The Greatest Evil (38 page)

“But,” he continued, “I don’t have any firm plans for after retirement. Not even where I’m going to live. So”—he turned to Zack—“I hope our hew pastor will tolerate me a little while longer.”

The two priests, smiling, inclined their heads in a mutual bow.

“The future for me,” Koesler said, after a moment’s thought, “is kind of exciting, I think. There’s just all sorts of things opening up. I could go back to school, travel, baby-sit parishes, see if they want me to teach in the seminary, take in some theater—I haven’t done much of that lately … Or,” he added, “all of the above.”

“Or,” Lieutenant Tully suggested, “you might continue solving crimes.” He turned to the inspector as if for affirmation, then back to Koesler. “We can use all the help we can get.

“And,” he added, “though I didn’t think so when we first met, I’ve got to admit: You’ve got a knack for it.”

Everyone laughed.

“This is funny,” Inspector Koznicki said, “but the other evening we were watching a rerun of that detective series, “Diagnosis Murder,” where Dick Van Dyke plays a physician who is a consultant to the local police department. And”—he smiled at Koesler—“I thought of you.”

Koesler’s brow knitted; he looked at his longtime friend. “That thought never entered my mind. But”—he grinned—“as James Bond says, Never say never.”

The party was doing the trick. Father Koesler was feeling increasingly relaxed.

Bishop Vincent Delvecchio was feeling increasingly distressed as he drove north on Woodward Avenue toward his parish.

He never should have agreed to tonight’s meeting with Bob Koesler. To all appearances, Bob was feeling fine; whereas he himself was under the weather, to say the very least.

Vince could not recall a headache ever afflicting him as agonizingly as this one was. Undoubtedly, that argument with Bob had worsened his condition.

Even compromised as he was by that horrible pain, he’d done pretty well in the thrust and parry with Bob—until it came to the matter of Tally’s taking the Oath and Profession.

Vincent knew that Cardinal Boyle did not much like him. That was evidenced when he was about to deny Church burial to Hackett’s wife. Boyle had come down on him pretty hard.

Clever of Bob to bring up that incident! Vince’s demand that Tully take the Oath publicly would look silly in the context of Vince’s having turned down Fred Haun’s proposal for a similar public ceremony. Added to which was Pete Jackson’s flat-out refusal to swear—an unfortunate precedent. Boyle would never support his bishop when he heard all that.

How had Bob found out about Hackett?

It must’ve been Joe McCarthy.

McCarthy and Jackson! True, the Church needed priests, but if Vince were an ordinary, his priests would know they would be disciplined. Priest shortage or not!

Bob was wrong in citing Beth and Tully as means to get even with Tony and him. That was because Bob didn’t trust in providence as Vince did. Beth and Tully had been sent to Vincent by God to make His will done on earth as it is in heaven. It was cruel of Bob to think otherwise.

Ohhh! The pain in Vince’s head forced a moan from his lips. After all, why shouldn’t God provide Vince a special measure of Divine Providence? He had passed the test with that Olivier woman. And besides the woman, Bob was the only one who knew about Vince’s major temptation.

The pain was becoming close to unbearable. It brought to mind his mother. Perhaps he should join his suffering with that of Christ, as Bob claimed his mother had.

She couldn’t have done that … not without confiding in Vince. No, it was crystal clear what she’d intended to use the morphine for. God may not have granted the miracle cure he’d prayed for, but God surely was not going to let Mother condemn herself to hell as a result of the greatest evil.

If anyone on earth, anyone in all of history, understood what Vincent had to do, it was Mother.

He was driving a steady fifty mph, the official speed limit on this section of Woodward’s boulevard. He would keep the law even though he yearned to be home in bed coping with all this pain.

He thought again of Bob Koesler. He may have won this confrontation, but there would be others. Vince would even the score. He would triumph for God.

Bob probably was enjoying himself tonight. But even though he was retiring, there would be a way to get at him. If nothing else, Vince could depend on Divine Providence.

A pain like nothing he had ever experienced washed over him like an angry wave.

He ducked involuntarily as if he could somehow elude this overpowering throbbing. When he raised his head he realized he was about to hit the left-hand curb. He tried to swerve, but it was too late; he and his car were hurtling across the median strip.

Flashing before his eyes was the image from his favorite morality tale: the disgraced priest flying off the freeway hell-bent on suicide. The greatest evil. But Vince wasn’t attempting suicide. This was an …

The car was almost wrapped around a huge tree.

Vince was above the car now. Everything seemed quite peaceful. He looked down and saw two wheels spinning in place.

Then he seemed to be somewhere else. It was dark—very dark. There was a light in the distance. It was moving toward him. It was … his mother. Her arms were open to him. Then she faded. It was dark again.

For some reason he dreaded what was to come.

Acknowledgments

Renée DeRoche, Director of Camp Operations, St. Vincent de Paul Society, Detroit

Inga Eccles, Organist

Sister Bernadelle Grimm, R.S.M., Pastoral Care Department, Mercy Hospital, Detroit (retired)

The Reverend Anthony Kosnik, S.T.D., J.C.B., Professor of Ethics, Marygrove College, Detroit

Thomas J. Petinga, Jr., D.O., FACEP, Chief of Emergency Services, St. Joseph Mercy Hospital, Pontiac

Arthur Schaffran, Director of Substance Abuse Services, Beyer Hospital (retired)

Werner U. Spitz, M.D., Professor of Forensic Pathology, Wayne State University

Mary Helen Wegrzynowicz, Lay Procurator Advocate, Archdiocese of Detroit

With special thanks to the reference staff of the Detroit Public Library and to Pete Fierle, Information Services Manager, Pro Football Hall of Fame, Canton, Ohio

Any technical error is the author’s

In memory of the Reverend William C. Cunningham

The Greatest Evil
copyright © 1998, 2013 by Gopits, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever except in the case of reprints in the context of reviews.

Andrews McMeel Publishing, LLC
an Andrews McMeel Universal company,
1130 Walnut Street, Kansas City, Missouri 64106

www.andrewsmcmeel.com

This is a work of fiction and, as such, events described herein are creations of the author’s imagination. Any relation to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental and accidental.

ISBN: 9781449423773

Photo by IstockPhoto/arsenik. Cover design by Kevin Williamson.

William X. Kienzle
died in December 2001. He was a Detroit parish priest for twenty years before leaving the priesthood. He began writing his popular mystery series after serving as an editor and director at the Center for Contemplative Studies at the University of Dallas.

1. The Rosary Murders

2. Death Wears a Red Hat

3. Mind Over Murder

4. Assault with Intent

5. Shadow of Death

6. Kill and Tell

7. Sudden Death

8. Deathbed

9. Deadline for a Critic

10. Marked for Murder

11. Eminence

12. Masquerade

13. Chameleon

14. Body Count

15. Dead Wrong

16. Bishop as Pawn

17. Call No Man Father

18. Requiem for Moses

19. The Man Who Loved God

20. The Greatest Evil

21. No Greater Love

22. Till Death

23. The Sacrifice

24. The Gathering

Chapter One

The time of pressure, stress, and tension was supposed to be past for Father Robert Koesler. After all, as of several weeks ago, he was officially in retirement. Or, as bureaucratic correctness preferred, he had achieved Senior Priest Status.

Whatever, he had stepped down and away from the day-to-day parochial duties that had filled the better part of half a century of priestly tenure. And no sooner had he become a Senior Priest than several of his former parishioners with impressive connections arranged a chaplaincy for him aboard a cruise ship.

Initially, he didn’t see the point. Here he had just been relieved of official responsibility for the care of souls only to shift his workload to the high seas. With some reluctance he went along with the “gift” that was at least well intentioned.

But, as the two-week cruise progressed, island- and port-hopping around the Mediterranean, relaxation took on a whole new broader and deeper meaning.

His total responsibility aboard was to offer Mass at five each afternoon in the ship’s auditorium. Beyond that there was sunning on the various decks; skeet; reading; dolphin watching; splashing about in the ship’s pool, or off the beaches of the various ports of call; attending interesting lectures; enjoying evening entertainment in the lounge; and eating, eating, eating—each meal more delectable than the previous.

As for the care of souls, if any of the passengers experienced a problem, spiritual, psychological, or even physical, evidently such plight could wait until after the final docking.

All in all, it was the best vacation Father Koesler had ever experienced. He would for the rest of his life be grateful to those who had arranged this busman’s holiday.

Too soon the ship arrived at home port, whence Father Koesler flew back to Detroit. His room awaited him at St. Joseph’s parish—or Old St. Joe’s downtown, as it was more familiarly known.

His residing there was on borrowed time as it were. He had for many years been St. Joseph’s pastor and only priest. However, on becoming Senior Priest, at least in the Archdiocese of Detroit, one was expected to move on and out.

The bureaucracy had decided that a new pastor would have a better shot at a smoother, more successful takeover if he was not in competition with his predecessor. Also, absent the former pastor’s presence, disgruntled parishioners would not be tempted to try the whipsaw ploy.

While Father Koesler had every intention of establishing himself elsewhere, there hadn’t been time for this before the cruise.

Now he was “home.” But happily his successor, Father Zachary Tully, seemed in no hurry to have Koesler gone. So, with no pressure to vacate, he determined first to come up to speed.

First he fingered through the phone messages. They fell into neat categories of priority. Mary O’Connor, longtime secretary to Father Koesler, had arranged them according to her perception of their importance.

Mary had intended to retire when Father Koesler did. But she took pity on Father Tully and offered to stay till a suitable replacement could be found. Both Koesler and Tully were grateful.

Atop the pile was a message from Bishop Patrick McNiff, rector of St. Joseph’s Seminary. Although it had come in the day after Koesler had left for the cruise, and noted no urgency, only a request to return the call, Mary must have been impressed by the title of bishop, ergo the priority placement.