The Greatest Evil (37 page)

“And anyway, she was not headed for hell. She was going to join her Savior, with whom she had already joined her suffering.”

“Believe what you want,” Delvecchio said disgustedly, as if lecturing an uncomprehending student. “I know I did the right thing.”

How can you be so blind? thought Koesler. What an impenetrable set of defense mechanisms you’ve erected!

“I suppose you’ve poisoned the mind of Father Tully toward me with your lies. What other calumnies have you invented?”

Koesler was pained that Delvecchio would accuse him of lying.

“First,” Koesler said, “this business”—he could not bring himself to call it by its proper name, murder—“with your mother is between us and no one else. For the rest of what I’ve learned tonight, all I can say is that you have usurped one of God’s functions.”

“What—!”

“In the Bible it says, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.’ But you have proven
yourself
a most vindictive person.”

In the examples he was about to offer, Koesler knew he would have to skip over Delvecchio’s harsh, cruel treatment of Jan Olivier, late of the Detroit chancery. That event was protected by the Seal of Confession. It could not be discussed even with the penitent unless the penitent gave permission.

But Koesler felt he had more than enough examples of Delvecchio’s vengeful bent.

“You, to my knowledge,” Koesler said, “never took even the smallest step of reconciliation toward your aunt Martha. She has been estranged from you and the Church for all these years. You thought she was responsible for your mother’s fatal illness.”

“How many ‘small steps’ did she take to apologize for what she did?”

“But you’re a priest!”

“So?”

Koesler began to sense the probable futility of his hope that Delvecchio would wake up to his own meanness of character. Still, now committed, he plowed on.

“Your brother long ago discarded you. It probably would have worked out better if the separation had been mutual. But Tony hurt you. Your mother’s funeral Mass was the last Catholic service Tony participated in. He didn’t even attend your ordination as a bishop.

“Making matters even worse for you, Tony was a popular celebrity, especially locally. He was a sports and TV personality. In occasional interviews it came out that he had nothing to do with any organized religion. And you, his brother, a priest, a monsignor, a
bishop!

“I know that hurt you. And you do not endure hurt stoically; the person who wounded you must suffer too. But you really had little opportunity to strike back until Beth, Tony’s significant other, came to you for instructions.

“She couldn’t know it at the time, but she was presenting Tony to you on a silver platter.

“On paper, you could justify requiring sexual abstinence of Tony and Beth for the instruction period. On paper you could tack on six more months of not only abstinence but living apart.

“You knew with the knowledge of a close relative that Tony would never stand for a separation that long, especially one requiring him to move out of his home.

“And this with a couple who had lived together a quarter of a century! Even you would not have done this except out of sheer vindictiveness.

“You got at Tony through Beth, and in the process destroyed their relationship—their life together. All you had to do was convince Beth that you had the words of eternal life. And, I must admit, you’re pretty good at that—”

“You know, Robert, it’s peculiar how we start with similar premises and end with vastly different conclusions. Mother dies at my hand. You think it’s murder. I know I saved her from hell.

“And now, as far as our Catholic Church is concerned, Tony and Beth were living in mortal sin. Each time they copulate it’s another sin. How can she learn of our moral teaching and continue sinning? How can she prepare for marriage, especially, without showing the good faith of living apart?” Delvecchio spread his hands, indicating the argument was self-evident.
“Res ipsa loquitur.”

“Vince, it was within your power to dispense. How could you have been so rigid, so uncompromising, so lacking in understanding? How could you demand that a man move out of his own home? Especially when you knew the couple had lived together so long? If they committed a sin—and when will you stop being other people’s conscience?—it would have happened when they launched their original relationship. They were headed in no other direction than into the arms of Mother Church. Until you drove them away and ruined their lives.

“I wondered about that until it occurred to me that you wanted to punish Tony for having embarrassed and disgraced you—by making it awkward for you as a priest and a bishop to have a fallen-away brother.”

“All you’ve proven,” Delvecchio said, “is that you and I treat people differently. And you are, at the very least, an erring bleeding heart. Now, if we can end this—”

“One more thing, Vince. It came to me just this evening. It’s practically your signature.”

“Well?” Delvecchio, eyes now closed in pain, rubbed his head, as he had off and on during this entire interchange.

“About Lucy and the abortion question. While you had no way of knowing whether she had incurred a penalty, still you accused her of being automatically excommunicated. I believe you did this to scare her, to intimidate her. That would have made it difficult for her to state her case under media scrutiny. Then I came along and let her conscience speak, thus crippling your plan. And so, just as you did with Tony, so did you do to me. All these years, you couldn’t get even with Tony because there was no way to reach him. That must have been extremely frustrating. And then eventually you were able to use Beth to get to him.

“I helped your sister in derailing your plan to make her helpless in defending herself. At the time, I didn’t know I was upsetting your applecart, but I was. So you had to get even with me. But you couldn’t; there wasn’t anything you could do to me.

“However, as you used Beth to reach Tony, you are trying to use Father Tully to have your revenge on me.”

“That’s preposterous!”

“Is it? I don’t want anything for myself. But I wanted Zack to have St. Joe’s parish. You knew you could get to me by making it difficult, or better yet, impossible for Zack to become pastor here. And you easily sensed that Zack had a real problem with the Oath and Profession. All you had to do was demand he swear his fealty in a public ceremony.

“Well, you were right about one thing: He’ll never do it. So, you can block his appointment as pastor here. It hasn’t been officially announced yet. You’ll take a good pastor away from this parish. But you figure you’ll have gotten to me. You’ll have your revenge.”

Delvecchio shrugged. “It’s his choice. If he doesn’t want to follow the rules, so be it. But he’ll never be pastor here, or in any parish in this archdiocese.” Then, remembering that he scarcely could speak for all of Detroit’s auxiliaries in charge of territories, he added, “At least none of
my
parishes!”

“‘The rules,’” Koesler repeated scornfully. “Yes, the rules. Besides speaking with Dr. Moellmann this evening, I also called Pete Jackson and Fred Haun.”

Delvecchio, instantly recognizing the names of two priests recently transferred into his bailiwick and named pastors, winced as he realized where Koesler was headed.

“I asked them specifically,” Koesler said, “about the Oath and Profession. Haun wondered why I asked. He Was in complete agreement with both documents. He had even suggested that the two of you make the taking of these statements a paraliturgical ceremony, inviting the parishioners to attend. You assured him that was not necessary. And in the privacy of the rectory you listened as Haun read the documents.

“I didn’t expect such docility from Jackson. And I was right. He’s the one, the only one, I believe, who’s on record as thinking there’s no priest shortage. He said there are already too many. He also told me this evening that if ever he read those documents in your presence, he would follow that with going, to confession to you. During which he would confess that it was all a lie. And you couldn’t act on it or tell anyone because of the Seal of Confession.

“Now I’m sure he was kidding. But the fact is that he has withstood you. His appointment as pastor is official; he is installed. And he is not going to take the Oath or make the Profession.”

“So?”

“So you have on record one pastor who plainly refused to read those documents, even in a private setting. And another pastor who was ready, willing, and eager to read them during a public ceremony. And in Zack Tully you have a priest who cannot in good conscience do this. While you, for your part, are insisting on the public ceremony for Father Tully that you dismissed in the case of Father Jackson.”

“So?”

“So, remember when you were trying to deny Christian burial to the deceased wife of George Hackett? You were making up your own rules—demanding more in that case than the Church required. And you were shot down by Cardinal Boyle.

“What if the Cardinal were to be informed that you’re at it again? Making up your own rules? Telling one priest to forget an unnecessary ceremony, then demanding the same ceremony of another priest? And what if I let the Cardinal know why you were doing this?”

This open threat was very unlike Father Koesler. And Delvecchio well knew it.

“You … you would do that?” the bishop said in a near whisper.

“If you do not promise to back down from insisting that Zack take the Oath and make the Profession, yes. I’m willing to go to the mat on this!”

“What could Boyle do to me?” Delvecchio demanded in a mixture of desperation and bravado. “I’m a bishop!”

“An auxiliary, not an Ordinary. It’s simple enough to relieve you of all your functions. You would be bishop of nothing, going nowhere. It’s been done. Much tougher to do that to an Ordinary, pretty easy when dealing with an auxiliary.”

There was a pause that seemed longer than it actually was.

“Well?” Koesler pressed.

“I … I’ll think about it.”

But Koesler knew he had won the day. He hadn’t actually convinced Delvecchio that he ever had failed, that he’d been wrong. That he’d ever sinned. But he had persuaded the bishop that getting even with Koesler through Tully was simply not worth the consequences.

“And now,” Delvecchio massaged his forehead with a great deal of pressure, “I’ll be going. Here are the documents you want.” He tossed the envelope onto the pool table and wordlessly left the basement.

As he stepped out the front door, he came face to face with the two couples just arriving for the retirement party.

Why, they asked, was the bishop leaving? He pleaded a bad headache. The Koznickis and Tullys expressed their concern. The encounter was over in minutes. Delvecchio was gone. The other guests were in the rectory, being greeted by the two priests.

Due to the comparative lateness of the hour, they all went directly to the dining room.

As he took up the rear of this procession, Father Koesler at least knew that this entire matter was finished … ended.

Even the theory—unproven and undocumented—that there had been some sort of conspiracy on the part of somebody—one or more of the Delvecchio kids?—either to kill Frank Morris or cause him to take his own life … that scenario, Koesler had long since concluded, was nothing more than the pipe dream of an elderly pastor with an extremely active imagination.

All the i’s were dotted. All the t’s were crossed. There couldn’t be anymore to this story.

Could there?

30

Father Koesler hoped the party and light conversation would lift his spirits. After what had gone on in the basement, he needed this convivial gathering.

He knew he had won. But he wished there didn’t have to be a loser. He abhorred confrontation and avoided it whenever possible.

This evening it simply hadn’t been feasible. He was resolved that Zack Tully be pastor of St. Joe’s. All the more so when he’d realized that Zack had become Delvecchio’s sacrificial lamb as the means to get back at Koesler.

And Koesler deeply regretted having to dredge up all the unpleasantness of the past. But there was no avoiding it; it was a continuum.

He promised himself that once settled in retirement, he would try to mend his shredded relationship with Vince Delvecchio.

“This is excellent soup, Mary,” Anne Marie Tully said.

“Indeed, yes,” echoed Wanda Koznicki. “You’ve got to give us the recipe.”

Mary O’Connor chuckled. “Better yet, I’ll give you the address of the caterers who made it.”

The two officers’ wives looked at each other and laughed. “You not only could, you
did
fool us,” Anne Marie said.

“Say,” Zoo Tully said to his brother, “that bishop we met on our way in: Is he the one you told us was giving you a hard time about something?”

“Uh-huh,” Father Tully affirmed.

“Well,” the lieutenant pressed, “did it work out okay? You gonna be pastor here, and our neighbor as well?”

Father Tully had no clue how the meeting between Koesler and Delvecchio had gone. The bishop’s departure had coincided with the arrival of the guests. Tully hadn’t had any opportunity to quiz Koesler.

Now, with the question on the table, as it were, Tully looked inquiringly at Koesler, who smiled and nodded reassuringly.

“I guess,” Tully said to his brother, “it all worked out. I’m going to be your neighbor. And,” he added quickly, “your pastor. Somehow I’ve got to get you in the fold.”

“Good luck,” Anne Marie said.

Soup course finished, Mary O’Connor was clearing away the bowls.

“And how about yourself, Father,” Inspector Koznicki asked Koesler, “have you firmed up your retirement plans? You will continue living here, I assume.”

“No.” Koesler shook his head. “No in answer to both questions. Much as I would like to stay here—inertia being so basic a part of my life—the diocese prefers that a Senior Priest move on. It makes sense to clear the old guard out and let the new pastor do things his way without some parishioner appealing a decision to one or the other. No whipsawing.