but never may the seal of confession be broken.

The problem here was: Was what had been told him last night meant to be a professional secret? Was it meant to be a secret at all?

Would any of those five have said what they did, in such frank and open detail, if they had not been certain Green was dead? Probably not. But did that make a secret of what they said?

Not one of them had used any disclaiming language such as: “Just between you and me …” or, “I wouldn’t want this to be repeated …” They had merely told Father Koesler about their problems with Green and what they thought of him. And not one of them had a good word to say about Green.

More and more, Koesler recalled his reaction to each of the five: If Green had not died of natural causes, if he had been murdered, each one of these people could be a prime suspect.

And now Lieutenant Tully was looking into the affair, trying to determine whether this could be a case of attempted murder.

Even though none of them had requested confidentiality, should Koesler hand the police five suspects, one or more of whom possibly had attempted to murder Dr. Green? On the other hand, he wanted very much to be as cooperative as possible. This spirit of cooperation had marked his relationship with the police from the very beginning of his pseudoprofessional contact with them.

Now he had to make a decision. Sergeant Moore’s question about Green’s “enemies” still hung in the air. Koesler had mentioned that some of Green’s enemies had been present at the wake. How, Moore wanted to know, did Father Koesler know they were enemies?

“I may have misspoken … or, maybe, I overspoke,” Koesler said finally. “I guess I just assumed that in that large crowd there would be relatives, friends, and enemies.

“Specifically, five people approached me to tell me something of their relationship with Dr. Green. Not one of them did anything to hide the fact that they were talking to me. That much is common knowledge. Anyone present in the church paying attention could tell you who those five were. So I will give you their names—which is really all I know for sure about them.

“But to be perfectly frank, I would feel awkward going into what they said. Each was operating on the premise that Dr. Green was dead. What they said while operating under that premise surely is different from what they would say now that we know he is alive.

“Indeed, they may just have been getting some deep-seated feelings off their chests.”

There was an awkward silence. It was unique that Father Koesler would publicly back away from a police request.

“We aren’t working on a criminal investigation,” Tully said finally. “We’re trying to find out whether a crime has been committed. If you don’t want to tell us what these people talked about, we’ll pass for the moment. Would you feel okay about writing down their names?” Tully pushed a pad and pencil in front of Koesler.

Wordlessly, the priest began to write.

“This is just a shortcut, Father,” Moore said. “Like you said, we could get the names from any number of people who were at that wake.” She seemed a touch embarrassed at having asked the question that led to this uncomfortable moment.

At that point, a detective from another squad stepped into the room. He was carrying a small portable TV. “Oh, here you are, Zoo. You got the father with—oh, yeah.” He hadn’t at first noticed the seated priest, who was busy writing. “I think you might be interested in this.” He plugged in the set.

Koesler, the antithesis of a dedicated fan of daytime TV, glanced over at the forming picture. As the image on the screen cleared, Koesler recognized the voice: Dan Mountney, reporter and weekend anchor for Channel 4, the local NBC affiliate.

Koesler tried to make out what was on the screen. It looked familiar, but …?

From Mountney’s tone, this was live coverage of some sort of breaking news. It was late afternoon; Koesler could only guess at what scheduled programming was being preempted. Probably a talk show or one of the soaps. In any case, regular viewers were certain to be upset enough to flood the offending station’s switchboard with complaining calls.

“To recap,” Mountney said, signifying that this was at least the second time around, “we are here at St. Joseph’s Church in downtown Detroit.…

St. Joseph’s!
He hadn’t recognized it immediately because he’d never seen the church in black and white on a small screen—and also because the camera, rather than focusing on the edifice, was panning around the crowd—a crowd that seemed to have at least doubled since he had last seen it in real life.

“As we know,” Mountney continued, “this church was the scene last night of what some say was a miracle.”

“…
some say
”—a careful disclaimer, thought Koesler. Probably at next mention the reporter would refer to it as “the alleged miracle.”

“For those of you who have not been following this story, a wake service for prominent physician Dr. Moses Green was being held in this church last night when, at about 7:30
P.M.
, the
corpse
awakened—returned from the dead ….” Mountney shrugged. “So far, it’s up in the air. Some say he was mistakenly declared dead. Others claim that the doctor actually returned from the dead. Or, maybe it was the longest near-death experience anyone can remember.

“In any case, crowds of people have been coming and going all through this day. About half an hour ago, this church was the setting for yet another alleged miracle.”

Koesler’s eyes widened. Tully, Moore, and Mangiapane shifted their gaze momentarily from the TV screen to Koesler.

“A woman in a wheelchair had been praying in this overcrowded church for what some eyewitnesses say was several hours. As I said before, she suddenly shouted out. Some say she was uttering a prayer. What
is
certain is that she got out of her wheelchair and fell to her knees. The crowd, as you might expect, gave her lots of room. She then literally crawled to the sanctuary where, overcome by emotion, she fainted.”

“Dan, do you know where she is now?” the off-camera voice of the anchor asked.

“Not really, Mort. She had been brought here by a couple, reportedly, her sister and her brother-in-law. They got her out of the church as quickly as they could, and drove away. No one seems to know their names or anything else about them.

“We have a couple of eyewitnesses, Mort.”

The camera pulled back to include Dan Mountney and a small, scruffy-looking man with widened eyes and mouth slightly agape. He seemed eager for as much of his fifteen minutes of fame as possible.

“This,” Mountney said, trying not to get any closer to the man than necessary, “is Mr. Malloy.”

“Everybody calls me Charlie Malloy.”

Mountney smiled almost in spite of himself. “Okay, Charlie Malloy. You were there when this happened. Can you describe it for us? What happened?”

“Well, sir, there we were in this terrible crowd. It was so bad you couldn’t move an inch without apologizin’. And the noise! Some people prayin’. Lots of other people just talkin’. Right out loud, mind you. In the church. All that lack of respect. And here we were, right where there’d been a b’Jesus miracle just last night.”

“Right, Charlie Malloy, can you tell us about the woman?”—a hint of impatience—“The woman in the wheelchair?”

“I was just gettin’ to that. She was a pious one. I was kinda payin’ attention to her on accounta she was in this wheelchair. And the crowd wasn’t makin’ allowances for that, y’know. I was afraid she was gonna get knocked over.”

Charlie Malloy, every once in a while, would reach for the microphone in an attempt to take it from Mountney’s hand. Each time Mountney resisted, almost playfully.

“Well, then, all of a sudden, she lets out this scream.”

“Could you make out what it was …what she was saying? Was it a prayer?”

“Well, if it was, it’s not one I’m familiar with.… I mean it wasn’t the Our Father or the Hail Mary.” He grinned. “Which is about as far as I go with prayer.”

“All right, Charlie Malloy, so she screamed. And then?”

“So then she screamed. And then a bunch of women—maybe some men too, I’m not sure—started screamin’ too. I think the wheelchair woman scared them. But everybody backed away from her … which made it that much harder to stand there or even breathe—you r’member I said how crowded it was in there?”

“I remember.”

“Then she sort of threw herself out of the chair. And the chair sort of fell over sideways. And then, the lady started movin’ toward the altar. Everybody was yellin’ things. Some was yellin’ what she was doin’, I guess for the benefit of all the people behind who couldn’t see what was goin’ on. Some was yellin’ encouragement to her. But she didn’t need any help; she was crawlin’ on her knees right for the altar. I’ll tell you, I couldn’a done it … and I got good legs. Yessir, she was cured. Right then and there. It was a miracle. An ever-lovin’ miracle.”

“Did she leave the church then?”

“Sort of. She got to the altar. Then she sort of fell over.”