Call No Man Father

by William X. Kienzle

  “Of course, in that super-Catholic country, they had no access to any means of birth control—or even knowledge that such a thing existed. They were lucky in the old days if they even knew what caused pregnancy. They wouldn’t have known what to do with a condom or a diaphragm, or an IUD if you gave them one.”

  “No!” Koesler protested.

  “Yes,” Smith affirmed. “Then, since such an unfortunate woman was a shame and a scandal to her family, nine times out of ten she would have to spend the rest of her life in the convent. Not as a nun—more like a slave … doing laundry mostly.”

  “Wow! Makes you wonder what the Irish clergy were doing when they studied the Gospel story of the woman taken in adultery. Christ forgave and freed her. Sounds like the Irish Church condemned and imprisoned them.”

  Before Smith could reply, they heard steps coming up the granite staircase. First Lieutenant Tully came into view, then Inspector Koznicki and the medical examiner appeared. Koesler tried to read Tully’s face to get some glimmer of what the autopsy had revealed. But as usual, the detective’s expression was unfathomable. Koesler had known few to match Tully’s ability to lock emotions inside.

  The priests stood as the trio approached. “Now, we’re working on a murder case,” Tully said.

  “Murder?!” Koesler was as confused as he was astounded. “But I thought Father Hanson simply fell down a flight of stairs in the dark!”

  “More likely he was pushed,” Dr. Moellman suggested.

  “Pushed!” Smith flinched.

  Koesler, brow knitted, looked at the inspector inquiringly.

  Instead of responding to the point at hand, Koznicki nodded toward Moellman. “I don’t know whether you gentlemen are aware that Dr. Moellman does not respond to emergency calls these days. His assistants handle them. He came this morning because I called him. Dr. Moellman knows that I would not have called if finding out what happened to Hanson were not a top priority.”

  “But murder!” Smith waved his hand in front of his face as if brushing away cobwebs. “How? Why?”

  Thanks to the doc we know how. Now we’ve gotta find out why … and who.”

  “So,” Koesler said, “how?”

  “It looked like an accident. Or, it was made to look like an accident,” Tully said. “Hanson tumbled down the staircase all right. Maybe more than one time.”

  “More than …!” Smith seemed thunderstruck.

  “He hit everything that stairwell had to offer, and then some. He was covered with contusions—bruises. It looks like both legs were fractured, along with most of his ribs. Even his fingernails were broken.”

  “Is that it?” Smith asked. “Because the body had more injuries than were expected in a fall downstairs?” The tone of Smith’s question, directed to the medical examiner, implied he thought this a fairly flimsy reason to suspect murder. “Is that why you think it wasn’t an accident?”

  “No.” Moellman responded in the manner of one not accustomed to having his pronouncements questioned. “It would be easier to explain this if you’re familiar with hanging.”

  “Hanging?”

  “Yes, as in ‘hanged by the neck until dead.’”

  “Capital punishment!”

  Moellman, at home in the arena, nodded. “Early on, when somebody was hanged, death came by suffocation.”

  Koesler knew he was not going to like this. Smith seemed to be taking it all in with equanimity.

  “Sometimes that suited the purpose, and sometimes not. Like: ‘It is the sentence of this court that you be taken from this place … and that you be there hanged by the neck until you are dead. With the emphasis on ‘until.’ Or, take the English custom of hang, draw, and quarter as a specialized punishment. The idea was to hang the victim by the neck, but not to kill him. Naturally, he fought death, and when his struggle was getting the best of him, the executioners would cut him down and put him on the rack and torture him by stretching him. But before he died of that, they’d cut him open—quarter him.”

  “I think we’re familiar with that, doctor,” Koesler said.

  “That’s why St. Thomas More was grateful to Henry VIII for commuting his sentence from being hanged, drawn, and quartered to merely being beheaded,” Koesler added for Tully’s benefit.

  “Who?”

  “Thomas More. He was the lord chancellor of England during the time of Henry VIII.”

  “Wait … they made a movie of that, didn’t they?”

  “A play and a movie: A Man for All Seasons.”

  “Correct.” The medical examiner was eager to regain the floor. “And then there came a time when people got a bit more humane. They still wanted criminals dead, but they changed their minds about the torture that went with hanging. They wanted the condemned to the quickly, instantaneously. That’s when hanging became sort of a science.”

  “A science?” Smith was dubious.

  “Yes … in a sense. Given a good strong rope, a lot depends on weight. The heavier the person, the farther he has to fall before he reaches the end of his rope—literally. Or if he weighs too much he could be decapitated when the body falls. Either way, death is about as instantaneous as anyone could want—”

  “But,” Koesler interrupted, “what does all this have to do with Father Hanson?”

  “Yes, I was just coming to that. Hanson died of a broken neck. Of course that was obvious from the start. It was the way his neck was broken that made me think—”

  “Of death by hanging?” Smith asked.

  “Correct. The other part of the equation, besides the length of the drop, was where to place the knot. Originally, it was usual to tighten the rope around the person’s neck with the knot at the rear. It took a long time and plenty of experience to decide that the knot had to be behind the ear so that when the rope was stretched full length, the neck was snapped to one side. Puts the head into hyperextension, back and to the side.”

  Koesler’s face bespoke the queasy feeling in his stomach. Moellman realized he’d better get to the point. “The obvious cause of death was Father Hanson’s broken neck. The assumption was that the fall caused it. But the fall didn’t explain the damage to the neck. The first and second vertebrae were fractured. The second vertebrae was shattered and the bone transected the spinal cord. Reminiscent of the ‘hangman’s fracture.’ And then I found what I was looking for at that stage.”

  “Not rope burns!” Smith said.

  “No. Better. Fingertip bruises! The red flag. Fingertip bruises, the size of a dime—five indenting around the victim’s jaw, and five in the rear of the neck.” The medical examiner looked quite pleased with himself.

  Inspector Koznicki picked up the thread. “The doctor is understandably cautious. He has listed the cause of death, officially, as a fracture of the neck in a manner undeterminable until such a time as the police investigate. That’s official,” he repeated.

  “What we think happened is that Father Hanson was attacked at the top of the staircase. The killer probably came up behind him. He grabbed the victim with the right hand, cupping the chin, with the left hand on the back of his neck. Then the perp twisted his head to the right and downward, doing all that damage to the vertebrae and the spinal cord.

  “Then he threw the dead body down the stairs. Maybe he even dragged the body back up and threw it down again. Either way, he wanted to make it look like an accident. And, if it weren’t for the doctor’s discernment that’s just the way it might have gone.”

  Moellman attempted no expression of modesty. Possibly such an emotion was not in his quiver. He merely nodded and headed back down the stairs toward his favorite theater of operations.

  26

  Inspector Koznicki climbed the stairs slowly. Perhaps, he thought, he was a little old for this sort of thing. Or maybe he had just been at it too long.

  He remembered early in his police career how excited and enthused he’d been by and about his work—solving crimes, unraveling mysteries, catching the bad guys. Now it see
med so senseless. Not his work, but the crimes. Yet they traveled hand in hand.

  What could there be about a Catholic priest, a recognized theologian, that would motivate someone to commit murder? To break a man’s neck?

  These were some of his thoughts as he studied the marble stairs on his way up to the morgue’s main floor.

  Now Koznicki affected as much animation as possible. Despite Dr. Moellman’s guarded official report, there was a murder to be solved, and these three people were vital to its solution.

  He addressed the two priests. “You understand then what seems to have happened to Father Hanson?”

  Both men nodded slowly.

  Koznicki smiled. “So then, you know that we have a murder to solve. Now, can either of you tell me”—he looked from one to the other priest—“who would kill Father Hanson? Why would anyone want him dead?”

  Silence.

  “Well …” Father Smith hesitated.

  “Go on, Father,” Koznicki encouraged. “Say whatever comes to mind. Nothing is absurd when a murderer must be caught.”

  “Well, this may be absurd. But before you came along, Bob and I were talking about a meeting we attended this evening—or, I guess yesterday evening. Cardinal Schinder invited us and some of the symposium’s panelists to a dinner meeting at the Lark”

  “The Lark!” Like almost all Detroiters, Koznicki knew of the Lark at least by reputation. He was surprised that a priest, even a Cardinal, could afford to treat a bunch of people to dinner there. That a man of the cloth could afford anything beyond the basic of life amazed the inspector. He was old-fashioned in many ways. “What was the purpose of the meeting?”

  “Cardinal Schinder seems displeased with some of the panel selections made for the symposium …” Smith looked at his watch. “… a symposium scheduled to begin in just a few hours. Father Hanson was supposed to be a panelist in the first of these sessions.”

  “What didn’t he like—the Cardinal, that is?” Tully was pleased already that these two priests would be handy … though Father Koesler had as yet contributed nothing.

  “He was dissatisfied with the spokesmen for the liberal opinions.”

  The creases in Tully’s forehead asked the question.

  Koesler attempted to explain. “There are six panel discussions that are supposed to stand as an introduction to what the pope will say at his Mass here in Detroit.”

  “Okay.” Tully turned his attention to Koesler.

  “The pope,” Koesler continued, “holds fairly conservative views. In order for this symposium to be extremely helpful as an introduction to the pope’s message, the conservative panelists should make a strong showing.”

  Rigged, Tully concluded. “Do the liberals stand a chance of winning—uh, or making a good showing?”

  “That may be the problem,” Koesler said. “They are not straw horses. They may make a very fine showing.”

  “And that would not help the pope’s message?”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  “So,” Tully asked, “who chooses the speakers?”

  Koesler turned toward Smith. “Monsignor Martin and I sort of collaborated on that,” Smith said.

  “Collaborated how?”

  “He established the sort of theological outlook he wanted, and I indicated which experts might be the best interpreters of that school of thought.”

  “So,” Tully said, “you think this Cardinal wanted Hanson out of the way.”

  “Not that he would be involved in any way with Hanson’s death.” Smith seemed shocked at the direction this conversation was taking.

  “Lieutenant,” Koesler said, “I was supposed to moderate that panel. Yesterday we talked our way through the presentation at a rehearsal. I can tell you that Father Hanson was about to drop a bombshell.”

  Koznicki rubbed his stubbled chin. “Bombshell? What sort of bombshell?”

  “In effect, he was going to deny the Church’s teaching on infallibility”

  Tully was surprised. He had heard the gossip and rumors concerning the purpose of this visit and he’d been informed by his Catholic wife as to the global consequences if this infallible teaching were proclaimed.

  Koznicki was stunned. His entire life had been steeped in Catholic doctrine. Part and parcel of this doctrine was the papal prerogative to teach the universal Church infallibly on matters of faith and morals. For Koznicki this doctrine was as unassailable as the law of gravity. “Do you mean that Father Hanson’s position was that there was no such thing as infallibility? That it just never did exist?”

  Gravely, Koesler nodded.

  “Is that argument important enough to suspect it’s a motive for murder?” Tully asked.

  “I might have said no. I might not have considered it possible,” Koesler said. “But now that the person whose contention this was has been murdered, I’d have to say yes. I think the opinion he was going to express and argue for could be considered important or disturbing enough to provoke someone to murder. At least to somebody who is staunchly conservative and prone to violence.”

  They looked to Koznicki to decide the matter.

  “I agree,” Koznicki said, after a moment’s consideration. “There are any number of possible motives for Father Hanson’s murder … motives we at present have no way of knowing. But this much is certain: He has been murdered. The killer tried to mask his deed by contriving a fall as the cause of death. Of all the possible reasons for this crime, we are presently aware of one very powerful motive: a significant challenge to a doctrine near and dear to most Catholics. Beyond that, should the questioning of infallibility cause widespread dissent, it could be a major blow to the Holy Father’s credibility. In the absence of any better motive, for now we must assume, then, that Father Hanson was killed to prevent him from publicly arguing against and putting into question the doctrine of infallibility.”

  “One more thing we have to do,” Tully said. “We’re going to have to widen our loop of security. Father Hanson was not—and wasn’t supposed to be—protected by our tightest security. We figured if there was going to be any violence, it would certainly be aimed at the pope. So, right now, there isn’t any such thing as a functioning band of protection for the simple fact that the pope isn’t here yet.”

  “Even if the Holy Father were here,” Koznicki took up the point, “people on the level of Father Hanson would not have been specially protected. That must change! We must increase the periphery of security to include those who are even remotely attached to the Holy Father’s visit. And that,” Koznicki reflected, “Will thin to some extent the strength of the protection we will be able to afford the Holy Father. But … there is no other way.”

  “You said”—Tully addressed Koesler—”that Hanson was supposed to be on the first panel discussion. How many panels are there?”

  “Six.”

  “Okay, six. And Hanson’s panel was a hot spot. Any others? Any panel discussions that could compare with the one on infallibility?”

  “Maybe Father Smith would have a more informed answer. He set up the panels.”

  “Well,” Smith said, “I wouldn’t think there’d be an awful lot of controversy over stewardship or evangelization. There might be some disagreement on liturgy—there always is. But it doesn’t tend to get virulent. However, when we get to the panels on morality and Church law, we are very close to the dogmatic discussion.”

  “And the setup is the same for those two panels? They both have very strong liberal arguments?” Tully asked.

  “Definitely.”

  “Then that’s the next periphery we’ve got to protect.” He turned to Koznicki. “Walt, seems to me we got to give special cover to the liberal speakers on those two panels.”

  Koznicki nodded.

  “Who are they?” Tully asked Smith.

  “Father Rasmussen would be the liberal spokesman on morals. That’s Norbert Rasmussen. And for canon law it would be Father Hugh Lemon.”

  Tully jotted down the name
s.

  Koznicki cautioned the two priests against sharing any of their conversation with anyone else, particularly the media, who would be hounding them for information. He then rehashed the new security measures that must be taken.

  There would be no further sleep for any of the four men this night. The priests were too excited to relax. The two police officers had too much work to accomplish in a very small measure of time.

  27

  Pat Lennon sat at her desk cautiously sipping a steaming cup of coffee. Every so often she ran a hand through her hair. Crossed over her right leg, her left leg from just above the knee to the ankle presented a most attractive extremity. She was studying several clippings she’d found in the Detroit News library.

  All of the articles had to do with the world’s population crunch and the events and opinions that were adding to the problem.

  One story noted a report from the National Academy of Sciences and the Royal Society of London: “If current predictions of population growth prove accurate and patterns of human activity on the planet remain unchanged, science and technology may not be able to prevent either irreversible degradation of the environment or continued poverty for much of the world.”

  That column concluded: “The world has quietly entered a new era, one in which satisfying the food needs of 90 million more people each year is possible only by reducing consumption among those already here. The only option may be an all-out effort to slow population growth.”

  An editorial in the National Catholic Reporter quoted Worldwatch president Lester Brown noting four major trends in what he termed this age of discontinuity: “ (1) World population is expanding faster than the world’s ability to produce basic foodstuffs. (2) The global economy appears to be chronologically sluggish. (3) The world energy economy is apparently ‘on the edge of basic restructuring.’ (4) The population boom is beginning to undermine world living standards.”

  The editorial stated: “We all have a stake in working to turn the many negative trends around, but—given that population growth is a basic part of the problem—the Catholic church has a special responsibility here.