Dead Wrong (9 page)

She had made no attempt whatsoever to consult him.

Koesler had his own way of dealing with that sort of attitude. Hands off. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, and all that sort of thing.

But this was different. The way this family relationship had developed, Brenda might just as well have been a blood relative. He cared for her—and for Mary Lou too, for that matter—the way he would for a real cousin.

Particularly now, as he reflected on his closeness to Brenda, he began to worry about her.

Charlie Nash made it clear that Nash Enterprises, this impressive company he had built from the bottom up, was precious to him. Perhaps more precious than anything else on earth. On earth or in heaven.

Now that he was reconsidering it, he thought that Nash’s appeal that Koesler convince his cousin to break off the affair was by far the most considerate, humane solution Nash was going to offer.

After that might come who knew what.

On the strength of his one meeting with Nash, Koesler had come to believe the man would stop at nothing to preserve his baby. If that meant that Brenda would have to be physically removed, so be it.

Brenda murdered? It was a possibility. Did Brenda understand that? How would she react if she did know her life might be in danger?

It was next to impossible to know. But Koesler’s best guess was that Brenda would rise to the challenge. She was not the type who would be intimidated.

Koesler began to put the whole thing together. He would have to get involved. He would not be able to live with himself otherwise. If something were to happen to Brenda, it would at least partially be his fault. He was convinced of that.

But what to do?

Getting through to Brenda would be like walking through a brick wall. And how much time did he have? No one could tell. Yet the very fact he had been summoned to Nash’s apartment, as well as the urgency in the older man’s voice, indicated time was definitely a factor.

It would be difficult, then, to try to convince Brenda of the seriousness of this threat. It was unlikely that she would respond to his argument unless he had the luxury of time to explain perhaps repeatedly and in great detail with ever more convincing logic.

If he could not move Brenda in what might be the allotted time, what else might he do?

How about Ted Nash?

Koesler had to assume that Nash had tried to get through to his son, probably very forcefully. If that were indeed the case, the confrontation between father and son would already have occurred, probably shortly before Nash had contacted Koesler.

Why hadn’t Nash proposed that Koesler try to convince Teddy rather than Brenda? Because Charlie figured that Koesler would have better luck with his “cousin”? Not a bad supposition; Brenda had grown up respecting Koesler and his priesthood. Except that Charlie Nash obviously didn’t know Brenda.

Koesler closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair.

If not Brenda, then Teddy.

The end result, the bottom line, was agreed upon. If there was an illicit affair going on between Brenda and Ted—and from all appearances, and especially from what had happened this evening, there probably was—it would have to end. Their spiritual welfare, and possibly Brenda’s very life, might depend on it.

From Koesler’s point of view, it didn’t much matter which of them, Ted or Brenda, was instrumental in calling it off. If Brenda’s cooperation seemed uncertain, Koesler could try his powers of persuasion on Teddy Nash.

It couldn’t be
that
difficult. From all Koesler had heard, Ted Nash considered himself a super-Catholic. Even if that reputation was bolstered with a measure of hype, still and all there must be a germ of truth to it. Adultery was adultery, and a Catholic of any stripe would know that.

Yet Koesler could anticipate considerable resistance. There had to be a strong attraction between them, else there would have been no affair. But Ted should be educable.

Whatever else, Koesler was sure Ted would be by far the more malleable of the two.

The next problem: How did one get an appointment to see Ted Nash?

C H A P T E R

7

P
ROTOCOL FOR MAKING
an appointment with Theodore Nash, Esquire, Father Koesler learned, depended on who wanted the appointment, and its purpose.

The answers to those questions dictated which if any department head one might see. One was scarcely if ever ushered directly into Mr. Nash’s office. Not on the first try, at any rate.

Koesler had to admit he was taken aback.

Priests usually receive some form of preferential treatment. And considering the aura of piety surrounding Ted Nash, Koesler, frankly, expected better. In short, he expected to be granted an immediate interview with the proprietor.

Instead—and, to Koesler, this was a large instead—he was referred to the secretary to Father Arthur Deutsch. Not even the Father himself. His secretary.

It wasn’t that Koesler so much minded being shunted off to secondary layers of management. But he’d assumed that a priest asking to see a prominent Catholic layman about a “personal matter” would be ushered into the inner sanctum forthwith—or, that if he were going to be shunted off to an assistant who happened to be another priest, he would at least be able to speak to that priest. If there was no professional courtesy among priests, what then could be said for lawyers and doctors?

At length Koesler did get an appointment to see Father Arthur Deutsch—two days hence. And even then, Koesler was informed, Father Deutsch would have to shuffle his schedule to accommodate this request. Right about then Koesler came close to telling them what they could do with their precious protocol. But he reminded himself he was doing this for Brenda. It helped to have a quest, like the knights of old. Koesler felt like Don Quixote.

Now, ten minutes early, he arrived for his 10:00
A
.
M
. appointment with Father Deutsch.

Father Koesler was impressed. Whatever Deutsch’s parochial assignments had been, Koesler was sure none had provided a more opulent setting. The office was located in one of those buildings that springs up seemingly overnight on Telegraph or Northwestern in Southfield or West Bloomfield or Farmington Hills. The salient difference was that this building was a model of tasteful as well as utilitarian design, with a sensible amount of glass, overhang, and passive-energy implementation.

The waiting room was striking, with soft indirect lighting, genuine wood paneling, and superplush off-white carpeting. The secretary was courteous and efficient, but unsmiling. At precisely 10:00
A
.
M
. Koesler was ushered into Deutsch’s sanctum.

It was a spacious extension of the outer office, except that where the art displayed in the waiting area was mainly contemporary, here it was almost exclusively religious and traditional. The most prominent portraits were of Pope John Paul II and his alter ego, Cardinal Ratzinger. Together, Koesler thought, these two men did their best to make the Church uninteresting.

Noteworthy by its absence was any depiction of the present archbishop of Detroit, Mark Cardinal Boyle.

A smiling Father Deutsch rose from behind his king-size desk to greet Koesler. The chair behind that desk was also oversize. It resembled one a bishop might use in his cathedral—if, that is, the bishop wanted to be ostentatious.

“You must be Father Koesler. I recognize you from your photos.”

“Yes.” Koesler could have returned Deutsch’s exact words; he had seen Deutsch’s picture in newspapers and in his graduation portrait on the cloister wall in Sacred Heart Seminary. But the two men, prior to now, had not met.

Deutsch indicated a straight-back chair near his desk, and Koesler took it.

“Would you like something?” Deutsch asked. “Coffee? A little sherry?”

“Some coffee would be good.”

Deutsch pressed a button and a coffeemaker purred into operation. The two men studied each other. Each knew there was about a fifteen-year difference in their ages.

Other than that, Deutsch knew relatively little about Koesler. As was common in the diocesan clergy, older priests were relatively unfamiliar with their younger counterparts. During the early years of the two men’s priesthood, chronology had guided priests’ ascendancy from associate status to a pastorate. But the drastic priest shortage of recent years had made the position of associate pastor almost extinct.

At the time of Koesler’s ordination in the mid-fifties, it had been statistically feasible that few of his classmates would live long enough to become pastors. Now, priests became pastors before the oils of ordination dried. Thus it was understandable that Deutsch would know little about Koesler. What Deutsch did know arose out of the events that had given emphasis to Koesler’s career. Deutsch was aware, for instance, that Koesler had been editor of the archdiocesan weekly newspaper, and that the younger man had been involved in some police investigations over the past several years.

It was unclear to Deutsch exactly what the association was between Koesler and the police; but, because priests were among the most faithful readers of the
Detroit Catholic
, he was aware that Koesler was considered to be of the so-called liberal school of theology. An excellent reason to be wary of him.

Never having met Deutsch, all Koesler knew of the man was what others said of him.

Deutsch was reputed to have been a brilliant student. By virtue of that, he had, during the early years of his priesthood, taught in the seminary.

From there, he had been sent forth to found a suburban parish. In which niche he had stayed until retirement. Had it not been for the Vatican Council, his would have been a totally uneventful history.

The council had caught Deutsch, and many other priests, napping. Of course he knew the council was taking place in Rome during the early sixties. But he had no inkling that it would have so radical an effect.

Thus it had come as a massive cultural shock that he found himself facing the people and celebrating Mass in English. After that, one change closely followed another with mind-boggling rapidity. Without having read a single council document through, Deutsch decided that the council was an abomination, and that Pope John, who had convened the council, might well be the antichrist.

Deutsch soon found other priests, mostly his age and older, who were of a similar mind. Leading this fraternity, quite naturally, was Father Charles E. Coughlin.

Father Coughlin arguably was the most widely famous priest in the history of the Detroit diocese. He was not cofounder of the University of Michigan, nor had he been elected to Congress, like Father Gabriel Richard. He was not a profoundly holy man or even a wonder worker, as was Father Solanus Casey.

But Father Coughlin was mentioned in just about every book that chronicled United States history of this century. One scarcely ever read of Father Coughlin without the descriptive suffixal phrase, “controversial radio priest of the thirties.”

In the backwash of the council, Coughlin formed the ground zero of its opposition. Many priests gathered round him. Chief among these was Father Arthur Deutsch.

All this—the sketchy reputation of Father Deutsch—was common knowledge, especially among the priests of Detroit. Although little of his earlier history was popularly known, Deutsch had attained a measure of fame when he was selected as, and accepted the role of, chaplain to Theodore Nash, Esquire. That was when he achieved far more than the promised fifteen minutes of fame Andy Warhol ascribed to each human.

The principal item that Father Koesler did not know was what he himself was doing here.

His purpose was to meet with Ted Nash. Once he had stated his name and the nature of his desired meeting with Nash—a personal matter—he had been summarily shunted to Father Deutsch. Since there seemed no way around this rigmarole, Koesler had accepted this route. But he was confused and not at all happy.

Deutsch poured from what looked to be a very expensive coffee service. Koesler thanked him and tasted the brew.

“Like it?” Deutsch obviously did. “It’s my own private blend.”

Koesler nodded. To him, coffee was a dark, hot drink. He couldn’t tell one brand from another. If Deutsch wanted to enter into an informed disquisition on the merit of his creation, it would be a startlingly brief conversation.

There was a lengthy pause while Deutsch savored the satisfaction of his brew. “How are things at Old St. Joe’s, Father?”

The question cleared a couple of items for Koesler. First, Deutsch had done some homework; at least he knew where Koesler was stationed. And second, Deutsch wanted to stay formal: It would not be Art and Bob, it would be “Father.”

Fine.

“All things considered,” Koesler said cautiously, “not bad. The congregation continues to grow … although I wish we could attract more black Catholics. Some of the other inner-city parishes are doing very well on that score. But then they offer a liturgy more in tune with the African-American experience.”

Deutsch frowned. “I know what you mean. Those other parishes … they’re more Baptist than Catholic. At least St. Joe’s still offers Mass in union with Holy Church. You even have a Sunday Mass in Latin. We were very pleased with that.”