“Same thing when they notified Homicide. It was a call. Maybe we should have gone. But that’s mostly hindsight. I can see where our guys would take the word of the doctor and the M.E. But, dammit, I’m not comfortable with all these unanswered questions-especially when one of the major questions is whether this turns out to be attempted murder.
“We should look for the answer to that. Okay with you, Walt, if I and a couple of my squad stir the ashes a bit?”
Koznicki nodded. “But not too long. See where it leads, and keep me posted.”
Chapter Thirteen
Father Koesler, Dr. Price, and Lieutenant Tully walked together down the hall toward the elevators.
As they neared Tully’s squad room, the Lieutenant said, “Father, if you got a few minutes, I’d appreciate it if you could clue a couple of my people on a couple of questions.”
Koesler thought of the pandemonium undoubtedly continuing in and around his church. Suddenly, Police Headquarters appeared to him as a place of sanctuary from the church. He felt like Alice on the other side of the looking glass. “Okay with me, Lieutenant.”
They bade the doctor good-bye as she continued toward the exit.
Homicide Division comprised seven squads. Each had its own high-ceilinged, rectangular, large and shabby office. Koesler and Tully entered the lieutenant’s squad room. Two detectives appeared to be waiting for their boss and the priest.
“You remember,” Tully said to Koesler, “Sergeants Mangiapane and Moore.”
The introductions were pro forma. Indeed they all knew each other. Fate-it could be nothing less-had linked them all in several homicide investigations in the past.
“I’d like you to tell us,” Tully said, “how you came to have a wake for a Jewish man at your church.” It was the first time in frequent queries when the accusatory tone was not used; this was for nothing more than information.
So Koesler told them about the-then-widow’s pleading the case. He explained the family situation. That the two children had been raised Catholic. And that though they might not be very active Catholics now, they certainly had no ties with the Jewish faith.
Neither did Dr. Green, who was, by anyone’s measuring stick, Jewish in name only.
Finally, Mrs. Green, a Catholic, had discussed possible funeral arrangements with her husband when death had seemed far off.
Koesler did not mention the opposition he’d encountered along the way-from many phone callers and principally from Father Dan Reichert. Nor did he mention his own instant research through canon law to ascertain the Churchly legality of this service.
None of that, Koesler felt, was relevant or pertinent to the police investigation. None of this had come up in the recent session with Koznicki and Price, for whom the main question was whether the incident could possibly be a genuine miracle, or, more probably, a state of coma. And, further, if a coma, then was its cause deliberate or accidental?
Now that a properly instituted investigation had begun, a wider area of interest was in order. Mangiapane and Moore took notes.
“So,” Tully said, “after Mrs. Green left you, what did you do?”
“I wanted to relax and read. What I actually did was answer the phone. It rang almost continually.”
“Was that unusual?” Moore asked.
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.