by Henry Hack
“What do you think the chances are of that happening, Mike?”
“Unfortunately, slim to none, I believe.”
“Me, too, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”
“Fingers crossed? You heathen! Shouldn’t you be praying to Jesus instead?”
“Every day, Mike. Every day.”
. . .
Vivian was relieved the mystery of the second man at the murder scene was finally solved. She said, “That burden of not knowing who it was all these years took a tremendous toll on you. And the fact the man was known to us all these years as a friend and Priest, and is now the Bishop of Brooklyn is unbelievable. Maybe it’s an omen, Mike.”
“An omen? How so?”
“To come back to your church, or my church, or a Jewish temple. It doesn’t matter, but you need to restore your faith in a supreme being.”
I smiled and said, “I’ll think about it, Viv,” as a vision of Mort Stern’s tattoo flashed through my mind. There is no God, Mikey. Six million of us. Where was he?
“Good,” she said, “remember, God works his wonders in mysterious ways. Father Frank Manzo. Wow! Oh, by the way, I understand you are treating a few of us to an expensive steak dinner at Peter Luger’s?”
“Who have you been gabbing with?”
“Barb, Richie’s wife. We’re looking for next weekend. I’ll make the reservation.”
“And I’ll definitely pick up the tab.”
“You bet your butt, you will.”
. . .
Two weeks went by and the dinner at Peter Luger’s was now but a delicious memory. The medium-rare porterhouse steak, the dark-red cabernet blend, the baked potatoes, the flaming dessert, all served professionally by grumpy, old, male white waiters who acted as if they were doing you a big favor by being seated at their table. Some things never change, and dammit, sometimes that’s a good thing.
On the following Tuesday morning the Bishop called and he said, “I heard from Cardinal Callahan a few minutes ago.”
“And?”
“He wants me to gather up all my documentation and notes on what I’ve discovered – the originals and any and all copies. I’m to deliver them to him in his Manhattan office ASAP, whereupon he will personally fly them to Rome for examination by his superiors.”
“Whereupon they will be promptly shredded and burned,” I said.
“Not according to the Cardinal, Mike. He said, ‘They will bring them to Pope John Paul if the information is deemed accurate, and will be guided by his Holiness’s decision.’”
“Wanna bet the Pope never gets a glance at them?”
“No, but I’m hopeful. I have to give them a chance.”
“You’re certainly not going to give them all the copies though, are you?”
“Not on your life, Mike. I may be hopeful, but I’m not fucking crazy.”
“Spoken like a true Marine,” I said. “Keep me in the loop. Oh, I have a suggestion. Make me a copy of all your records and let me keep it.”
“May I ask why?”
“Insurance, Frank. Not that I don’t trust Elliott, but we don’t know how far the reach of the church powers go. Can they sway the police commissioner to jump in and destroy the files? Who else knows about all this? Maybe I’m paranoid, but right now the one person you should trust is me, and maybe Elliott. And keep your copy in your office safe. Let me know when I can come over to pick up my copy. I have some more suggestions for you.”
“I’ll call you soon.”
. . .
Two days later I was in the Bishop’s office, and with the door closed and locked, I went over all the files he had. I said, “This is a lot of paper, Frank. I can’t believe these names of victims all came from the New York Archdiocese.”
“They don’t, Mike. This contains the victim’s names sent to me by the other sixteen Bishops.”
“Did you inform Cardinal Callahan of the names of those Bishops?”
“No, he didn’t ask, and I didn’t volunteer.”
“But he knows there are others?”
“Yes.”
“How about the Cardinals in Rome?”
“I told them of what I knew in the Archdiocese of New York. They don’t yet know of any other Diocese’s involvement.”
“When is Callahan coming back?”
“I don’t know. A few days, I think.”
“It’s going to be important for you to get a read from him when you next speak with him as to what happened on his visit. The reaction to the list, and what he feels will be their next course of action.”
“You mean to interrogate him like you would if you had the chance?”
“Yeah, Frank, but you’re probably as good at it as I am, if not better. All those confessions you heard? You knew who was bullshitting you and who was telling the truth.”
“After a few years, I most certainly did.”
“We’ll hold off on the security measures for now. We’ll decide what to implement after your talk with the Cardinal. Oh, does Brian have the combination for your safe?”
“Yes, and I trust him with my life. He has never betrayed any confidence in the five or six years he has been my secretary.”
“What’s in there besides your copy of the files?”
“Important diocesan records and a lot of cash.”
“I want you to change the combination to the safe right now, but do not inform Brian. Not that I don’t trust him, but I don’t trust someone higher up asking him to open your safe after the church bosses whack your holy ass.”
Frank smiled and shook his head. He said, “Your paranoia knows no bounds.”
“Paranoia saved my ass a few times, Bishop. You should start developing some yourself.”
“I guess that will depend on my next conversation with the Cardinal, won’t it?”
“I guess it will,” I said, gathering up my copy of the list. “And call me with the new combination to your safe right after you change it.”
TWENTY-SIX
A week later my phone rang and Bishop Manzo said, “I just got off the phone with Cardinal Callahan. I believe they’re going to bury it, and they won’t make the Pope aware of anything.”
“I figured that. Give me the details.”
“Cardinal Callahan was directed to obtain any other allegations of sexual abuse his other Bishops may have in their possession and forward them to Rome. He feels the other four American Cardinals will be likewise directed.”
“Did Callahan come right out and say they were going to bury it?”
“No, but he did say he was glad he was hitting the mandatory retirement age of seventy-five in a few months, and this would become someone else’s problem.”
“That someone else could be you, Frank. A big promotion for your silence.”
“Could be, if they don’t whack me instead.”
“Now who’s paranoid,” I said laughing. “But you have to take some action right away.”
“Like what?”
“Call those other Bishops in your group and tell them to lay low. If they are surveyed by their Cardinals, they should divulge nothing for their own safety. Make it sound bad – and it is. I wouldn’t say their lives are in danger, but their careers in the church would be severely damaged. You can come up with the right words.”
“I’m beginning to be more than a little concerned, Mike.”
“Good, now how long are you going to wait?”
“Wait?”
“Yeah, before you release the lis
ts of violators and the allegations against them?”
“Right after Callahan retires and I brief his replacement of my plans.”
“That’s too long. How did the Cardinals in Rome leave it with Callahan?”
“They told him to stay silent until he hears from them.”
“That will be never. I would give this no more than a month, Frank. We’ll install the security devices and CCTV systems. After that you may have to push the issue.”
“How?”
“Call Callahan and demand he gets an answer from Rome on what they are doing to address these serious allegations.”
“John Callahan is a good man. Can’t we wait until he’s retired and out of the picture?”
“Frank, think about that. He can’t be out of the picture. Never. Most of that shit happened on his watch. He can’t pass it on to the new guy in the red hat.”
I heard him sigh and he quietly said, “Okay, a month.”
. . .
The month zipped by, and there was no call from Rome to Cardinal Callahan. When the Bishop put in the call to his Boss, I was sitting in the office and the speaker phone was enabled. “Good afternoon, Your Eminence,” he said.
“Hello Francis, how are you?”
“I’m fine, and I hope you are, too.”
“I’ve been in better health, but I’ll be relieved of this office in a few more months. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you had heard back from Rome on the material you delivered to them? Did they reach a decision?”
“No, I have not heard back, but may I offer you some advice?”
“Certainly, Your Eminence.”
“You are in contention to succeed me here in the Archdiocese. This mission of yours will definitely ruin that opportunity. Give up this crusade. It’s not good for you, or for me, or for the catholic church.”
So he did get a call from Rome!
“But Your Eminence –”
“No buts, Francis. Take this message and listen to it closely. I can’t protect you if you persist in this unholy quest.”
While they were speaking I scribbled a few words on a sheet of paper and passed it over to Frank. He read them and said essentially what I had written. “Yes, Your Eminence, I will cease my efforts. As always, your wish is my command. Perhaps things will change in the future of their own accord.”
“That’s the spirit, Francis! Remember, these allegations are merely that – allegations. I’d bet ninety percent are untrue, maybe ninety-nine percent.”
“Yes, Your Eminence. Thank you for your concern and your assistance.”
“You’re very welcome, Cardinal Manzo.”
When we disconnected I said, “He got the call and he got the message. Now you have the message. Are you going to heed that message, Cardinal?”
“Fuck you, Mike. In our long acquaintance you know me a helluva lot better than that.”
“There you go, jarhead, swearing again – but maybe the Cardinal is right.”
“Wh-a-a-t?”
“Listen, if you get the powerful red hat maybe you can institute your own cleanup and reforms. If you leave it alone for now, you could postpone or prevent getting whacked – actually, or professionally.”
“You obviously don’t have a clue as to the real power of a Cardinal in the United States. It’s what Rome allows. Much like the power of the chief of detectives is limited by what the police commissioner allows.”
“They’d kill you as a Cardinal, too?”
“Kill me? I know I mused about it, but now that you say it out loud…”
“Yeah, and I’m starting to think if they are going to do it, they are going to do it soon. Maybe make that pre-emptive strike before you can go public with this.”
“But they believe they have all the copies of the lists of allegations. There is nothing for them to fear or for me to release, right?”
“Give me a break, Frank. Do you believe this clan of powerful Cardinals got their positions because they are stupid? They know you kept a copy. And even if they believed you were too dumb to keep one, they can’t take a chance. You may be a dead man walking soon, I’m afraid.”
“Shit! What do I do now?”
I thought for a few moments and said, “Here’s what I want you to do. Write a letter and send copies to the Brooklyn North Detective Boro Commander, the Brooklyn South Detective Boro Commander, the Queens Detective Boro Commander, and the Chief of Detectives over at One Police Plaza in Manhattan. Send them by certified mail, return receipt requested. When those receipts come back, give them to me. I also want a copy of your letter. Then put another copy of your letter and a photocopy of the mail receipts with the files in your safe. Oh, include the new combination to your safe on the chief of detectives’ letter, but it doesn’t matter if the files disappear. I have copies already.”
“I’m not following your reasoning here.”
“If something happens to you I want to know if the chief had gotten the word from the PC, or the Cardinal, to get the lists from your safe and squelch their disclosure.”
“You do have a devious mind, Mike.”
“Not devious. Focused would be a better word. Focused on preserving your life, and your mission.”
“What should I put in the letters?”
“Say that you have information of wrongdoing in the church – allegations of pedophilia and sexual abuse committed by a huge number of priests in the Archdiocese and your Diocese – and that you trust the church hierarchy will address those allegations promptly. However, in case they decide to ‘shoot the messenger’ and you suffer an untimely demise, you wish your death be investigated by your good friend and able investigator, Lieutenant Michael Simon and his team from Queens Homicide.”
“You are starting to scare me, Mike.”
“Good, I hope I have, because I believe the threat is real. Limit your outdoor excursions until those letters are mailed and the receipts returned. I’ll be curious to see who calls you, if any of them do. Who’s your best friend of the four?”
“The Brooklyn North Detective Boro Commander, Deputy Chief Roger Hendriks. Oh, and the patrol boss, Assistant Chief Kevin Grogan, is a good friend, also.”
“Let’s stay with the detective commanders. Are you ready to write?”
“I’m not a great typist, Mike.”
“You write it out longhand. We’ll both edit, and I’ll type them up.”
. . .
Five days later, I breathed a slight sigh of relief. The mail receipts and a copy of the Bishop’s letter, along with the files, were in my possession, safely stored at my home. All the four chiefs who had received the letter personally called Frank and expressed their concern and offered whatever assistance he might need. As per our plan, he said he had taken some precautionary measures and hoped those measures and the offered assistance from the NYPD would not be necessary. He said he had confidence the church leaders would address the problem in a short time.
But then Frank told me of his conversation with Chief of Detectives, Kevin O’Connor, which was a bit more probing. “He specifically asked me about you, Mike. He wanted to know if I had told you I was requesting you to lead the investigation if I happened to die a mysterious death.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told him yes, as we discussed. He then asked me the extent of your knowledge of the sex abuse allegations, the locations of the lists, and verified with me my safe’s new combination. And, also according to plan, I told him you had no knowledge of any of it.”
“Good work Frank. Anything else?”
&n
bsp; “Yes, the chief persisted. He wanted to know if you prodded me on why I thought I might get whacked. I told him you did, then added I told you I might be paranoid and not in any danger after all.”
“Do you think the chief bought your explanation?”
“I believe so, Mike, and then he said, ‘Bishop, what are you going to do if your superiors seem to be ignoring your information? How long are you prepared to wait before taking action?’ I told O’Connor I haven’t figured that out yet. He told me not to act rashly and to call him first before I did anything. I said I would, and thanked him for his concern.”
“Be super careful until you make your decision. And, call me first, not O’Connor.”
“Now I have some thinking, and some soul-searching, to do.”
“Oh, you did record that conversation with O’Connor like I told you?”
“I did.”
“Good. Stay alert, and when you are out and about, which I suggest you keep to a bare minimum, keep an eye out for any suspicious people on foot or in cars that may be tailing you. For all we know, Rome has already dispatched a couple of zips to take you out.”
“Zips?”
“You don’t know what a zip is?”
“No.”
“Are you sure you’re Italian?”
“Uh, Giuseppe Mastronunzio, remember?”
“Do you remember when mob boss Carmine Galante got blasted away while eating lunch in Joe and Mary’s restaurant in Bushwick, here in your own Diocese of Brooklyn?”
“Vaguely, that was many years ago, wasn’t it?”
“Twenty-one, to be exact. It happened in July, 1979.”
“What about it? It seemed those mob guys were killing each other every day way back then.”
“That they were. Now, do you recall who killed Galante?”
