by Pat Mullan
“I thought this was a good place to start, Ed. It seemed to me that I was in an organization more interested in protecting its ass that kicking out the feckers that were destroying everything.”
“Did you know this was going on?”
“Did I know? Are you kidding? We all knew! But we were indoctrinated. Taught to toe the line. Taught that the Pope was infallible. I know, I know. He’s only supposed to be infallible in matters of faith. But it’s very easy to be brain-washed into the concept that he and the Church are infallible in everything. When you give yourself, your life, your heart, it’s a hard, hard thing to believe you’re living a lie.”
He threw the papers back on the pile, “I know you came here to find out about Father Roland. But you won’t understand what I’m telling you unless you know the history. Not just the history from today’s headlines. I mean the history of the centuries.”
He drained his coffee mug before he continued, “Have you heard the term The Lavender Mafia?”
“Not until your cousin Sean told me about it.”
“Well, trust me. It’s real. Lavender Mafia is the fancy name that Rev. Andrew Greeley gave to this secret and powerful network of gay clergy. There’s speculation that more than twenty percent of the priesthood is gay. That can’t be proven of course. But they’ve been the gatekeepers at many of our seminaries for years. Ensuring that only those who are sympathetic to them get in. It’s been as blatant as that. And, they’ve moved up through the hierarchy. Imagine the power and influence that they have.”
“Sounds like the kind of scurrilous stuff that people who hate the church would use to undermine it.”
“Exactly! That’s what those in the hierarchy say! Lies disseminated by the church’s enemies! But they’re not lies. And I am not an enemy of the church!”
“Well, those newspapers sure aren’t lying.”
“Absolutely! Do you know that the Church is facing lawsuits estimated at about $2 billion! Two billion! And they’ve deported an Irish priest, a Father Aloysius Smith, from California. Looks like his trail of abuse is going to cost the Church $23 million alone! Where did these people come from? From seminaries that were run by the Lavender Mafia – that’s exactly where! And this Irish priest came out of an Irish seminary run by them. So the network is worldwide. Reaches right into the Vatican!”
Now red-faced and angry, Joe got up from his desk and paced back and forth shaking his head.
“So they drove you out?”
He’d calmed down a bit so he wandered around the desk and sat down again before answering.
“No, they didn’t drive me out. But they helped me make up my mind. Them and Annie. I’d been troubled for a long time. I think I probably shouldn’t have gone through with the ordination. But you know what it’s like back home when everybody in the family knows you’re going to be a priest. When your mother tells you that she really wanted to be a nun when she was a little girl but she had to work at home and couldn’t get away. And how she’d promised her first-born to God. That was me. How do you fight that when she drills that into you from the age when you begin to speak? Used to make up her dressing table in the bedroom like an altar and I’d play priest. Jasus, I was only six or seven at the time!”
“You didn’t stand a chance.”
“You’re right. But it took me years to learn that. To learn that I was living my mother’s vocation, not mine. Oh, I tried. I really did. You see I believed in everything the Church stood for. And when I learned that that was a lie, there was nothing else. Annie saved my life. She was getting out too. Not because of me. No, no, she’d already decided when we met.”
“Well, I like Annie. I think you’re a lucky man.”
“Don’t I know it?”
Joe was relaxed now and his laughter came from somewhere deep and pleasurable, carrying with it the sense of inner peace he felt when he talked about Annie.
“And Father Roland Cormack …”
“Yes, Father Roland. Now you know the background. And you need to know the man. Firstly and most importantly, he came out of that same seminary in Ireland that produced the priest we deported. Secondly, he came to be groomed, to acquire the ‘blue chips’ he’d need to grease his way up the hierarchical ladder. Sure, Lord Desmond wants a Cormack in the Vatican but the Lavender Mafia want him there even more. And they are even more focused and ruthless than Lord Desmond!”
“And you know this …”
“I was right there. In the centre of Archbishop Volpe’s diocese. I saw everything. I suppose they thought that I was a mild mannered harmless little priest from Ireland, not someone with the pedigree of a Cormack. Father Roland is a quick study. He learned real fast. In six months he knew how to run this large diocese. Every aspect of it. The Archbishop loved him!”
“Loved him …?”
“No, not that way. Although I’m sure he was tempted. Father Roland is a good looker alright. Hah, that kind of love was reserved for the young I’m afraid, and for the seminarians. Father Roland often taught at the seminary. I’m sure he found solace there.”
“Seems like Archbishop Volpe treated Father Roland like a protégé.”
“Yes, and he didn’t hide the fact. He didn’t care if it looked unseemly. The Archbishop had the power. Political power inside and outside the Church. And every dog, every priest, on the street knew that he headed the Lavender Mafia. Soon after Father Roland returned to Ireland, Archbishop Volpe got his red hat from the Pope and a plum assignment at the Vatican.”
“And now his world has crumbled here.”
“Yes, when he left he had no successor, no-one to put a leash on people, no-one to call in political favours and cover-ups. No-one to squash any emergency scandal.”
“And you think that those newspaper headlines wouldn’t have existed had he still been here?”
“No, not really. I think too much damage had been done. People were not going to keep silent. Like they did in the past. But I believe that he could have squashed a lot of it. Damages might be in the millions, not in the billions. And all these bankruptcies. I think he’d have managed that.”
“So Father Roland left no dirty laundry behind him here.”
“Ah, hah! A clever operator! You won’t find a thing.”
“You seem to have a bit of admiration for him.”
“No, no! Dammit, I must be giving you the wrong impression. I’d say fascination, not admiration. Father Roland was a ruthless, driven man.”
“Ruthless enough to kill?”
Joe looked hard at Ed as he thought about that. He went silent for a minute or so, to contemplate the question.
“No, I’d never have thought that. But, still, if something was going to block his way or undermine his ambitious goals, I’d say he’d have to defeat it. Yes, he’d have to. And from what you’ve told me about the death of Terry Joyce, it wouldn’t be beyond Father Roland to have pursued the boy to his death. He didn’t shoot him and he didn’t strangle him but he’d be capable of pushing him off that old tower. Make it look like an accident. If it got rid of the problem, he’d be callous enough to do it. Remember, he’s a Cormack before he’s a priest. And how did the Cormacks get where they are – and keep it – through the centuries? Not by being wimps, that’s for sure!”
“He’s in Rome now.”
“Of course. At the Vatican with Cardinal Volpe. His safe haven.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Forget it! You’ll never pin anything on Father Roland.”
“I don’t want to ‘pin’ anything on him. I want to bring him to justice for Terry’s death. He’s at least guilty of manslaughter.”
“You’ll never prove it.”
“I think Father Nugent will sign a statement.”
“But he’s at the Vatican. No-one’s ever been extradited from there. They have no extradition treaties with any country that I know of.”
“I’ll make it too hot for them to hold him.”
“How? You think
any legitimate press, other than the British scandal sheets – and nobody listens to them – will print your claims?”
“I think your cousin Sean will.”
“Well, I wish you all luck. But I wouldn’t give you much of a chance.”
“Don’t you want this entire Lavender Mafia thing brought down?”
“Of course I do. But how are you going to do that?”
“Good old business techniques. Declare the product bad for your health. The product that the Church sells. Drive the customers away. And those customers who stay will insist on quality control, on cleaning out the seminaries, on firing corrupt employees, on insisting on good governance. If the Vatican begins to lose its customers, its churches will close, it’ll begin to lose its business. It won’t be a case of one of your dioceses going bankrupt. They’ll have to sell the Sistene Chapel!”
“Jaysus! You’re mad!”
Ed knew he’d learned all he was going to from Joe Brosnan. He needed to get back to Ireland as soon as possible, see Sean Coyne, meet the Minister of Justice, confront the Archbishop. And go to the Vatican.
Next morning he took the Amtrak train out of South Station. As it rolled through the countryside his mind turned to Maria and Kevin and he felt excited about seeing them again.
32
RTE News
The body found in Connemara this morning has been identified as that of 49-year-old John Carty, missing from his home since last month. His body was found floating in the Ballynahinch river by two German tourists out for an early morning walk. Mr. Carty, a farmer from the Ballinasloe area has been missing since his son, tragically, committed suicide.
Tom Buckley, standing at the lunch counter in his local deli, heard the news item over the radio and knew he’d be needed on this one. Luckily his sandwich had arrived at the same time. He paid and headed directly for his office.
“He’s looking for you, Tom,” said Sergeant Ford.
“Thanks, Bill. I expected he would.”
Tom knocked on Chief Inspector Flood’s door, opened and entered. The Chief looked up from the papers on his desk. “Tom, have you heard the news?”
“Just heard it on RTE.”
“Well, they didn’t release the news until they’d notified his wife. And it seems we’re the last to be told. But you can’t expect the local gardai to be up to speed on every high profile investigation in the State.”
“So, what do you think?”
“Tom, we’re not paid to speculate. We need to find out if Carty had anything to do with these killings. Mind you, it’s been our best guess that he might be our man. See, there I go, with the speculation. But, still, he’s been the number one suspect. It’s easy to think of him being deranged, blaming them all for the death of his only son.”
“But what if he’s not the one? What if he didn’t do it?”
“That’s what we need to find out. Dr. Mona Kennedy’ll be examining the body. I want you there. She knows you’re coming so I’d get over there right away. She’s a busy lady and I know she’ll be moving on this one right away.”
“I’m on my way,”
Turning at the door, with a mouthful of sandwich, he said. “What if Carty’s not our man?”
“God help us if he’s not.”
Dr. Mona Kennedy pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and walked to the examination table. She compared the access number and name on the tag tied to the big toe with the information on the chart she held in her hand. Satisfied, she started her external examination, speaking into the small attached microphone:
“… body is that of a middle-aged Caucasian male, blue eyes, brown hair; the body weighs 182 pounds and is 69 inches long. There are some abrasions and cuts on the face and forehead, most likely consistent with the body being dragged along the bottom of the river. There is no evidence of any significant cuts, injuries, or stab wounds on the body. Decomposition has commenced, with gas forming within the tissues. This is consistent with the body having been discovered floating on the surface of the water. Given the moderate temperature of the water at this time of year, I would estimate that the body has been in the water for at least two weeks. Preliminary examination is consistent with drowning but I will reserve judgment until a full autopsy is carried out …
Tom Buckley had arrived thirty minutes earlier and turned to face Dr. Kennedy as she emerged. They knew each other from previous investigations so introductions were unnecessary.
“Hello Tom, nice to see you again.”
“Yes, we should stop meeting like this.”
Dr. Kennedy laughed heartily at that, her first laugh of the day, “Fresh coffee. Would you like some?”
“Absolutely”
They fixed two cups from the pot sitting in the small kitchenette in the corner of the room, usually reserved for staff.
“What can you tell me?”
“I only did a preliminary examination so I can’t really be sure at this time. I can say that he was in the water for some time. But I’ll need a full autopsy to be able to tell you more. That will be needed to confirm that he did indeed drown. I’d assume that that will be the assessment. There’s no evidence of foul play, if you’re looking for that. There’re only some abrasions on his face. But I’m sure he got that when his face scraped on the river bottom as the currents dragged him along.”
“I understand. I really want to know how long you think he was in that river.”
“That’s easy. He’s been there at least two weeks.”
“OK. That rules him out.”
“Rules him out?”
“As a suspect in our murder investigation. I know you have little time these days to keep abreast of everything outside of your own world.”
“You can say that again!”
“John Carty was our prime suspect in the murder of President McCafferty. Right on the heels of the death of a couple of kids at the school. One was his only son. Suicide. Carty went missing right after his son’s suicide so that gave him the motive. Revenge is always the strongest motive. Besides, we don’t have any other suspects.”
“So now you know it’s not him.”
“Right. President McCafferty was killed a week ago. That rules him out in my mind.”
“OK. I’ll let you know more after I get the results of the full autopsy. We’ll be carrying that out tomorrow morning.”
With that, Tom could see that she needed to move on. He thanked her, and as he left he turned around and said, “You’re over-worked. You need a couple of assistants.”
“Hah! Tell that to the people in the government!”
33
Sister Brigid walked briskly out of the front door of Dunfergal Abbey, stopped briefly and looked across at the sunny sparkling waters of the lough and the changing green and bronze colours of the hills that seemed to stand guard over it all. She never failed to thank God for letting her live in this most beautiful part of his world.
But today her heart felt heavy and sad. She stood for a while, then turned left and walked down the tree-covered lane towards the little cemetary. Despite leading a life she treasured, her body had not aged well. At sixty-one, her pasty transparent skin, thinning grey hair and stoop made her look seventy-five or older. In contrast to that image, she walked ahead smartly.
Before she was aware of it, her reverie had brought her to the incline that led up to the small graveyard that was neatly surrounded by a wrought iron railing. Pausing, she looked over the railing at the simple arrangement of graves, each one marked by a simple cross with the name inscribed on it.
She immediately knelt down and took out her rosary beads. Fingering them almost like touchstones, she started to form the words in her head. With lips moving, she soundlessly spoke to the Lord: Oh dear Lord, you know that I never ask you for anything. You have given me everything I ever wanted. So I always come here to thank you. But, dear Lord, my heart is sad today and I come here to ask your intercession and your forgiveness for my brother and your servant, Bernard. Plea
se hear me today. Please stop Father Bernard. Please let him see the error of his ways. Please tell him that you do not want him to avenge you. That’s what they say he is doing. They say that he thinks that he is acting out your wrath. That he is your avenger. If you can’t persuade him, please send him to me. And please give me the strength to save my brother’s soul.
The tears had begun to roll down her cheeks and she fished in her pocket for a handkerchief. As she was blowing her nose, she heard the sound of laughter and happy voices, immediately followed by Camilla and Lucia, two of the young novices. She realized that her time for solitude and prayer had ended.
The girls saw her as she stood up and they were about to leave when she called them. They turned and said, almost in unison, “Sorry, Sister Brigid.”
“I’m going back. Won’t you walk with me?”
And they did. Side by side, they chatted away they reached the front door to the Abbey, keeping her in company until they had almost dispelled the dark nightmare that had brought her down to the little graveyard.
34
When Ed reached Penn Station, Maria was waiting. She ran to him, he dropped his bag, and they held each other for the longest time. He held her head, gently rubbed away the tears from the corner of her eyes, and said, “God, I missed you so much.”
“I know, I know. We can’t do this any more. I’m going back with you.”
They hugged and laughed as they ran outside for a taxi. The streets seemed to whiz by in a blur for Ed. Maria was an opiate for him and his favourite city could not compete. In no time it seemed, he stood paying the taxi driver and a minute later they were in the elevator on the way to his fourth floor apartment on East End Avenue.
