A Rose From The Executioner

by Edward Izzi

  This situation was now a golden opportunity, suggested Brother Tobiah, to begin the eradication of all those who had ever preyed and sexually abused any of the Lord’s beloved little children. As brothers of this ‘holy’ secret society, this circumstance allowed them to consider taking out several ex-priests and quite possibly, framing the Archdiocese of Chicago in the process. If the “secret society” could pull it off, all the brothers thought, it would be a brilliant scheme.

  “Whom will we choose as our first candidate?” asked Brother Adam.

  “I wish to put forth the name of the former Father John Marquardt. He personally abused myself and many of my friends as a child within our community,” Brother Tobiah immediately put forth to the table of red-hooded members.

  The Grand Knight immediately interceded.

  “Brother Tobiah, as you know, it is a majority vote of this Society that decides the fate of these tainted servants of the Lord. You must put forth a motion before this membership.”

  After several minutes of silence around the long, mahogany table of red hooded brothers, a motion was put forth.

  “My fellow brothers,” Brother Tobiah began, “I make a motion to save and redeem the tainted soul of the former Father John Marquardt.”

  It was the accepted terminology of the Society of the Rose Crucifix to use the exact words of “save and redeem their tainted souls” rather than the words of “destroy and murder” its victims.

  The Grand Knight then looked around the table.

  “Is there a second on this motion?”

  Brother Cain, who was more than familiar with Fr. Marquardt, immediately seconded the motion before the table. The Grand Knight then continued to request a vote on the motion before the fraternal table of brother knights.

  “All those in favor of the salvation and redemption of the soul of the former Father John Marquardt, please affirm or deny the motion before this table when your name is called,” he requested.

  “Brother Able?” the Grand Knight began.

  “Aye,” he answered

  “Brother Jedidiah,”

  “Aye.”

  “Brother Reuben”

  “Aye,” the hooded brother replied.

  The Grand Knight went around the whole table of twelve seated brother knights, requesting each to affirm or deny the action put forth before the board. Each brother’s assumed name was recited, and each Knight of the Rose Crucifix affirmed the motion. It was unanimous.

  The Grand Knight then requested one of the brother knights at the table to volunteer his services in assisting in their victim’s salvation. Brother Ezekiel was more than excited to solicit a volunteer for this duty. After a few long minutes, one of the brothers responded.

  “May I, oh worthy Grand Knight, be the deliverer of the tainted soul of this broken servant of God, Father John Marquardt. May I be the deliverer and the executioner of his emaciated heart, to our Almighty Father, and bestow the red rose of our great society, the name of our Blessed Virgin Mother,” immediately volunteered Brother Cain, reading from the formal book of the secret society’s scriptures.

  Called the Executioner’s Acceptance, this scripted verse has been handed down through the centuries to the brother knights of the Society of the Rose Crucifix. This is a formal vow, recited by the accepting brother, or executioner, to carry out the secret society’s manifest upon those whom the knights of this secret society wish to ‘redeem’ or bring to ‘salvation’.

  “We accept your commitment, Brother Cain, to deliver the red rose of Our Blessed Mother and send the tainted soul of Fr. John Marquardt, to the Kingdom of Heaven, oh great Brother Cain,” replied the Grand Knight.

  The table of hooded brothers then began to applaud, knowing that the successful carrying of this ‘motion of salvation’ and intercession was in the capable hands of their respected Brother Cain.

  “You shall carry out this motion in this upcoming month of our Blessed Virgin Mary, or the month of May,” ordered the Grand Knight.

  As he pounded his wooden gavel on the table to proclaim this final motion of redemption, the brother knights all then applauded again, offering their support to their respected Brother Cain. After several minutes of conversations between themselves, another suggestion was put forth before the table.

  “My Brother Knights,” began Brother Barabbas. “How will we designate our next candidates to be chosen for ‘salvation’, and when will these act of ‘redemption’ be carried out? We have a limited window of time before we can choose and continue these sacred orders.”

  “Brother Barabbas, “as Brother Ebenezer began, “you are not familiar with the means and methods of whom we choose for redemption. We, as a Society of the Rose Crucifix, select the order and candidates in accordance to the names of our great servants of the Bible, and the times in which we can carry out these sacred ‘redemptions’,” he explained.

  “We will meet again very soon to choose our next redemption candidate,” proclaimed Grand Knight Ezekiel, hinting that another pedophile ex-priest would be chosen sooner rather than later.

  There was no other business to discuss before the board of brother knights at that time, and the motion to adjourn was accepted. With that, Brother Abel supervised the exit of each hooded brother, as they all departed the old, brownstone church, one by one.

  Brother Cain exited the antiquated building and walked over to his parked car on Ashland Avenue. He was both excited and elated to be chosen to execute the ‘reclamation’ of the former Father Marquardt’s tainted soul within the next two months. He knew, with his extensive police background, that he was more than qualified to carry out his ‘society’ orders and not have the Chicago Police Department immediately suspect him in this potential homicide. He was more than capable to ‘execute his orders’ professionally and will begin planning his secret society mandate within the next two months.

  He was doing this for many reasons, he thought to himself. For all the abused victims of those demented servants of God, for all those children that had been victimized so many years ago.

  For all the young boys whose innocent souls this sexual deviant had stolen away, for all those children that were sexually molested for so many years…he was carrying out his orders for them.

  But most of all, ‘Brother Cain’ was doing this for one very important reason:

  To avenge the memory of his best friend.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Parking Lot Meeting

  The lights of all the magnificent skyscrapers of Chicago brightly flickered and illuminated the sky, an inviting backdrop for all the city stargazers to look up and enjoy the show. My shoes had gotten thoroughly soaked from walking through all the rain puddles of the hospital parking lot, as I was exiting Rush Medical Hospital that evening.

  It was late…almost eleven o’clock, and we had spent several hours going through the crime scene at the hospital up on the eighth floor. Both myself and Detective Tommy Morton had interviewed most of the nurses, doctors and staff that been working in the cancer unit of that ward. We were able to secure copies of the security cameras that had captured the images of Monsignor Kilbane walking through the hospital lobby and into the elevator going to the eighth floor that afternoon. We were also able to obtain a significant amount of evidence from the crime scene, as our CSI unit had acquired the killer’s murder weapon and of course, the long-stemmed red rose. I was hoping there would be some DNA evidence that we could possibly, make a definite match to the murderer and the hospital victim. Morton was working with the IT guys downstairs, and they were all going over the security camera footage posted in the hospital parking lot. They were running a check on some of the license plate numbers that had entered and exited the hospital at the time of the murder.

  All of this seemed to implicate Monsignor Joseph Kilbane as the alleged murderer and killer, the only person that I had suspected all along. He was on one of the security cameras, exiting the parking lot in a blue, late model Chevy Impala with an Illinoi
s license plate number “V46-1038” traced back to a vehicle registered to the Archdiocese of Chicago. We now had more than enough evidence to arrest Monsignor Kilbane and charge him with the murder of Matthew McDougall. We had sent a squad car over to his Lincoln Park townhome to pick him up earlier that evening, and he was probably locked up at the Twenty-Fifth District over on Grand Avenue until his arraignment in the morning.

  It was as though Kilbane, the second most powerful cleric in Chicago, had been gift wrapped and delivered to the Chicago Police Department, covered with blue ribbons and a pretty little bow. He had conveniently fallen right into our laps as the murder suspect. All we had to do was arrest him, finger print him, take his ‘formal portrait’ and lock him up on a first-degree murder charge.

  But my detective instincts were over reacting that evening. This was all too perfect…and far too easy. Something just didn’t feel right with all of this.

  I noticed Tommy Morton was still outside, standing next to his cop car parked diagonally in a handicapped parking space and having a cigarette.

  “I thought you quit,” I exclaimed as began walking towards him. I remembered Tommy being a three-pack-a-day cigarette smoker and was very excited for him when he announced to everyone that he had quit smoking several years ago.

  “These pedophile priest murders have pushed me back to the whiskey and cigarettes,” he said disappointedly, taking a final drag from his Marlboro Light, then flicking it onto the wet, asphalt pavement.

  “Now, I’m goddamn chain smoking again.”

  I was standing right in front of the Seventeenth District detective and just glared at him, as he was exhaling the cigarette smoke from his nostrils. Morton looked at me intently, and he could see there was something on my mind.

  “What’s up, Philly?”

  “I don’t know, Tommy. I just don’t know,” I replied, shaking my head several times and wishing that I had taken up smoking.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tommy casually mentioned.

  I looked at him again and nodded my head. Detective Morton and I had worked together on several homicide cases over the years, and we always had a good working relationship. He was an easy-going but very detailed, street-smart detective. Tommy always seemed to have my back on any case that we had ever worked together. We had a mutual respect, and we seemed to work, almost in tandem, as he was able to pick up the pieces of any case where I had left off. Unlike a lot of detectives in the Chicago P.D., Morton didn’t let his ego, or his ambition get in the way to doing his job.

  “How did this serial murder case suddenly get so easy?” I asked him, point blank.

  “I’ve been racking my head for almost a month, trying to get a decent break in these Pedophile Priest Murders. I could not even get a decent DNA reading on a cigarette butt that we had recovered at the last crime scene…you know, that Senopoli murder case. Now we have another ‘pedophile priest murder’, which was committed in the middle of the day, complete with eye-witness descriptions and full action videos.”

  “Maybe I’m tired and just over-reacting,” I continued ranting. “But I don’t understand how these serial murders suddenly became this easy.”

  “I get it, Phil. I was thinking the same thing. I’m confused as to why Kilbane would so brazenly show up at a hospital in the middle of the day and stab his victim in a hospital cancer ward, knowing that he was in full view of all the hospital security cameras? Why would he kill a cancer patient that probably only had days’ to live? He’s either very ballsy, or maybe, just fucking stupid,” Tommy said, as he started fidgeting with his lighter, wondering whether he should light up another cigarette.

  “Stupid?” I replied. “That isn’t a word I would ever use to describe Kilbane.”

  I stood there for a few seconds, almost embarrassed to say to next thought that was going through my head.

  “Maybe,” I said out loud, “it really wasn’t him.”

  Detective Morton just glared at me, furrowing his eyebrows. He was probably thinking that I wasn’t lucid, and I should probably be wearing an asylum straight jacket and locked up at the Loyola Mental Ward. He then started shaking his head, deciding to have that other cigarette after all, and lit it up. He took a deep, long drag, allowing the smoke to slowly exhale from his nostrils as he was pondering my last statement.

  “Now I know you’re losing it, Phil. How could it not be Kilbane? We have eye witnesses and camera video shots.”

  “Kilbane is not this stupid. And I don’t think he’s this bold. Nobody goes into a public hospital and commits a murder in plain sight in the middle of the day unless they wanted to get caught. That doesn’t sound like anyone at the Chicago Archdiocese or, Monsignor Kilbane. My sixth sense in jumping out of my head right now, and something is telling me that the priest in those security videos isn’t Kilbane.”

  “Wanna know what I think?” as he finished his half-smoked cigarette and flicked onto the parking lot.

  “I think Kilbane has a death wish and is ready to take one for the team. He’s figuring that maybe, he’ll do life at Menard and regularly ‘touch his toes’ as the prison chaplain for the next thirty or so years. Maybe for him, doing time might be a better option…you know, with all the stress and pressure he’s feeling at the Archdiocese,” Tommy speculated.

  “You’re referring to all these abused child victim lawsuits going on?” I verified.

  “Yeah, maybe this is Kilbane’s way of checking out.”

  I thought about it for a moment, but I just couldn’t picture the Monsignor trading in his opulent office digs at the Archdiocese, his lavish Lincoln Park townhouse, and all his power and prestige, for a 6 x 8 ‘luxury hotel suite’ at the Menard Correctional Center.

  “That doesn’t sound like Kilbane. He’s a hard-nosed, old-school, son-of-a-bitch from Bridgeport. His balls are made of steel, and I can’t see him taking a hit for anyone, least of all the Cardinal.”

  “I don’t understand you, Phil. Why are you having doubts? You’ve got him on all the security cameras. Everyone at the hospital has I-D’d him, and the vehicle plates register to the Archdiocese. A collar is a collar, man. Don’t question it!”

  “Like I said, this is all too easy.”

  We both stood there, alone and late at night in the brightly lit parking lot of Rush Medical Hospital. We were both silent for several long minutes, second guessing ourselves, wondering whether this murder was all a set-up.

  I suddenly noticed a television news camera truck leaving the other side of the parking lot. It was a WDRV-8 news van, and it looked like it was about to exit onto Ashland Avenue. It abruptly stopped at the exit. The reverse lights went on and suddenly, the white van started backing up and sped over towards our direction.

  “Don’t look now, Philly, but your buddy is coming over here.”

  “Wonderful,” I sarcastically said out loud.

  The white news truck with the “WDRV Channel 8” logo pulled up alongside Tommy’s squad car, and my favorite news reporter jumped out of the passenger side, wearing that usual shit-smile of his.

  “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I asked Chaz Rizzo and he casually approached us. He was wearing a beige London Fog rain coat, covering his custom designed, black pin-striped Hugo Boss suit.

  “I was about to ask you guys the same thing. This is time and a half for you guys, right?”

  Tommy was noticeably tired, and I could tell he wasn’t in the mood to answer a thousand questions from the media or least of all, Chaz Rizzo.

  “Lieutenant Columbo called. He wants his raincoat back,” Tommy wryly said, trying to tell Rizzo, in a very nice way, to get lost. Detective Morton had several run-ins with Rizzo on other homicide investigations, and often made his feelings very clear that he had no use for him. After all the stresses and dealings with the “Ivory Tower”, Superintendent Ryan and the Mayor that day, I was worn out too. I was not in the mood for one of Rizzo’s bantering ‘cat-and-mouse’ conversations.

  “Why are
you still here?” I asked him.

  “We were doing a live feed for the Ten O’clock broadcast, and we just wrapped everything up,” Rizzo replied, as he asked Tommy for a light while putting a cigarette in his mouth.

  “You gotta’ be happy, Riz. All of this serial killer crap is keeping you guys gainfully employed, right?” I said, trying very hard to be nice to my ‘sometimes-friend-sometimes asshole’ news reporter.

  Rizzo just lit up his cigarette and took a long deep drag, blowing smoke circles off into the warm, moon struck night. It had been raining on and off all day, and the thick, muggy dampness of the air made the summer twilight that evening almost unbearable.

  “Did you guys go over and pick up Kilbane yet?”

  “We sent a squad car over to Lincoln Park to pick him up this afternoon,” I slowly replied, wondering why the hell I was even answering any of his questions.

  Rizzo just kept sucking on his cigarette, as the engine of the news truck was still idling. I was hoping that his camera man, who was also his driver, would just pull Rizzo back inside and leave. But Chaz kept standing there…silent, just smoking his cigarette. He kept staring off at all the bustling cars and traffic driving along Ashland Avenue.

  Something just wasn’t right with Rizzo. I could tell something was on his mind. Maybe, with all the bantering that he and I had done over the years, I was starting to get into the head of my favorite nemesis.

  “What’s on your mind, Chaz?” I was starting to sound like we were friends.

  He just quietly looked at me. It was as though he had mental telepathy, and his eyes attentively locked into mine.

  “This just isn’t adding up, guys,” he replied. Somehow, I knew he was thinking the same thing that I was.

  “How so?” Tommy asked.

  He looked at Detective Morton point blank, probably thinking he wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the box.