To a degree, Grace Hunsinger had watched Bobby Koesler grow up. She had attended at least one Mass almost every day of her adult life. Frequently she would kneel back in the shadows of the enormous Romanesque Holy Redeemer church and watch little Bob Koesler, altar boy, in cassock and surplice, serve Mass. She knew, from the churchy gossip of other daily Mass attendants, when he went away to the seminary. She noted, on his return during vacations, that he still played the part of a faithful altar boy well into his twenties. From time to time, she wished the church bug had bitten her son. It was not to be.
Koesler knew Grace Hunsinger, although not by name. He knew her as a quiet gentle lady who seemed always to be in church. There were several like that, mostly women, mostly middle-aged to elderly, who seemed to be in church most of the time, especially during Masses and novenas. He had no way of knowing that one day, many years later, the unseen son of this nice lady whose name Koesler did not know would, for a short time, play an extremely important role in his life.
That day, June 4, 1954, was the culmination of all that Robert Koesler had dreamed of since he was of an age to remember dreams. As far back as he could recall, he had always wanted to be a priest.
Shortly after he had gone to the seminary in the ninth grade to test his vocation, Going My Way, one of the greatest recruitment films of all time, was released. Inspired by that movie, lots of little Catholic boys concluded that it might be neat to grow up to become Bing Crosby’s Father Chuck O’Malley, turn a bunch of juvenile delinquents into a celestial choir, rub elbows with Rise Stevens, stand backstage during a Met performance of Carmen, become savior of parishes on the brink of financial disaster, and reunite an old Irish pastor with his aged Irish mother when they both should have been dead.
Great as Going My Way was, Bob Koesler hadn’t needed it for motivation. Long before “. . just dial ‘O’ for O’Malley,” Koesler was convinced the priesthood was the life for him. He viewed the twelve years of preparation-four high school, four college, four theologate-as just so many obstacles to be overcome, so many hurdles to be leaped. And he took them pretty much as hurdles, clumsily kicking over many on the way.
Koesler’s professors as well as his contemporaries would agree that his seminary career was “interesting.” By no means a serious student until perhaps the final few years of the seminary, Koesler could more frequently be found on the athletic field or the stage.
But at the end of twelve years his determination to be a priest was more firm than ever. The seminary officials found no good reason to deny him; some even found good reasons to recommend him. So, on June 4, 1954, came his ordination, followed by his first Mass, with, unbeknownst to him, Grace and Hank Hunsinger in attendance.
The years of his priesthood were, like his seminary career, “interesting.” After three parochial assignments, he was appointed editor of the Detroit Catholic, a weekly newspaper owned by the Archdiocese of Detroit. For that post, his lack of qualification was remarkable. Somehow he mucked through, learning much along the way. Eventually he became what he was now: pastor of St. Anselm’s, a suburban Dearborn Heights parish.
By far, the most “interesting” turn of events took place in 1979, when Koesler stumbled onto a clue in the murder of a Detroit nun. Thence he was drawn into the investigation of what turned into a series of murders of priests and nuns. From this grew a close friendship with Inspector Walter Koznicki, head of the homicide division of the Detroit Police Department.
Since that first homicide investigation involving Koesler, he had, through a sort of recurrent kismet, been drawn into other similar investigations. At times, he became involved because the murdered victims were members of the Catholic clergy, other times because victims were found in Catholic churches, still other times because the dramatis personae in the investigation were members of his parish. Now it seemed he was about to become involved in yet another homicide investigation because the victim happened to be a member of a Bible study group that included Koesler.
When Inspector Koznicki had phoned earlier this morning and requested Koesler’s participation in at least the early stages of the investigation into the death of Hank Hunsinger, the priest had been stunned. At breakfast he had read in the Free Press about Hunsinger’s death and was shocked. As in the death of most murder victims there was a special element of surprise in Hunsinger’s demise. It was so unexpected. This was a strong young man, a man whose body was not prepared for death. And readers did not have to wait to reach the sports pages to learn of the murder of the tight end; it was splashed on page 1 with companion stories throughout Section A.
Koesler had not been able to talk at length with Koznicki. After accepting the inspector’s invitation to render whatever assistance was possible in the investigation, Koesler had to marshal his rectory forces to cover for him, locate a priest to fill in at daily Mass, and reschedule several appointments.
All had been done. Now he awaited the promised arrival of Lieutenant Harris and Sergeant Ewing, both of whom he knew from previous investigations.
Although he had met Hunsinger several times in the Bible study group and had seen him play football any number of times either in person or on television, Koesler remained unaware of their connection through Holy Redeemer parish. He had known Grace Hunsinger by sight. But he had not known her name. He had never met the young Hunsinger. Even though the seven-year-old had been dragged to Koesler’s first solemn Mass, Koesler of course had no way of recognizing the young lad’s presence. And Hunsinger himself had long ago dismissed the memory as that of one more meaningless ceremony.
Koesler did not know it, but he was in for a big surprise.
“This is probably going to sound like one of those ultimate philosophical questions,” said Father Koesler, “but, why am I here?”
“It wasn’t our idea.” Lieutenant Harris was the less diplomatic of the two officers.
In a flash, Koesler pictured the scene. Koznicki suggesting the priest be included in at least the beginning of the investigation. Harris objecting, undoubtedly strenuously. Koznicki closing the discussion considerately but firmly.
“Actually, Father,” Ewing explained, “you, all by yourself, are our control group.”
“Huh?”
Harris was driving. They had picked Koesler up at his rectory and were now en route to the Silverdome.
“You see,” Ewing continued, “between the time a new security system was installed in Hunsinger’s apartment building and the time that Hunsinger was killed, seven people were recorded as his visitors. All seven came the same evening. You were one of them. All seven had the opportunity to case. . er. . study the security system and discover an easy way to beat it. If one of them did that, he’s our man.”
“Then I’m a suspect?” Koesler hoped his question was facetious.
Ewing laughed. Koesler’s hope was affirmed. He breathed more easily.
“No, you’re not a suspect. Like I told you in the beginning, you are our one-person control group.
“You see, it didn’t take us long to discover the connection between you seven. Now comes the interrogation. We have no sure way of knowing whether this or that person is answering all our questions truthfully. You are the only one we can rely upon to tell the truth. It just may work out that we can measure the truthfulness of the others by your answers and recollections.
“There are, by the way, three other people who had or may have had keys to the apartment: Hunsinger’s mother, his mis-uh, girlfriend, and, possibly, Mrs. Galloway. But then, you wouldn’t know any of them, would you?”