The Sacrifice (10 page)

A hesitant knock at the door interrupted Zoo's question.

“Come in,” Zack Tully invited.

Judging from his appearance and demeanor, the young man who entered had to be one of the Wheatley clan. Indeed, it was the younger son. In his mid-to-late teens, he was the only one of the Wheatley progeny who had chosen to attend his father's ordination.

Nan Wheatley had explained that Richard was indisposed. And, he did appear to be under the weather. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. His tie hung askew. His hair was rumpled and his countenance was marked by a deathly pallor. In short, the young man gave every evidence of having very recently been very sick at his stomach.

“This is Richard, our younger son,” Nan Wheatley said, smiling at the lad encouragingly.

Richard hurriedly scanned the room, nodded, and took a seat next to his mother.

S
IX

In the awkward silence that followed, Richard finally coughed nervously. “Sorry I'm late. Got a little shook up. Actually, I was doing pretty good until I saw that guy on the stretcher. He was so messed up I guess I just lost it.” He hesitated. “Did he … does anyone know … uh, did he make it?”

“No, dear,” his mother said in a consoling tone. “He died.”

“Oh. I'm sorry. Was he Roman?”

“Yes, dear.”

Koesler was not the only Roman Catholic in the room who felt strange being identified by an adjective rather than the accustomed noun.

“Is everybody else okay?” Richard inquired.

“As far as we know, yes.” Nan was now holding one hand of her husband and one of her son.

“Where were we?” Zoo said.

Koesler picked up the ball. “I believe we had determined that a great number of people would be familiar with the procession that opens nearly every liturgical event. At least in the Roman Church.” He was beginning to find it somehow refreshing to be Roman rather than Catholic. It seemed to level the playing field. The Episcopalians felt justified in calling themselves Catholic. And, in fact, they did so at Mass and in their prayer life. So if they could tolerate being designated as Anglicans, Koesler, for one, could live with being known as a Roman. It
was
refreshingly different. And since there was going to be a good deal of talk regarding the two communions, things would get cluttered if both sides constantly referred to themselves merely as Catholics.

“Okay,” Zoo said, “let's get on to the next, and maybe the crux of this business: Why the delay? What held up the procession? It was thanks to that delay that there was only one death instead of multiple deaths and injuries—”

“Excuse me,” Father Tully interrupted. “I think I know where you're going now: George—Father Wheatley—was to be the star of today's show—”

“We're taking this step by step,” Zoo broke back in. “And yes, the next logical step is in Father Wheatley's direction.”

“And I'm suggesting that there's someone else you should consider first.”

“And that is—?”

“Have you forgotten that according to the Liturgy, there would have been more than one person standing directly in the bomb's path?” It was strange, when Zack was assuming an authoritative role, how much the two brothers resembled each other.

There was a moment's pause.

“You?”

“Me.”

“How do you figure? As far as I'm concerned you could have been in the classical wrong place at the wrong time. What would motivate anyone to murder you?”

“Race.” Zack's voice was emotionless.

“Race?” Zoo sounded slightly puzzled.

“We do have the same father.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“True, I can pass. But I've never done so. I'm mulatto, and to some people that means I'm a nigger.”

That word once allowed in otherwise polite society by now was used meaningfully only by the rankest of bigots. The word enunciated here by Zachary Tully, a priest, jolted this group like a stinging slap to the face.

“You're saying,” Zoo stated, “that you could have been the target. That the bomb could have been meant for you?”

“Yes. That's very possible. And if the supposition is true, it would be a fatal mistake to overlook it.”

Zoo shook his head. “You've been here, first in residence, then as pastor, for—what?—three years now. Why would any nut wait all this time to attack you? You've never had any trouble along these lines …” Zoo's forehead knotted in sudden suspicion. “… have you?”

Clearly, Zachary was deeply concerned. “Yes, I have. I just haven't told you or Anne Marie about it.”

Zoo found this revelation difficult to swallow. “But … when? Why? How long has this been going on?”

“I didn't get any feedback while I was filling in for Bob Koesler when he went on vacation. But”—he turned to Koesler—“after you retired, Bob, and I became pastor”—he turned back to Zoo—“maybe three or four months after—the letters and phone calls began.”

“What sorts of letters and calls?”

“The letters consisted of words cut out of newspapers and magazines and pasted on notepaper. The calls were from some man whose voice was muffled so I could hardly understand what he was saying, let alone identify him.”

“How often would he contact you?”

“I don't even know for sure if it was the same man every time. There was no regularity, no routine. Usually, if we had anything out of the ordinary …”

“Like …”

“A festival. A novena in honor of St. Joseph—the parish's patron saint. But especially if we sponsored a program that had something even peripherally to do with race: social justice, mixed marriages—that sort of thing. It was as dependable as sunrise: I'd get a letter or a call.”

“Have you got any of those letters? Did you keep them?”

Zack's reaction was as one who had failed at something very important and vital. “No … none.” He was crestfallen.

Zoo was both angry and frustrated. “We could have helped you. By this time, we could've had that bas—” Zoo caught himself. “… that guy—locked up in Jacktown.” Zoo was almost clenching his teeth. “Zack, what were you thinking of? You know you should've given that stuff to me!”

Now Zack was like an adolescent being lectured. “I didn't want to worry you. Particularly, I didn't want to worry Anne Marie. Besides, as time went on and nothing happened, I thought maybe the guy had given it up.”

“Not likely,” Zoo said. He shook his head. “In light of what happened today, you're right, Zack: This gives the situation an entirely different slant.” He turned back to the others.

“I was given to understand that there were strong feelings against Father Wheatley and his move to join the Catholic Church.” His tone was now near belligerent.

Koesler almost winced. He knew he was going to have the devil's own time trying to be conscious of that term “Catholic.” But he had entered upon the process of becoming sensitive to the terms “Catholic” and “Anglican” or “Episcopalian.”

“He did seem the overwhelming choice as designated target,” Zoo went on. “But we still have to account for the delay in starting the procession. You may or may not have been the intended victim. But why didn't that ceremony begin on time—”

Once again a knock. This time a uniformed officer opened the door to admit two people, a young man and a younger woman.

Nan Wheatley dropped the hands she was holding and rose to greet her other two children.

The young man was Ronald Wheatley—”Father Ron Wheatley,” as Nan referred to him. He was “Ron” to his immediate family and familiar friends. But whenever there was the slightest chance that his professional status would be unclear to strangers, Nan always tacked on the “Father.”

Nan crossed the room to put a protective arm around her daughter's shoulder. “And this is our daughter, Alice.”

Father Koesler was the only one present who was familiar with the entire Wheatley family. He had worked with George in touching all the bases in the elder Wheatley's quest to become a priest in the Roman Church. During that process, Koesler had met Nan Wheatley about the minimum number of times. And none of those times was it a purely social visit.

Koesler was aware that Ron was an Episcopal priest and that Alice, too, was preparing for that vocation. However, were it not for their relationship to George Wheatley, Koesler undoubtedly would have been unaware of their existence.

Ron physically resembled his mother. Both were tall and slim, with chiseled features. They were attractive people.

Ronald's clerical suit was impeccable; his trouser creases looked as if they could cut steel. Just the right length of French cuffs peeked correctly from the sleeves of his fitted jacket. Silver cuff links in the shape of a cross were occasionally visible.

Keeping in mind his vocation, Ronald—Father Ronald Wheatley—was power-dressed.

Alice, on the other hand, resembled her father. Even her voice, deep for a woman, had the same sonorous quality. Neither father nor daughter seemed concerned with their appearance. George Wheatley had gone to pot early, on. He was by no means gross or obese. Nan chose to look upon her husband's waist as nothing more than leftover baby fat. His girth was not muscular or particularly flabby; it was just … there. George was comfortable with his bulk—and with his life, for that matter.

This unconcern with appearance did not work as well for Alice.

In her early twenties, she could charitably be described as being on the far side of zaftig. Less charitably, she clearly was overweight. At that young age she should have been as attractive as she ever would be. Instead, she just didn't quite make it. A solid program of exercise and diet would have done wonders. Instead, most of her time was spent studying and snacking.

The heavy, black frames of her glasses didn't help. Her face was round and full, making her resemble a female Charlie Brown. Or, perhaps, a triple-decker snowman.

This, Father Koesler's initial appreciation of the young woman, may not have been kind. But it was incontrovertible.

Alice's entire demeanor seemed to indicate that she was missing out on the fun of being young. Koesler put himself in her place and regretted the course she had chosen. After college, she had embarked on a seminary career that would require three additional years of study. She was now completing the first of those years.

Ron and Alice seemed breathless, as if they had been running, or at least walking rapidly.

“Are you two all right?” Ron was addressing his parents.

George nodded.

“We're fine, dear,” Nan said.

“Was anyone badly hurt?”

“A priest was killed,” Lieutenant Tully said. “The priest who was murdered”—Tully used the verb deliberately—“was Father Joseph Farmer.”

“A Roman?” Ron asked.

“What?” Even though the term had already been used during this gathering, so unfamiliar was Tully with this subidentification that he could not have provided an answer to Ron's question.

“A Roman, as distinct from an Anglican,” Father Tully explained to his brother. And then, to the young man, “Yes, he was a Roman.”

“Anyone else seriously injured?” Alice asked.

“Not as far as we know just now,” Zoo replied. Then: “Where have you two been?”

The identical question was on Walt Koznicki's mind.

“You mean Alice and me? What right have you—” Ron Wheatley was on his way toward being defiant and uncooperative when he thought better of it. “I was driving around,” he said calmly.

“Going nowhere?” Tully asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes: going nowhere.”

“You did not intend to attend your father's ceremony?”

“That's why I was driving around—aimlessly.”

“Which was …?”

“I couldn't make up my mind whether to attend.

“The time to begin the
ordination”
—evidenced in his tone was an abundance of distaste—“came and went. And that settled things as far as I was concerned. I would have driven home. But my mother called my cell phone number. Of course, the bomb had just gone off so she couldn't tell me much more than that. But it was enough to get me over here.”

“You came here directly?”

“No, not directly. My sister is staying at the Pontchartrain. It's just a few minutes from here. So I picked her up.”

Zoo turned to Alice, who still stood in the protective embrace of her mother. “What were you doing at the Pontchartrain?”

“I flew up from Dallas. I'm a student at a seminary there.”

“So you're an out-of-towner. It seems probable that you would stay with your parents … or your brother.”

“Yes.” Alice seemed impassive. Being questioned by a police officer in a rectory where a bomb had just exploded didn't seem to rattle her.

“So why didn't you stay with one or another of your relatives?”

“The main reason is that I wasn't sure I would attend my dad's
ordination.”
Her tone was almost identical to her brother's. Was she parroting his sarcasm, Zoo wondered, or was the sentiment her own?

“I knew she was in town,” Ron volunteered. “I phoned her. We talked about what Dad was going to do. We agreed that we both were uncertain about attending. She didn't want to stay with our folks and feel pressured to accompany them.

“Likewise she didn't want to compromise my decision. So she stayed downtown. The idea was that the Pontchartrain is close enough so that she could wait till the last minute to decide and still taxi here in time. Matter of fact, I wasn't even sure I'd catch her in. But I did. We came straight over. And”—with a. gesture—“here we are.”

“So,” Zoo said, “I assume you both were alone at the time of the explosion. You have no one who could testify that you were in transit and not at the scene?”