Betrayal of Faith

by Mark M Bello

  “Then we need to take care of him,” the Voice intimated.

  “What does ‘take care of’ mean?” Foley gulped.

  “Nothing to be concerned about, Father. Perhaps a transfer or paid retirement to a warmer climate?” the Voice reassured.

  “Well, he’s an old man. Maybe he’d welcome a suggestion like that,” Foley placated himself.

  “I’ll take care of it with Ohio personnel,” the Voice promised.

  “Shall I talk to him?”

  “No, we’ll handle everything from here. Are there any others we need to be concerned about?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t think so is not reassuring.” The Voice cautioned.

  Foley was befuddled. The Voice was a frightening man. Foley willed himself to calm. “I know there is no danger,” he lied. “There’s no one else left who knows anything, other than cops. Church operatives did a wonderful job of keeping this quiet. Hardly anyone in town knew anything happened.”

  I know, the Voice reflected. I was in charge of damage control. One of my special talents is to not take anything for granted. Berea’s collective mouths must be kept shut.

  “They did do a great job,” the Voice agreed. “There are people within the church who specialize in minimizing unfair slander. Thanks to their efforts, we should be fine. Thanks for the call.”

  “Will there be anything else?” Foley feared the response.

  “No, Father . . . well, yes . . . there is one more thing,” the Voice decided.

  “What is it?” Foley wondered.

  “If the investigator comes back or if a parishioner indicates he has contacted him or her, will you please call us again?”

  “Absolutely, I will,” Foley sighed, relieved. “We can’t have one rogue priest’s problems causing a major scandal.” Why don’t you send this guy to a monastery or something?

  “My thoughts, exactly. Good-bye, Father,” the Voice charmed, as much his personality could allow.

  “Good-bye.”

  As the Voice hung up the phone, he turned to the members.

  “Love visited Berea. He’s asking questions. He spoke to the St. Pat’s custodian. Whether the guy knows anything or not, we’ve got to get him the hell out of there.”

  “I’ll get Parks on it,” a member responded, eager to please.

  “He needs to be gone by tonight. Offer a financial package and a new identity. Does he have a family?”

  “No idea.”

  “Check back with the pastor. Tell him he needs a new custodian.”

  “Will do. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, have Parks get surveillance on Love.”

  “Do you think that’s wise? Love is a trained investigator. He’ll spot a tail in a second.”

  “I don’t care if he knows we’re following him. I want to know where he is at all times.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s it. Get going.”

  The member was already out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Following his rather unpleasant conversation with Father Foley, Micah spent several days in Berea, canvassing the neighborhood around St. Pat’s. He’d uncovered absolutely nothing. He sat in his car in the parking lot of the local McDonald’s, sipping a scalding cup of coffee. He knew why that lady who sued McDonald’s had third-degree burns on her crotch. This stuff is hot! Damn it!

  Gerry was active in this town. Micah knew it. How could the church buy off a whole town? Maybe the townspeople really didn’t know anything. Could the families of abused kids be the only ones who knew anything? How would he locate these people? He had no leads. Even in a small town like Berea, the chance he would happen to knock on a previous victim’s front door was quite remote. The church shipped them out of here, far, far away.

  “Wait a minute. That’s it. They don’t live here anymore! Assume the church paid them off and shipped them out. Who moved out of town at the same time the priest did?” Micah postulated, aloud. City hall!

  He placed his coffee cup in the MKZ’s fancy cup holder and drove off. If the woman who sued McDonald’s had an MKZ, she’d never have burned her crotch. Then again, she’d never have sued, and she wouldn’t have all that dough. She could afford a Lincoln now.

  A few minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot next to city hall. He walked into the century-old building, checked the directory, and took the stairs to the second floor to the register of deeds office. The clerk was a bored, nice-looking, brunette. As Micah approached the counter, the woman straightened, smiled, and looked directly into Micah’s eyes.

  “May I help you with something, sir?”

  Micah was mesmerized. Nice-looking women were a weakness. “Y-yes, I-I was wondering if you could provide me with a list of names of people who sold their homes in Berea from 2010 to 2015? I’d also like to know the prices they received for their homes. I am mostly interested in the neighborhood near St. Patrick’s Church,” he stammered.

  “May I ask what this is for?”

  Is she curious or nosy? “It is my understanding these are public records. I don’t need to have a reason now, do I?”

  “Well . . . no, you don’t. I just thought . . .” she blushed.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he chirped. “I was only teasing. I’m actually a real estate agent,” he lied, “and I’m thinking of opening an office here. I’d like to know what prices the homes are selling for and how long it takes the owner to sell. That’s why I need the names. If they moved out of town, I’d like to contact them, maybe find out if there is anything about Berea that caused them to leave. I’m cautious about where I open an office.”

  “Sorry if I was nosy, bad habit,” she admitted. “I can get you that information. Berea’s a great place to live. Property values are increasing all the time. You’d be very successful here. We have only two real estate agencies downtown, and the owner of one of them is almost ninety years old.”

  “Thanks. I’m sure you’re right. I like what I’ve seen so far, very quaint, very quiet,” he lied. Micah hated small towns. He couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Berea and back to Detroit. Why couldn’t Bartholomew transfer from Chicago or New York? Now those were towns!

  “Back in a minute,” she promised.

  He watched her walk to the file room. Nice ass. I could enjoy spending time with her if she didn’t live here. He heard her punching computer keys, establishing the perimeters of her search, and then the loud whine of a machine. They need new equipment.

  “Here we are,” she reappeared from the file room. She handed Micah the list. He gave it a quick scan. Perfect! The list contained fifty names or more. Some had addresses, some didn’t. Most were from the area around St. Pat’s. It would be relatively easy to find them. He glanced at the clerk. Even nicer from the front, nice tits, full lips, beautiful eyes, long jet-black hair . . .

  “If you need anything further, my name is Jessica.”

  “Jessica—thanks for your assistance.”

  “My pleasure,” she chirped. “Oh, one more thing.”

  “You owe me ten dollars for the records search.”

  “Ten dollars?” he yelped.

  “That’s what the register of deeds makes me charge. It’s not my fault,” she tensed. Jessica didn’t realize he was teasing. Apparently, ten dollars for a records search was a big issue with the locals.

  “Lighten up, Jessica. I’m just teasing. Ten dollars is fine,” he turned on the old Love charm.

  Jessica smiled, relieved. She took his ten and prepared a receipt.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Jessica purred.

  “Can you answer a few questions for me?”

  “I can try.”

  “Are you a member of St. Pat’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you been a member?”

  “All my life, almost thirty years.”

  “Are you married?”

  “No, divorced.”

 
Good. “Can you look at this list and tell me if anyone was a member of St. Pat’s?”

  “Sure. I don’t know everyone, but I’m sure I’ll recognize some of the names. Let’s have a look.” Jessica was eager to help. “Let’s see,” she studied the list. “MacLean, O’Connell, Jacobson, Pelto, this one, that one, and . . .” Jessica fell into a silent study, circling names. When she finished, Jessica handed Micah back the list.

  “That’s about it,” she confirmed.

  “Do any of these names stand out in your mind? Did they leave suddenly or suspiciously?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Without much notice, neighbors who had no plans to move put their houses up for sale. The houses get sold quickly, and the neighbors leave town without saying goodbye to anyone.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” Jessica wondered

  “Not sure, but those are the questions I’m asking. Are you being nosy again?”

  “Oops, I guess I am.” She giggled.

  Cute laugh, too. Micah would like to get to know her better. He’d have to make a return visit.

  “What about it, Jessica? Anything like that happen with anyone on the list?” He coaxed.

  She paused, thinking, finally replying with zeal. “As a matter of fact, yes! The MacLean family left town just like that! They hardly talked to anyone. Put their house up for sale one day, sold it quickly, and took off, like in the middle of the night. A small town like this and nobody even saw a moving van? One day, the family was here. The next day, they were gone. It was bizarre.”

  “There’s no address on the list. Do you know where they went?” Micah had his first serious lead.

  “No idea.”

  Micah thanked her and walked out, yet wishing he had more time. He drove to the family’s former address and canvassed the houses in the area, looking for anything anybody could tell him. He was stumped at every turn. No one had any idea why the family moved. They left no forwarding address, no phone number for friends to keep in touch, no . . . nothing. His bullshit meter told him no one was stonewalling. These neighbors had zero knowledge of this family’s whereabouts.

  He did learn the MacLean’s had three boys, ages sixteen, thirteen, and eleven. That was something, but not much. In the end, he returned to city hall, where Jessica seemed to be waiting for him.

  “A couple more questions,” he smiled. “Did the MacLean’s have any family in the area?”

  “No, they moved here from out of town. They have no family here.”

  “How about good friends, people who might know more about things than you do?”

  “What does this have to do with selling real estate?” She challenged.

  “You’re being nosy again. As I mentioned, I’m just trying to find out if there is anything about this town I should be concerned with,” he fibbed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just naturally curious,” Jessica explained.

  “Me too,” Micah concurred. “You’d make a good detective.”

  “Do you really think so? That would be exciting,” she gushed.

  “Not really,” he ruminated. The grass is always greener on the other side. This is beyond exhilarating. I get to spend several worthless days in this for-shit small town, eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner at McDonald’s. Jessica was the only pleasant thing Micah had encountered.

  “Let me think for a second . . .” She returned the Maclean family situation, posturing, hand on her chin, index finger grazing her mouth. Suddenly, she shouted. “Good friends, yes! The O’Connell family!”

  “Where do I find the O’Connell family?”

  “You don’t,” she sighed. “They’re on the list too. In fact, they left almost as abruptly as the MacLean family.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Shortly after the MacLean family left town, the O’Connell’s left town—almost the exact same scenario.”

  “Almost? What’s the difference?”

  “The O’Connell’s lived here all their lives. They’ve got family here.”

  “Where do I find them?”

  “I’ll get you names and addresses. I believe Pat—that’s Mr. O’Connell—has a brother and parents living here. Pamela—that’s Mrs. O’Connell—has a sister and brother-in-law living here.”

  “Let me guess. The O’Connell’s had teenage sons too, right?”

  “Yes, they have two boys, fifteen and twelve.”

  Micah was elated. “Jessica, I love you,” he gushed. “You’ve been very, very helpful. How can I repay you?”

  “How long are you in town? You can take me to dinner,” she flirted. Micah was unsettled.

  Chapter Thirty

  While Micah was finally making headway in Berea, Zack was busy noticing up depositions of Gerry’s current and former supervisors. Zack’s strategy in deposing the priests and bishops was threefold: First, establish knowledge or notice of Gerry’s predisposition to pedophilia and a lack of action by his supervisors to remove him from contact with teenage parishioners. Second, prove a policy of institutional denial by the church that several members of the clergy were pedophiles, the numbers of pedophile priests and incidents of molestation were increasing, and, as a result of its denial, no policies were developed to deal with the consequences of their actions. Third, prove Gerry engaged in this conduct with other young parishioners before his placement in Farmington and the church’s official response to his prior behavior was to transfer the priest and cover up the crimes.

  A beautiful conference room in the Brodman Longworth law offices—on the thirty-fifth floor of the RenCen—served as the site of the initial depositions taken in the case. The room faced south with a spectacular view of the Detroit River and Windsor, Canada, across the river. Walsh was present as the principal legal representative of the priest and the church. A couple of church officials were present and were ordered to keep quiet throughout the proceeding. Jennifer was also present. She insisted on attending every hearing, motion, and deposition.

  Father Jonathan Costigan was Zack’s first deponent. Costigan testified he knew several priests in parishes throughout the world were homosexual, but it was a giant leap to assume homosexuality was a precursor to pedophilia. He testified that nothing in Gerry’s transfer file from Berea indicated anything that would have alerted him to the possibility that Gerry was a pedophile.

  Zack interrogated Costigan carefully. He was acutely aware Costigan was friendly to Jennifer and helped her uncover the truth. Still, it was imperative Costigan testify in a manner depicting him to be a loyal member of the clergy, ready and willing to protect his brethren. His testimony would establish, as Gerry’s immediate supervisor in Farmington, Jon was provided no information about Gerry’s history of pedophilia. As soon as he discovered Gerry molested the Tracey boys, he notified church officials. Gerry was suspended, and the Tracey family was offered therapy. Zack continued the questioning.

  “How did you discover the Tracey boys were sexually involved with Father Gerry?” Zack demanded.

  Costigan squirmed and rocked in one of the many executive swivel chairs that surrounded the conference table. He looked to the sky and considered his answer, started, paused, restarted, paused, and finally responded. “When the kids returned from the camping trip, I overheard a couple of them remark about how strange it was the Tracey boys spent almost the entire weekend alone with Father Gerry. The other kids were jealous that they were excluded. I looked in on Jake and Kenny and observed their behavior. I feared that something serious might have happened, so I notified the diocese.”

  “Why did you notify the diocese?”

  “I was afraid Father Gerry sexually molested the boys.”

  “What led you to that conclusion?”

  Costigan continued to squirm and rock in the executive chair. “These cases are not common. I want to stress that. However, I’ve seen enough of them to recognize symptoms. In this case, the fact the boys spent the weekend alone with the priest and were acting sad, a
loof and angry, I felt notification was warranted.”

  “But you didn’t feel notification to Mrs. Tracey was warranted?” Zack pressed.

  “That’s not true,” Father Costigan challenged.

  “Did you notify her of your suspicions?”

  “Not right away.”

  “When did you tell her?”

  “Recently. About two months after I notified the church.”

  “Two months? Why did you wait so long?”

  “I was concerned about my church,” Father Costigan conceded. “Gerry had been at Lakes for all of a month. I’ve been building this parish and parishioner relationships for over thirty years. A scandal like this could destroy everything I worked so hard to build. I discussed it with the hierarchy. It was decided the best thing for all would be to suspend Gerry, provide treatment for the boys, and avoid scandal by keeping things quiet. After a while, I notified Jennifer.” He lied to himself, trying to justify his behavior in his mind.

  “Whose idea was it to keep silent?” Zack continued.

  “A member of the church hierarchy. I don’t know his name.”

  “You are under oath, Father,” Zack warned.

  “I swear. I don’t know his name. His identity is unknown. All I know is he handles these things for the church.”

  “Let me get this straight,” countered Zack. “You’re telling me there is some secret fellow in the church whose job it is to deal with molestation cases when they occur?”

  “Objection! Calls for speculation,” interjected Walsh.

  “I remind you this is discovery, not trial. I’ll take the answer,” admonished Zack.

  Father Costigan stuttered, “Will you repeat the question?”

  “Yeah. Is there some secret guy who handles molestation cases for the church on the sly?” Zack charged.

  “Same objection,” interjected Walsh.

  “Yeah, yeah . . . answer the question, Father,” Zack insisted.

  Father Costigan hesitated. “The answer is a qualified yes.”

  “What’s the qualification?” Zack bore in.

  “I don’t know if his role is limited to molestation cases. He might investigate other matters for the church, some sort of security man,” Costigan speculated.