Man Who Loved God

by William Kienzle

  “Thank you, Carmen. I have with me Lieutenant Alonzo Tully, who is the senior officer on the scene. Can you tell us, Lieutenant, what we have here?”

  Father Tully leaned forward. He was so immensely proud of his brother.

  Lieutenant Tully was occupied with something out of camera range. He appeared to be paying minimum attention to the reporter’s question. “It looks like one of those Good Samaritan set-ups.

  “Can you tell our viewers just what that is?”

  Both Tullys regarded the reporter as if he might be slightly retarded. Who would not know the original Bible story and/or its modern-day application in crime annals?

  “It’s a scam,” Lieutenant Tully explained, returning his attention to what was occupying him off-camera, “where two or more people pretend they’ve got car trouble. They pull off the road onto a shoulder—usually, like tonight, on a freeway shoulder.

  “A female stands by the car. She seems helpless and scared. Her accomplice, or accomplices, hide, usually in the car, but sometimes behind nearby shrubbery.

  “They wait for some good-hearted person to pull off the road and—like a Good Samaritan—offer assistance. Then, when the would-be benefactor gets close enough, the accomplices jump out of hiding. They rob, maybe mug, maybe even kill the innocent motorist. Then they take off in his car—and theirs too if it’s not a klunker they may have swiped.

  “Tonight they had bad luck. The one who stopped to give aid was a cop. So there went their scam. And they shot him.”

  “Lieutenant Tully, do the police have anything to go on?”

  Tully looked directly into the camera as if he were addressing those responsible for this attack. “Yeah, we’ve got a pretty good description of the vehicle they’re driving, as well as of the perpetrators themselves.” With emphasis, he concluded, “Their bad luck has just begun.”

  Back to the studio for a speedy signoff, followed by a voice-over promising the “Tonight Show” “after these announcements.”

  Father Tully would not wade through countless commercials. He turned off the set and headed for bed.

  How silly it had been for him to even consider seriously helping his brother. There was nothing “Catholic” or “religious” about a Good Samaritan crime except the designation. Father Tully could take solace in the fact that even the redoubtable Father Koesler would be of no service to Lieutenant Tully in this case.

  The priest decided right then and there that he was going to relax and enjoy this visit to Detroit and his prized contact with his newly discovered family.

  Lieutenant Tully would just have to muddle through on his own.

  But before he retired for the night, the priest prayed for the wounded officer, and for the surgeons who, as this prayer was being offered, stood between this brave man and death.

  Nine

  They were to meet at Carl’s, a venerable chophouse on Grand River near downtown Detroit. Anne Marie, on her lunch break from school, picked up her brother-in-law.

  Only within the past hour was Lieutenant Tully certain he would be able to join them. At nearly 11 A.M., the Good Samaritan suspects had been arrested and booked.

  It was Friday. Virtually all of Lieutenant Tully’s Thursday had been spent on the Good Samaritan shooting. Meanwhile Father Tully, escorted by one of Tom Adams’s PR people, had been taken on an all-day tour of Detroit and environs.

  Anne Marie and Father Tully arrived first. They were seated at once at a table for four. There were no tables for three. Anne Marie explained that the relatively small crowd for lunch was a sign of the times. Twenty or so years ago, noontime would have found a crowd in the lobby awaiting tables. However, under a new administration, it appeared that the downtown area was on its way back up and, hopefully, would soon return to its former vitality.

  Father Tully scanned the ample menu. He concluded this was basically a meat, fish, and potato restaurant. Anne Marie confirmed this, but assured him that what they did here they did well.

  At this point Zoo arrived. Father Tully noted him nod to several of the patrons as he approached the table.

  Obviously his brother was well known and, seemingly, well liked. This pleased the priest.

  They greeted each other, Zoo kissing Anne Marie and patting his brother’s shoulder.

  They passed on alcohol, ordering coffee instead. Zoo and Anne Marie were frequent patrons and knew what they wanted: ground round for him; salad for her. Father Tully settled for a tuna sandwich.

  “I know I shouldn’t feel this way,” said the priest, “but I can’t help but think I’ve been a slacker. Yesterday you were working so hard on the Good Samaritan shooting that we couldn’t get together even for a minute.”

  Zoo’s smile was sardonic. “Feel you should’ve been out there helping me catch the bad guys?”

  The priest laughed. “No … no. We’ve been over that. I just felt as if I could or should be able to do something.”

  “Cheer up, little brother. You’ve got some time left. And in my business you never know what’s gonna turn up next.”

  “It all worked out well,” Anne Marie assured Father Tully. “Yesterday was your day on the town, courtesy of Thomas Adams. How was it?”

  “A grand tour.” The priest broke a bread stick, and nibbled. “My guide knew his history of this city extremely well. I could almost see Cadillac’s landing party. And the construction of Ste. Anne’s. And the cholera epidemic.The street cars. Hudson’s. The place where Ty Cobb and Charlie Gehringer played. And—a real pity—the riot area.” He looked at them seriously. “You should really be proud of this city.”

  “We are,” Anne Marie said. “Or, at least, we will be again.”

  The coffee arrived. Zoo immediately took several appreciative sips.

  “I hope,” the priest said to his brother, “we’re not keeping you from your job.”

  Both Zoo and Anne Marie laughed.

  “If you’re keeping me from anything, brother, it’s sleep. But sleep can be fitted into the cracks of life.” It was obvious that, for Zoo, coffee was replacing sleep.

  “He’s been on the shooting case two nights and a day,” Anne Marie said. “He’s not kidding about sleep; all he’s had over the past roughly thirty-six hours are catnaps.”

  “And,” Zoo added, “fortunately for our luncheon date, most of those catnaps came earlier this morning.”

  Conversation halted as their order was served.

  Zoo cut into one of the largest circles of ground round Father Tully had ever seen. Anne Marie’s salad was huge. And the priest’s tuna, fighting to escape its layers of bread, was nearly buried in chips.

  “We made the arrests pretty quickly even for us,” Zoo said, picking up the conversation. “We collared the girl and her driver just hours after the shooting. The second guy was a little harder to find. But we got him early this morning.

  “We went slow. We went by the book and made sure to touch all the bases.”

  Father Tully decided to use knife and fork in eating his sandwich, rather than disgrace himself by squirting everyone with squeezed tuna. “What I don’t understand is why you stayed on the case. After all, it wasn’t a murder … thank God.”

  Zoo shrugged. “It was a cop. And only a fluke kept it from being homicide. But” —he smiled at his brother—“I guess you wouldn’t buy the fluke bit, would you?”

  The priest returned the smile. “Oh, we’re not quick to claim miracles. The fact that the bullet hit the Bible in the officer’s shirt pocket could, I’d be the first to admit, qualify as a fluke.”

  “I’ll bet his family doesn’t think it’s a fluke,” Anne Marie said.

  “Not for a second,” Zoo said. “And I really can’t blame them. There’s no way of tellin’ where a bullet’s gonna go once it enters a body. Take the Kennedy bullet: went through him and maybe Governor Connally. I don’t know whether that really happened, but it could’ve.”

  “So what really happened here, Zoo?” asked Anne Marie.

&n
bsp; The lieutenant paused to swallow. “Deflected. It went through the pocket Bible and coursed downward ….” He gestured to show the invisible path the bullet took. “Lodged in his abdomen. Still and all, it was a tricky operation … a lot of internal bleeding. But it looks like he’ll make it.”

  “Thank God,” the priest intoned.

  “Maybe … maybe. Maybe ‘Thank God.’ If it hadn’t been for that bulky little book, the slug definitely would’ve taken some other direction. No one could know which way. But it easily could’ve killed our guy. So at the time of the shooting through the time of the operation, it could’ve been a homicide.” Zoo looked somber.

  “I know Sergeant Marcantonio. Met his wife and kids. A good cop. Besides, I started the investigation … see?” He addressed his brother. “There were lots of reasons I followed this thing through to the end.”

  The priest nodded. “Ordinarily I’m against capital punishment. But if there had to be one crime that carried that penalty, I’d vote for the Good Samaritan offense. In addition to being cowardly and terrorizing and deadly, it definitely discourages well-meaning people from coming to the aid of someone who really does need help. So I’m doubly glad you caught them.”

  Anne Marie caught the waitress’s eye and asked for a doggie bag for the remainder of her salad, which was substantial.

  “I’m sorry I have to leave,” she said. “If I don’t get back to school, my kids—good as they are—will be plotting the destruction of our building.”

  Zoo looked up, suppressing a smile. “I suppose you’re going to stick me with the check.”

  Straightfaced, she replied, “As a taxpayer, I pay your salary. It’s the least you can do.” She scooped up the doggie bag and left.

  “You two have a lot of fun, don’t you?” said Father Tully.

  “You noticed.”

  “It’s obvious. This is better than anything that went before?”

  Zoo looked sharply at his brother. “You want to know about my personal life before Anne Marie?”

  The priest shook his head. “Anne Marie brought me up to speed when we first met. When she picked me up and drove me to your home. She thought it would be easier on everyone.”

  Zoo was finishing his lunch, as was the priest. Both, for far different reasons, were fast eaters.

  “She’s right,” Zoo said. “As usual, she’s right. She undoubtedly told you: it’s the job. My being a cop was what challenged the other two relationships. With my first wife, I didn’t know there was going to be this competition. But it grew. Both of us fought it. We fought it until there wasn’t any strength left. So we called it quits.

  “I was alone for a long time after that. Then a real neat lady entered my life. This time, I knew about the job and how it would complicate my life with somebody—anybody—else. I was straight with Alice. We thought we could lick it as long as we were aware of the problem. Turned out we couldn’t.

  “Then Anne Marie came along. We were together a long time before we thought seriously about marriage. We talked and planned. Honest, I was the one who fought getting married. Early on, Anne Marie was convinced we could do it. And so far” —he rapped the table—” so good.”

  The waitress, taking Zoo’s gesture as a summons, popped up at their side. “More coffee?” Zoo shook his head and presented a credit card.

  “Oddly,” Father Tully said, returning to the subject at hand, “I think I’m best able to understand what you’re saying.”

  Zoo looked surprised. “You’re not married!”

  The priest chuckled. “No. And my experience with women is more like that of a spectator. But it’s coming.”

  “What’s coming?”

  “A Roman Catholic clergy that freely chooses to be married or celibate. It’s just around the corner. There’s hardly anybody in the seminary studying to be a priest. The time is fast approaching when there won’t be enough priests left to serve the Catholic population. Catholicism is a sacramental religion. And to make sacraments you gotta have priests. When the supply of priests dwindles down to a precious few, the Pope and the bishops will undoubtedly be forced to accept what just about everybody seems to think is the ultimate solution to the priest shortage: a married priesthood.

  “Personally, I don’t think this is the answer. I think the Church has to open up interiorly, fearlessly—like it did back in the days of Pope John XXIII.

  “But the first step will be an optional married clergy. And that’s when we meet problems like yours: which comes first, my priesthood or my marriage?”

  The waitress returned. Zoo added a tip and signed the chit. As he tucked his wallet in his pocket, Zoo, one eyebrow arched, said, “Would you get married … I mean if the Church let you?”

  “I don’t really know. I may never get the chance to know. When I say the move to optional celibacy is just around the corner, I mean the Church’s distance to the corner. The Church thinks in hundreds of years. And, while I doubt this change will wait for a hundred years, I also doubt it’ll take place tomorrow.

  “As for there being problems for priests and their wives, I don’t mean it would be an epidemic. I’m sure that cops who experience marital problems are in the minority. Not everybody, by any means, is as dedicated to police work as you are. And not all priests would experience similar problems. But I think the average for priests would be higher—at least in the beginning.

  “I could be wrong, but I think that among priests the sense of total dedication and availability is more common than among police.”

  “Interesting,” Zoo said, whether or not he agreed.

  The two rose and headed for the exit.

  “Say,” Zoo said, “when Anne Marie was giving you a little history on me, did she mention anything about our wedding?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I was married before. But at no time during the process of getting married did that come up. We did have a few meetings with her priest. I kind of anticipated we’d have to get into that. From some of the things I picked up working with Father Koesler, I know your Church requires more than a civil divorce before another marriage. It’s called an annulment, no?”

  Father Tully nodded. He desperately wanted to change the subject. Nothing came to mind.

  “It was like waiting for the second shoe to fall. The subject just never came up. I didn’t push it. I was happy it was apparently going so smoothly. I was sure if the priest insisted on getting this annulment there would be lots of paperwork and long delays.” Father Tully made no comment.

  “Well, that was her priest.” Zoo smiled indulgently on his brother. “Now I’ve got my priest. So, how about it: Do you have any idea what went on?”

  Zoo’s beeper sounded.

  “’Scuse me, I’ve got to get this.” Zoo headed for a phone.

  Father Tully breathed a sigh of relief. He knew perfectly well what had been done and not done in the marriage of his brother and sister-in-law. He had, on occasion, done something similar for couples. Resulting in a valid and real marriage in civil law as well as sincere consciences. But being invalid and carrying no weight in Church law.

  Father Tully had every reason to believe that the consciences of both partners to his brother’s marriage were at ease. Asked if they were married, neither one would have responded, “a little bit” or “partially.” Their consciences were at peace and Father Tully was not about to upset this package.

  Zoo returned from the phone transformed. Where a few moments ago, he had been relaxed and mildly inquisitive, he was now all business. “There’s been a murder. That new branch of Adams Bank and Trust—somebody was killed.”

  Excitement almost snatched Father Tully’s breath away. “Who was it? Do you know who was killed?”

  “The manager.” Zoo was walking so rapidly that his brother found it hard to keep up.

  Zoo was parked around the corner on Grand River so they didn’t have to wait for Carl’s parking attendant. As they entered the car, Zoo said, “I’ll dr
op you off at St. Joe’s.”

  Was this a pattern? It was beginning to seem that when it was time for Zoo to drive his brother home, some emergency intervened. Father Tully was definitely ready for a change of routine. “If you don’t mind … I’d really like to go with you.”

  Zoo, starting the car, glanced at his brother. “This is not a field trip.”

  “I know. And I’m very well coached that you do not suffer non—professionals gladly. I know all that. And I won’t get in anybody’s way. But I’d like to go with you. I just may have something to contribute … and I’m not playing Father Koesler.”

  Zoo said nothing as he drove toward St. Joe’s. Suddenly, he veered away from the parish and headed out Jefferson. “Okay. But stay right where I tell you. Why do you want to come on this run, anyhow?”

  “That award party I was at the other night: I met the full cast of characters who run this bank. I met the new manager, Al Ulrich. Mr. Adams asked me to give him my impression of Ulrich and Nancy Groggins as to which would make the better manager for the new branch.

  “As a matter of fact, before I had a chance to meet either contestant, Adams confided that he favored Nancy. And, after meeting both of them, I agreed with Adams and I told him as much before leaving.

  “That’s why I was so surprised when Adams announced that he had selected Ulrich for the job.

  “Now Ulrich is dead.

  “I just have a very strong feeling that I should be there. I can’t tell you why. The whole idea is new to me. It’s almost like Providence wants it that way.”

  “Okay,” Zoo said. “But just stay put and observe.”

  Ten

  As they approached the crime scene, Father Tully surveyed the territory. It was a mixed bag.

  The housing ran from neatly kept bungalows to empty flats with out panes or doors. Once, years ago, this had undoubtedly been a working, middle-class neighborhood. One whose front porches had held gliders. In spring, summer, and fall, neighbors had gathered to talk, to listen, to learn, and to live. Neighbors who had never heard of the phrase “drive-by shooting.”