No Greater Love (20 page)

“What really hurts,” Zoo said thoughtfully, “is that your scenario could take place.”

“My point,” Zachary said, “is that this is about the way a lot of Catholic conservatives see their Church now. Everything seemed to be running so smoothly. Then the leadership changed. The new Pope set the mechanism of change in operation.

“People who were very satisfied with the, status quo were bombarded with one change after another. These people were reeling. And, in the case of my parish council, led by Mr. William Cody, they saw a chance to for once turn things around. It was only a small step—the outlawing of a Folk Mass—but as far as they were concerned, it was a step in the right direction. It would be a victory after so many consecutive defeats.

“And it all fell down around their ears tonight. From anybody's standpoint—even mine—it was kind of sad.”

They were silent for a brief time during which Anne Marie refilled the coffee cups.

“I didn't know,” Zoo said. “I had no idea they felt that strong about it. It's just how and where you go to church.”

“Right,” Zachary agreed. “But their religion is as important to them as your homicide investigations are—”

“I know: as important to them as my investigations are to me. It makes more sense now. And the reason they don't just get in their cars and drive a few blocks to get a service more to their liking?”

“Some do. This thing works both ways. Territory used to be a dominant consideration. There were parish boundaries. And Catholics were expected to attend and support their parish—the parish they lived in. Lots of them still do that—especially older Catholics. But if you want a by-the-book Mass and your parish provides a polka-and-pizza celebration—or vice versa—you get in your car and go elsewhere.

“So, what motivates people like the ones tonight who tried to kill the Folk Mass? Different things. They're tired of being pushed around, going from church to church shopping for their kind of Mass. Or, like Rosa Parks, they're just not going to give their place up to anyone else. Or, they want to save the Church from itself.

“And, by the way, Zoo: My analogy broke down when I compared Pope John with a crackpot inspector in the Homicide Division. And the changes in the Church to crazy procedures in your division. John Twenty-third, in reality, might have been literally a godsend. And most of the changes were needed and overdue—”

“I know. I know.”

“I just wanted to be sure you knew.”

“One thing that's becoming clear to me,” Zoo said, “is the leader of your council—Cody. He comes across as a really zealous guy. He's the one who was affected most when you pulled the carpet out from under them … no?”

“Yes.”

“Is he a violent guy?”

“Violent? I've no way to know that.”

“Think,” Zoo commanded. “Think about it. Does he ever talk about hostile action? Is there anything about him that would make you think there's a violent streak in there someplace?”

Zachary took seriously Zoo's directive. He thought. His expression changed as something came to mind. “One thing, I think,” he said slowly. “He is out there beating the bushes every hunting season. He always takes his son with him.

“And that's another thing: His son is a seminarian. There aren't that many nowadays. Al Cody is a kind of endangered species.”

“Does he talk about the hunting expeditions?” Zoo probed. “Does he come back with a deer strapped to his car? Does he dwell on the kill?”

“I'm just not that close to him, Zoo. I was at his apartment once for dinner just after I was named pastor of St. Joe's. I can tell you that at least on that occasion he didn't have any trophies on his walls … no deer heads or anything like that.

“And I've never heard him bragging about the hunt. But, a-hunting he does go—faithfully.”

“What about the son?”

“Albert? He's in his final year in the seminary. He'll be ordained in a few months.”

“How does he take to hunting? Like father, like son?”

“I don't think so. You know in a lot of hunting parties there are a few who go along just for the ride. Maybe one who cooks for the gang …

“That reminds me, if you'll pardon my going off on a tangent: Did you hear about the foursome who go off into the woods? One of them nominates another as cook. The vote carries three to one. But the designated cook says, ‘Okay, but the first one of you who complains about the food takes over as cook.'

“The next day the cook finds some deer dung on the trail. He takes it back to camp and cooks it up for dinner. The first guy to take a bite spits it out and shouts, ‘This stuff tastes like deer dung!' and then immediately, in a softer tone, ‘… but good.'”

His listeners laughed, knowing that their brother had cleaned up the story slightly—undoubtedly for Anne Marie's benefit. Anne Marie was grateful.

“To get back to my point,” Zachary said, “Al always played the role of cook on these hunting jaunts. I'm not sure his dad is happy with this; I think he'd be delighted if Al bagged a deer. But I also think that Al would get physically sick if he actually harmed a living creature.”

Everyone seemed lost in thought for a while.

“What are you fishing for, honey?” Anne Marie asked finally.

“This guy, Cody,” Zoo responded, “he sounds to me like a bomb waiting to go off.”

“You think that Zachary is in some kind of danger?”

“Maybe, yes,” Zoo replied after a moment. “Probably, no. But,” he added, “we see it all the time. Somebody goes berserk and shoots somebody. Afterward, we interview relatives, friends, neighbors. Was the guy violent? How did he relate to others? Was there any provocation? Did he seem calm, deliberate? Was he irrational? Questions like that.”

“Is there a pattern? Is there a common denominator?” Zack asked.

“If there is one, it's that the perp had an angry, violent streak. He had reason—or thought he had reason—to direct his pent-up hatred at the victim.”

“What you're getting at,” Zack suggested, “is that after such an incident, people generally were not surprised.”

“Yeah! Call it Monday-morning quarterbacking. But, yeah. Say the guy is maybe a postal worker. One morning he comes in to start his shift. Then, in the middle of things, he leaves his station, seeks out his supervisor, and shoots him point-blank. Maybe he shoots some more—mainly his superiors. Then he turns the gun on himself.

“It happens. Again and again.”

Silence.

“Then …” Zack hesitated. “… then you think this could happen to me. You think Bill Cody could do this … to me.”

“In a word, yes. It's possible, anyway.”

“Oh, sweetheart, no!” Anne Marie exclaimed. “You can't mean that someone might shoot Zachary!”

Zoo hung his head. “I don't want to suggest anything. Particularly something as bad as that. But it happens. It can happen … and,” he said firmly, “it does happen.”

“But William Cody is a civilized man,” Anne Marie protested. “He's a lawyer. He knows what would happen to him if he were to do anything like that. Shoot a priest!”

“All these guys, all these shooters, are law-abiding citizens—until they go off the deep end. They're not professionals,” Zoo said. “They're not habitual criminals. They're not hit men. They are lawyers, office workers, truck drivers, you name it. But they have an obsession, a fixation about something—or somebody. The target may or may not even be aware of how the perp feels.

“Maybe the target is aware of the underlying problem. Maybe he has fired or demoted the perp. Maybe he's hounding the guy. But no matter what sort of pressure the target is applying, he usually doesn't expect what can happen.

“Then, all of a sudden, the perp has busted into the guy's office. He's flushed. His eyes have a wild look. The perp usually doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. In just this one last second, the victim knows the whole story. One, because the guy has no reason to burst into the office; two, because the guy's got a gun and it's pointed right at the victim's head or heart. It's gonna be a fatal shot nine and a half times out of ten.”

Anne Marie was silent, but there were tears on her cheeks.

“So,” Zachary said, “the police and the news people would be asking Mary O'Connor, the other council members, Bob Koesler,
you …

“Was there any indication of bad feelings between Father Tully and Mr. Cody? Yes, there was. Did Mr. Cody make any threatening remarks? Not that we can recall, but there were some pretty harsh words.

“Things like that, eh?”

Anne Marie wiped her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “You can't let this happen, honey,” she said to her husband. “You can't let him get killed. How can you even sit here and anticipate these awful things? You've got to protect him!”

Zoo shifted in his chair and turned sideways toward them. “He hasn't done anything yet.”

“Who?” Anne Marie asked.

“Cody.”

“The object is to stop him from doing anything … isn't it?”

“You know the drill, honey,” Zoo replied. “We've been through this before. The police are powerless to take any action in a situation like this. We can't operate unless there's been a crime.”

“When we talked about this before, we weren't talking about a brother … a brother we love.”

“Sweetheart, we were talking about everybody.”

“You can't even protect Zack? You can't go to this Cody fellow and warn him away?”

“Not unless I want to lose my job. Just because Cody is a possible enemy of, well, anybody, doesn't give me the right to take any action. That sort of thing happens all the time. Nearly everybody's got somebody who hates him or her. But that's not a crime.”

“Isn't there anything you can do to protect your own brother?” Anne Marie pleaded.

“The only way we can come close to that is to put Zachary in some setting that we can control. Put you,” Zoo addressed his brother, “in, say, a hotel room with a cop. That sort of thing might happen in the case of a witness who's going to testify tomorrow and we want to see him live to do that. But there's no compelling reason to do it in this case. And you wouldn't want that.”

Zachary waved away a refill of his cup. “No, I wouldn't. I didn't become the pastor of a parish so I can hole up in a room and hide from one of my parishioners.

“Anyway, don't you think we're getting carried away with this? What we're talking about is a tiff at a parish meeting between a council member and a pastor.”

“The way you described this ‘tiff,'” Zoo said, “it was considerably more than a mere disagreement. You impressed me, anyway, that this guy is desperately involved in his church. From all you've said, I'd have to conclude that there's a possibility that this could get physical. And, if it got to that point, I don't see it ending in a fistfight. He's got guns. I believe he might think about using one.”

Zachary stood; the others followed his lead.

“We all have to work tomorrow,” Zachary said. “We'd better call it a night. Thanks for the company … though I must say that I'm leaving somewhat more disturbed than I was coming over.”

Zoo patted his brother on the back. “Sorry about that. As far as I'm concerned, what we said had to be said. I don't think there's much chance of anything extreme happening. It's just barely possible. Not likely.

“But I would appreciate it if you were extra careful. Particularly since you are determined to go on with the Folk Mass. Just watch yourself.”

“I know, I know,” Zachary replied. “As Cromwell said, ‘Trust in God, but keep your powder dry.'”

“That's it,” Zoo chuckled.

Amid handshakes and hugs, they parted.

Seventeen

“That was some show you put on tonight.”

Bill Cody, who had just hung up the phone, paid no attention to his wife.

Eileen Cody, in nightgown and robe, stood in the middle of the living room. Her arms were folded across her chest; her slippered feet sank into the deep pile of the off-white carpet. “Did you finally get Father Koesler?”

“Yes, yes. He didn't say so, but I think Tully had reached him before I could call. He probably phoned right after we left the rectory.”

“I don't blame Father Tully for getting his foot in the door with Father Koesler before you could pull off poor Tully's arm and beat him over the head with it.”

He mumbled something in response. She didn't understand him, but cared too little to ask him to repeat it. “So, did you get him to attend the Mass this Sunday?”

“He'll be there. I knew I could count on him.”

“Have you given any thought to whose team he'll be on?”

“Koesler? Of course not. In all the time I've—
we've
—been on the council, how many times have you seen us at loggerheads?”

“How many times has a Folk Mass been inserted in our schedule?”

“Look, Eileen, I don't need you on my back. I've got a big plagiarism hearing early tomorrow and I've got some last-minute case reading to do.”

“Plagiarism! That should be duck soup for you.”

“Not when the judge tells us in chambers that there's nothing new on the face of the earth.”

“What?”

“Far as I can see, if there's nothing new on the face of the earth, there's no such thing as plagiarism.”

“You sound like you're on a roll. The judge pulls the legal rug from under your feet and you count on a vote from the parish council only to find that it doesn't mean a damn.

“By the way,” she added, “do you figure on taking Father Tully's word about the council being merely a consultative body?”

“I'll check it out tomorrow. But I doubt that he's leading us on. It'd be too easy to refute. He'd be up the creek without a paddle if he lied. Besides, I've got one small victory: You lost a vote.”