Chameleon fk-13 Page 13

  “Okay. But the point is, I remember thinking at the time that the emotion that came out in that room was close to violence!”

  Koesler smiled briefly in disbelief. “You mean you thought they were actually going to fight? I mean, physically?”

  “A couple of times, I thought some of them were close to doing just that!”

  “Irene, I don’t think-”

  “And then,” she interrupted, “I had this premonition that something violent, something terrible was going to happen. I really did!”

  Koesler could tell that she was on the verge of tears. “I see,” he said, “and then …?”

  “And then this had to happen. Larry was … was …”

  “… murdered.” Koesler could tell she couldn’t bring herself to say the word. “But what about-”

  “What,” she interrupted again, “what if the murder was caused, or occasioned, or triggered by something said at the meeting?”

  “Irene …” Koesler touched her hand gently. “Irene, come on! You and I know these people. They’re priests and nuns and dedicated laypeople. They’re Church people. They may have their disagreements, and sometimes those disagreements may be deeply felt. But they’re not … I mean, I’ve been at these meetings too, before you, and I’ve seen how deeply they feel, how much they have invested of themselves in their work, how affected they are when their territory or interests are threatened. But they wouldn’t … not one of them would …”

  “Then how do you explain it? I thought we were done with this horror when the police caught that David Reading person. After Sister Joan’s sister was murdered and Sister was almost murdered herself … that was so horrible. But it was over. It was done. They caught the killer. Now …”

  “Irene, they did catch the man. It is over. Believe it. This is tragic; there’s no doubt about that. But it’s not connected. As much as we’d like it to be otherwise, living in this city has its dangerous aspect. There’s no getting around it. Larry was probably the victim of a random mugging. A mugging that went too far. It’s tragic. But it could have happened to anyone. It just happened to be Larry Hoffer.”

  Irene seemed to be drawing some consolation and reassurance from Koesler’s explanation. “Then you don’t think …”

  “Not for a moment. And you shouldn’t either. Of course we’re saddened by this thing. That’s natural. But we’ve got to go on.”

  “I … I guess you’re right. It’s just that I witnessed … I saw how angry some of the people at that meeting were, And most of the anger was directed at Larry. And then when I heard this morning that he’d been killed …”

  “I guess it was only natural. You were sort of primed to link the two, the argument and the hostility, with what happened to Larry. But, think a bit. Who? Which one of those people at the staff meeting could have done it? Can you think of a single person there who might actually be capable of murder?”

  Irene gave it brief consideration. “I … suppose not. But then I never focused on any specific individual. It was just so coincidental.”

  “That’s it, Irene: coincidence. An eerie coincidence. Natural.”

  Mary O’Connor stepped apologetically into the kitchen. “Excuse me, there’s someone on the phone for you, Father.”

  “Did you get a name?”

  “Yes, a Lieutenant Tully with the police department.”

  Koesler did a quick appraisal of Irene Casey. She seemed more at peace man she had been earlier. He wasn’t sure his words had completely calmed her but they had been a help. No doubt about that. He felt he could accept me call. So, thanking Mary and excusing himself to Irene, he picked up the phone near the refrigerator. Irene could not help overhearing Koesler’s side of the conversation.

  “Yes, I remember Lieutenant … yes, at me funeral home.

  “You want to come here? Well …

  “Well, I was going to ring some doorbells. The Lafayette Towers complex … 1300 … just check in with some of the people who live in my parish. There hasn’t been much evangelization carried on in this parish in recent years and … yes, evangelization …

  “Well, it’s a kind of recruitment … I guess I could postpone it for just this afternoon if you think I can be of some help, but I don’t-

  “Sure. Okay. I know you’re practically next door. But could you delay just a few minutes? I’m with somebody now and …

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a little while.” He hung up.

  “You’re having company? Now?” Irene asked.

  “Lieutenant Tully. He’s with the Homicide Department. He wanted to see me. But don’t feel you have to rush off. He won’t be here for a few minutes.”

  “No, no, we’re done. It’s okay. You’ve been a big help,” Irene responded. “Actually, just being able to talk to someone, express my fears, did the trick, I think.”

  Thanks a heap, thought Koesler. Nothing I said helped. It was the talking cure again. Koesler had seen it work any number of times, especially in confession-or the sacrament of reconciliation as it was now called. “Well,” he said, “if you’re sure … really, there’s no hurry.”

  Irene rose, left the table, and went directly to the cupboard.

  Koesler smiled. “What in the world are you up to, Irene?”

  “Just going to make a pot of coffee before I go.”

  “No need for that, Irene. I can do it. No trouble.”

  “No, you’re going to have an important visitor and you’ll want to serve him some coffee. Or at least offer it to him. I can get it done in a jiffy.”

  “Well, if you insist. Thanks.”

  Some day, thought Irene, the right moment will come to tell him about his coffee. Maybe even teach him how to make it. For now, she was reluctant to expose her friend’s culinary failing to a stranger.

  She made the coffee and left, confident that she had saved Father Koesler from embarrassment. And the policeman from a taste worse than gall.

  14

  “Good coffee,” Tully observed.

  “Thanks.” Koesler saw no reason to explain that someone else had made the coffee. The fact that Irene Casey had brewed it was irrelevant and immaterial, as the movies had them say in court.

  Mary O’Connor had admitted Tully just a few minutes ago. She’d led him to the kitchen, whose comparative coziness Koesler preferred on a cold and windy day such as this.

  A few initial questions from Tully elicited the fact that the kitchen, cozy as it was, was not what he would term secure. The secretary, the janitor, or any number of others might drift in at any time. So, at the officer’s insistence, the two had repaired to Koesler’s office, where the wind whistled through the closed but drafty windows.

  Tully simply acclimated himself, a skill he had cultivated so assiduously he had become adept at it. As for Koesler, he hovered over his coffee for warmth.

  “Father,” Tully began, “I’m going to tell you Something that hasn’t been made public just yet: The gun that killed Helen Donovan was also used to kill Lawrence Hoffer;”

  “What?” Few things surprised Koesler anymore, but this certainly did. “I thought you arrested the man who killed Helen.”

  “So did we. That’s what we thought. But there was a hole in that case. Not big enough to drive a truck through, but a hole anyway. The same gun was not used in the murder of Helen Donovan and in the attempt on her sister. Of course it was always possible, for lots of reasons, that he might have used different guns. But it isn’t likely he actually did.”

  “But I thought the man confessed!”

  Tully shrugged, “It happens. There are people out there who confess to things they didn’t do.”

  “I don’t understand.” Koesler looked pained. “I thought it was all over.”

  “That would have been nice. But it didn’t work that way. Now, Father, what I’ve told you so far is being released to the news media. But I’m going to tell you more of the details, facts that won’t be given to the media. I’ll have to ask you not to reveal the
m.”

  Koesler did not reply.

  “Father?” Tully pressed.

  “Oh, oh, certainly.” All he could think of was that he had just assured Irene Casey that this madness was over. What would she think now? Then another thought occurred. “But why are you telling me, Lieutenant?”

  “Because we could use your help on this case, and for you to help us you’ve got to know what we’re working with.”

  “But why not tell the media everything? Wouldn’t that help in apprehending the man?”

  Tully noted that Koesler had used the masculine noun in referring to the perpetrator. Did Koesler know something? Through the confessional? Likely it was no more than the natural tendency to link men rather than women to murder. Nonetheless it was noted. But to Koesler’s question. “The problem with that is that it encourages copycat murderers, like what probably happened with David Reading, the guy who almost got the nun.”

  “Oh, very well then. Certainly. I’ll keep what you tell me in confidence.”

  “Good. By the way, I checked out using you and letting you know what we’ve got with your friend Inspector Koznicki. He gave me the green light. So it’s official.”

  “Certainly.”

  Koesler had given up all thought of drinking his coffee. He was now clutching it for survival. If this conversation was going to go on much longer, he was going to need a coat. Maybe a hat.

  Tully leaned forward. “About the only hard information we’ve got so far has to do with the weapon. We know the gun used to kill Helen Donovan was a.38 caliber. We know because we retrieved the slug. More on that in a bit. The gun we took from Reading was a nine caliber. The theory was that after Reading killed Helen, thinking she was Joan, he had no further use for the.38 so he got rid of it. Then, when he found out he’d missed his target, killed the wrong woman, he couldn’t recover the.38, for whatever reason. Unfortunately, that explanation was suggested to Reading during interrogation, and he agreed to it as part of his ‘confession.’ That’s when we thought we had everything wrapped up.

  “Then came the murder of Lawrence Hoffer. I suspected there might be a connection because both Joan Donovan and Hoffer were part of the administration of the local Catholic Church. And that proved to be correct. We compared the slugs that killed the Donovan woman and Hoffer and-they matched.”

  “And,” Koesler said, “at the time Larry was killed Mr. Reading was already locked up.”

  “Correct. Now, let me tell you something about the ammo used ’cause it tells us quite a bit about the killer,” Tully said.

  “The bullets were 158 grain, half-jacketed, flat-nosed, downloaded.38 caliber. Does that have any significance for you, or mean anything special?”

  Koesler shook his head.

  “Not familiar with guns?.”

  Koesler shook his head again.

  “Okay,” Tully said. “This kind of bullet is ordinarily used for target practice. Particularly because of its flat nose, it makes a nice, neat round hole in the paper target. That way it’s easy to see where all the bullets hit the target even if more than one bullet hits almost the same spot. Okay?”

  Koesler nodded.

  “Okay. Now, when this kind of bullet-one with all the specifications I mentioned-is fired point-blank into, say, a person’s head-the way Donovan and Hoffer were hit-something very specific happens.

  “Because it’s down-loaded, it’s not likely to exit the body, the head. Because it’s half-jacketed, it holds together; it doesn’t expand when it hits its target. Because it’s flat-nosed and doesn’t exit the body, it causes one hell of a lot of damage.” Tully looked expectantly at Koesler. “See?”

  Koesler pondered for a moment. “Not really.”

  “Okay.” There was no good reason why a priest inexperienced in ballistics should grasp the significance of what the perpetrator intended. But he had hoped Koesler’s deductive powers would be sharper. Still, Tully reminded himself, he had sought Koesler’s input because of his familiarity with things Churchy, not because he might be able to interpret a murderer’s mind.

  “What this comes down to,” Tully explained, “is that, one, the killer wants to finish his victim with a single sure shot. So he uses a flat-noser that will do a maximum amount of damage in the victim’s head.

  “Two, it’s down-loaded, so it will remain within the victim-so we’ll have no trouble finding the slug.

  “Three, it’s half-jacketed, so it holds together and we’ll be able to easily make the ballistics comparison and identify the slugs as coming from the same gun.” Tully stopped and again looked expectantly at Koesler.

  “So,” Koesler said, thoughtfully, “the killer is being careful to make certain that you are able to recognize when it is he who is operating. Other people would be able to use a.38 in the commission of a crime, in a murder. But he alone owned and operated the gun that killed Helen and Larry.”

  It was Tully’s turn to nod.

  “And if there were a copycat killer around,” Koesler continued, “he would know from what you released to the news media that you had proof from ballistics that the same gun was used to kill Helen and Larry. And since only the police knew what ballistics showed, there was no point in trying to copy the murder.”

  “And …” Tully prompted.

  “And …” Koesler repeated, then thought for a moment. “… and you are also sending a message to the killer that you understand what he is trying to tell you in his peculiar selection of the bullets he’s using.”

  Tully thought there might be hope for this man.

  “This,” Koesler continued, “reminds me of some of the other homicide cases I’ve been involved with.” Pause for further thought. “Now, I don’t want to appear ungrateful that you bothered to take me all through this … but I’m still in the dark about how I can possibly help you.”

  Tully looked away as he spoke. “We know a murderer has struck twice in a very definite pattern. He may prove to be-if he is not already qualified as-a serial killer. With the murder of Lawrence Hoffer, it becomes far more likely that his first intended victim was Joan-not Helen-Donovan. The only connection, as far as we are able to tell just now-for want of a stronger connection-is the rank Joan and Hoffer hold in the Church structure. Quite frankly”-he looked at Koesler-“we don’t know where he goes from here.

  “He may be done. If he is, what he has accomplished is not at all clear. And I get the impression, from the pains he’s taken to help us recognize the slugs, that he wants to make his purpose clear-very clear.

  “So, where does he go from here?”

  Tully paused. Koesler deemed the question unanswerable.

  “Does he go back to first base?” Tully asked finally.

  “You mean Sister Joan Donovan? Is it possible the poor woman’s life is still in danger?” Koesler asked. “After all she’s gone through?”

  Tully shrugged. “If it’s a case of mistaken identity, then he killed the wrong woman. The ‘right’ woman is still out there. Alive. Or …”

  “Or?”

  “Or … something else. What? We don’t know. And this is where you come in.”

  “I don’t-”

  Tully cut in. “I find myself in a tightly specialized territory: department heads in a Catholic Church structure, the administration of the archdiocese of Detroit. I might as well be in the middle of a maze.”

  Koesler could see the difficulty. This structure-“the staff”-with which he was so familiar could easily intimidate one who was a stranger to it. “What can I do?”

  “For starters, give me a map so’s I can feel a little more at home in this maze.”

  Koesler smiled. So absorbed had he become in the business at hand that he no longer felt the cold. “Okay. For starters, here’s the basic chart.” He opened a desk drawer and drew out an 8? X 11 brochure consisting of just four pages.

  “And that …?” Tully asked.

  “… is a phone directory of archdiocesan department numbers, along with the busines
s phone numbers of just about everybody who works in the administration.”

  Tully looked interested. He slid his chair closer.

  Koesler looked up from the brochure to see Tully separated from him only by the width of the desk. He turned the brochure around so it was facing Tully. The priest opened the brochure and began to explain as he ran his finger through the listings. “Now, these are-”

  “You can read upside down?”

  Koesler grinned. “A leftover of my days as editor of the Detroit Catholic. They were still using Linotypes back then, and when they put the type in the galley it was upside down and backward. If you wanted to find something before they ran a proof of it, you had to get used to reading things upside down. It’s not a skill that comes in handy every day, but now and then …”

  “Um,” Tully said, creating the impression that Koesler’s explanation was more than was needed to understand a marginal accomplishment.

  “Anyway,” Koesler proceeded, “the important part is right here …” He outlined the area with his finger. “All the archdiocesan departments are listed in alphabetical order, with the exception of the first listing.”

  “The Cardinal’s office,” Tully read. “The big boss comes first. Makes sense.”

  “Yes, outside of the Pope himself, the Cardinal is the big boss. Now, the abbreviations in the parentheses are simple. Opposite the Cardinal’s office you see (C2), which means the Chancery Building, second floor. The other abbreviations are (G), the Gabriel Richard Building, just on the southwest side of Michigan Avenue and Washington Boulevard-”

  “Yeah, I know where it is.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, no; don’t leave anything out,” Tully insisted, “Anything you can think of, say.”