Requiem for Moses (34 page)

Tully snorted in disgust. “Can we talk to Mrs. Green?” he asked Dr. Fox.

“I just looked in on her. She’s sleeping. It wouldn’t be either wise or helpful to try to wake her. She’s under sedation.”

“We should be able to answer your questions, Lieutenant,” David said. “We talked it all out with Mother before Dr. Fox sedated her.”

Tully sighed. “Okay, let’s give it a try. Was anybody with your father all the time today?”

“Mother was. Except for about two hours when she went shopping. It was while she was out that Dad overdosed.”

“Convenient,” Tully said as if to himself. “Did she notify anyone she would be out?”

“Not exactly,” Judith said. “I talked to her—I called her—just before she left. She told me she was going shopping. I was a little surprised that she would leave him alone for so long. I called Dave and asked him if we should come over.”

“And,” David took up the explanation, “I think I very sensibly suggested that we could spend the rest of our lives taking turns sitting with Dad anytime Mother had to go out. So we decided not to come over.”

“You have keys to this apartment?”

David shook his head. “No, but the manager knows us. He lets us in when it’s necessary.”

“Besides,” Koesler said, “the apartment has no dead bolt or any additional locks. When I visited here, Mrs. Green told me they refused to live in fear or make a prison out of their home.”

They all looked at Koesler with some surprise; they had forgotten he was there.

Tully’s brow furrowed. “I see,” he said. “The entire population of the city of Detroit handled the morphine bottle and the same number had access to this apartment.”

“The door never was a serious concern,” David said. “These apartment condos are pretty well filled and active. Not many strangers could get by the average busy corridor. And the doormen filter out the uninvited. Anyway, smart or not, that’s the way Mom and Dad wanted it. And, as far as passing that bottle around … it was just instinctive. We weren’t concerned about ‘evidence.’ Dad had taken his own life. That’s all we were thinking.”

“Is there anything else you want us for just now?” Bill Gray asked. “Judy could really use some rest. And so could I, as well as Dave, I’m sure.”

Tully paused. “Okay, you can leave. But there’s sure to be more questions. Stick around town and stay available.”

They got their coats and prepared to leave. Judy paused and stepped back into the room. “Do you think it would be all right if I looked in on Mother now?”

“Don’t,” Fox said. “She needs this rest. If she can sleep through the noise the police are making, she doesn’t need to be awakened. I’ve asked the police to search her bedroom last.”

After the three left, Fox got his coat. “Look,” he said to Tully, “I don’t know where your investigation will lead you, but I’m listing the cause of death as ‘undetermined.’ And, frankly, I don’t know how you can do otherwise.

“Well, good day, officers.”

Mangiapane approached. “The guys from the M.E.’s office are here. They want to take Green to the morgue.”

“Our guys done with him?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay”

Mangiapane gave the new arrivals the go-ahead.

“Manj,” Tully said. “When did this day start getting away from us?”

Mangiapane shrugged, and smiled.

“We’ve got a death today that’s a repeat of last Monday,” Tully mused. “Is it murder? It’s so simple, an overdose of morphine. The wife could have done it before or after she went shopping. The kids and/or Bill Gray could have come here once they found out Mrs. Green was going to be gone. Or, like the Orient Express, they all could have done it—taking turns feeding the guy pills. Or, with minimum security, almost anyone could have gotten in and done it.

“Or, was it suicide? The guy told his own doctor he didn’t want to live. You could bet on anyone and be paid even money. All we can do is wait for Moellmann’s report.”

Angie Moore joined them.

“Zoo was wondering when this day got away from us,” Mangiapane said.

“I don’t know about that,” Moore replied. “But I think now is when we can put part of it together again.”

“Whatcha got?” Tully asked.

“Doc Green’s checkbook. Look at this entry.” She showed the stub to both Tully and Mangiapane. The check had been issued to “G.O.B. Inc.” The amount was $10,000.

“Two hits at five grand apiece,” Mangiapane observed. “Somebody didn’t know the price has gone up.”

“Maybe,” Moore added, “Green had never taken out a contract before.
And
Billy Bob didn’t know the going rate since it was the Good Old Boys’ first contract killing.”

Mangiapane scratched his head. “One more puzzle. Why would a guy who is gonna commit suicide take out a contract on two other people?”

“Good question,” Tully agreed. “Maybe there’s no way to measure how mean, nasty, cruel, and vengeful this guy was. I remember reading about Hitler when the war was lost and Berlin was falling down around his ears. He sent orders to execute political prisoners. I always thought Hitler was a special type of creep, and that I would never see his equal. Maybe now I have.

“But, until the M.E.’s report, I think we’d better follow Doc Fox’s example and label this an undetermined death. That covers a multitude of possibilities.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was now ten days since that incredible Monday when Moses Green was almost waked in St. Joseph’s Church. Those things that could be resolved, had been. Those that defied solution, remained mysteries. Some thought they knew all the answers. But there was no evidence to support their conclusions.

Established: Moses Green died of an overdose of morphine.

Unsolved: How the morphine had been administered, and by whom. There were so many possibilities. Suicide not only was possible, it was the simplest, least complicated solution. Dr. Fox testified that Green had suffered intensely, that he had declared a preference for death, and that he had the means at hand to do the deed.

Established: That Moses Green had taken out a contract with GOB Company’s CEO, Billy Bob Higbie, on the lives of Claire McNern and Stan Lacki. Confronted with the deposit of a $10,000 check from the account of Moses Green, plus testimony from several disgruntled gang members, Higbie faced trial for conspiracy to commit murder in the first degree. No reasonable person, including his own attorney, doubted that he would be convicted. There were equally strong cases against the young woman who had killed Stan and the man who had killed Claire.

Unsolved: The status of Moses Green at the time of visitation in St. Joseph’s Church. No one had been able to state definitively whether Green had been dead or alive during his first placement in the casket. The Church’s official decision was against the possibility of a miracle. The extensive coverage in the media—especially in the stories written by Pat Lennon—painted such a dark image of Green that many who had believed, now discredited the miraculous. To Father Koesler’s relief, parish life in St. Joe’s had returned to what passed for normal.

Established: The police investigation was closed. The official cause of Moses Green’s death was left “undetermined.”

Established: Father Daniel Reichert was in Cardinal Boyle’s doghouse, with a one-month suspension from priestly activities. However, Father Reichert remained adamant about the miracles in St. Joseph’s Church. Few were any longer in agreement.

Unsolved: The questions that lingered in Father Koesler’s mind.

That was why Father Koesler had come to the McGovern Funeral Home.

After the autopsy, the remains of Moses Green had, at his widow’s wish, been cremated. The cremains were to be buried in the Green family plot, where one day he would be joined by his widow and, perhaps, their children.

Now, with everything freshly completed, a memorial service was scheduled for noon that day. No one could foretell how many would gather for this ceremony. Not many were expected.

Father Koesler arrived early. He hoped to find some answers for his many questions. At 11:30
A
.
M
., he was the first to arrive.

Koesler studied the display of some portraits and candid shots of the late doctor, his family and a few hangers-on. He felt he was “getting acquainted.” He had never met Moses Green—in either of the doctor’s lives. Koesler had never even seen the doctor, except in his casket, falling out of it and, finally, after the fact, on his deathbed.

Koesler heard a commotion. It reminded him of something, but he was unsure of what. He turned. There, standing in the doorway was Sophie—good old Aunt Sophie. The last time he had seen her she’d been knocking Dan Reichert head over heels, and then, as it were, awakening the dead.

So imposing was she that it was not until she had approached him that he noticed that Margie Green, overshadowed by Sophie’s presence, had entered the room.

Sophie looked Koesler up and down several times. Finally, she spoke. “So, you’re the priest. Such a waste!”

Koesler was unsure how to take the remark. The implications ran from his being worth nothing to his being a desirable but unattainable male. Since Sophie was smiling, he took the remark as meant to be positive.

“We got to talk,” Sophie ordered.

Koesler had come primarily to talk to Mrs. Green. But a postponement of that conversation now seemed inescapable.

“Come in here.” Sophie led the way into an alcove where they could have some privacy. Koesler followed her.

Conveniently, there were just two upholstered chairs in the tiny room.

Sophie sat in one chair and shifted until her bulk was comfortable.

Then, a remarkable transformation occurred. Aunt Sophie seemed to leave a persona behind. She spoke English devoid of the Yiddish dialect and delivery. She also lost her comic appearance.

“I think it’s important for you to know something,” she said, making strong eye contact. “You put your neck on the chopping block for Moe when you let him be waked in your church. And, as far as I’ve been able to learn, you’ve been involved in this thing ever since.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but you might be sucked into this thing deeper even than you know.”

She had Koesler’s undivided attention.

“In a hurry,” she continued, “I have to tell you the story of Moses Green—or Wilhelm Bloom.”

Koesler’s mouth dropped open.

“It happened right after
Kristallnacht.
Do you know about that?”

Koesler nodded. “The Night of the Broken Glass … although I can’t give you an exact date.”

“November 9, 1938. Goebbels, the propagandist, ordered Nazis to get rough with German Jews. In twenty-four hours, more than thirty thousand Jews were arrested. Nearly one hundred were murdered on the spot. Seven thousand Jewish businesses were destroyed. And nearly three hundred synagogues were burned. In twenty-four hours! Some German Jews got the drift and some didn’t.

“My father, Nathan Greenberg, was a medical doctor and lecturer.
Kristallnacht
taught him that Hitler was determined to make life miserable for the Jews. I don’t think anybody then could have realized that the Nazis were going to try to wipe out an entire race.

“But, as I said, Father had a pretty good idea, at least partly, what was about to happen. He had prepared an escape route and put away all the money he could spare. He and his family would flee to America.

“We had a maid, a faithful woman named Erika. She had Catholic parents. But that didn’t stop her father from abusing her. Right around this time, early in ’38, Erika got pregnant by her father.

“With her mother’s consent—she wanted to get Erika away from her father—we took her in. Her father threatened to make trouble, but my father was a prominent man. Even though my father was Jewish, he could have made big trouble for him. So her father backed off.

“My father had a friend, an older man, Israel Bloom—a Jew, of course. He took pity on Erika and married her—to give the child a name. As it turned out, he didn’t do her any big favor. Not when, very soon, being a Jew in Nazi Germany carried a death penalty.

“Anyway, Erika had her baby, Wilhelm Bloom. In spite of his last name, the baby was as far away as you can get from being Jewish. His parents were Catholic.

“Then came
Kristallnacht.”
She was quiet, remembering. After a moment, she continued. “Even with a name like Bloom, Erika was sure she could weather this storm. But she wasn’t so sure about her baby. And in that she was correct. Some storm trooper probably would have picked up a baby named Bloom and bashed his head against a wall. Erika begged us to take Wilhelm with us.

Erika had been like one of our family. Father wanted to take both Erika and her baby with us. But Erika had family—an aged mother, and aunts and uncles. She decided she had to stay. It almost killed her to part with her son, but she knew it was the only way.

“We took Wilhelm with us. My parents adopted him and renamed him Moses Greenberg. Later, in this country, we dropped the ‘berg’ and became just Green.

“I was five years older than Moe. Even at that tender age, events were so traumatic that I knew and remembered what was going on.

“Father made a good living in this country. He was instrumental in getting Moe into medical school.

“Moe and I grew apart. There was something … dark … about Moe. I always thought it was due to his natural father, who could be and frequently was a vicious animal. Anyway, Erika died in a concentration camp. Even though she was Catholic, she couldn’t live down that name.”

“Then …” Koesler closed his mouth to get the saliva moving again. “Dr. Moses Green was not Jewish?”

Sophie shook her head. “His parents were Catholic, and he was baptized Catholic.”

Koesler thought another few moments. “He certainly seemed to think he was Jewish.”

“He did!” Sophie said. “He did think he was Jewish!”

Koesler tipped his head to one side, and once again his mouth hung loose. “You mean,” he said at length, “no one ever told him this story?”

“No one. It seemed best to try to give him as much stability as possible. Especially since he had spells, that grew more frequent, of that vicious streak he maybe inherited from his real father.”