One does not just walk into a classroom relying on some miraculous dabitur vobis. He realized that the moment he walked in and confronted the eager faces. One does not begin a class by inviting questions. Questions follow a presentation-sometimes. They certainly do not precede a presentation. Somehow he had managed to carry it off this morning-at least he hoped he had. But he had paid the price in emotional investment. No blood or tears, but there had been plenty of sweat.
As he hurriedly exited the classroom, he almost literally ran into Sergeant Angela Moore, who’d been scurrying down the corridor. He apologized.
“That’s okay, Father. This’ll save time in trying to find you. They’ll want you there for this.” She managed to sweep him along with her.
“They’ll want me?” Koesler fell in step with her. “Some new information?”
“Uh-huh.” She said no more, but led the way to the modest dining room that had become a makeshift headquarters for the police.
Koznicki and Tully were standing near the center of the room. Various other officers were occupied in other parts of the room.
Tully took one look at Moore’s face. “You found it, didn’t you?”
“Uh-huh.” Koesler now noticed Moore’s flushed excitement. “Yeah,” she said. “This has got to be what Krieg found and the nun didn’t want to get out.”
Koesler fought a sudden urge to leave. He felt as if he were eavesdropping. He had developed a liking and respect for Sister Marie. And Sergeant Moore was about to reveal the secret Marie so desperately wanted kept hidden. Hers was, after all, the one remaining confidential matter to be exposed. But he knew that Inspector Koznicki wanted him there. Koesler steeled himself to hear the worst.
“It was an abortion,” Moore said, rather more forcefully than necessary.
“An abortion!” Koesler’s involuntary reaction was so unexpected that it startled the others. However, their surprise was momentary.
“When’d it happen?” Tully asked.
“She was a senior in high school.”
“A senior in high school!” Ordinarily Koesler would be listening to the experts and contributing nothing at this point. But he felt that someone should be standing up for this good woman. “High school!” he repeated. “That must be. . some thirty years ago!”
“That’s about right.” Moore turned slightly to face Koesler. He had entered this matter actively and neither of her superior officers was curbing him in any way. So she felt free to address his concern.
“How. . how could you uncover such a thing? I mean. . thirty years!” Koesler said.
“A fluke, mostly,” Moore admitted. “Although we might have uncovered it ourselves, given time. But, I don’t know. .” She seemed to drift off in speculation.
“How did you uncover it?” Koznicki brought her back to the present.
“Oh, Stewart found it,” Moore said.
“Stewart?”
“Uh, Patrolman Stewart, Judith.” Moore located the officer’ name on the report she was holding. “She’s a rookie. Hasn’t got anything to do with this investigation. She’s stationed in the First Precinct. She was reading about our case and she thought the name sounded familiar. Marie Monahan. So, she thought about it until the bell rang. She thought she’d seen the name in one of the old abortion files.”
“Isn’t that a bit contrived, Sergeant?” Koesler broke in. He was surprising himself that he was so actively responding to this charge against Sister Marie’s reputation. He couldn’t help himself. It didn’t seem right that a good person’s reputation could be so easily trashed. “Doesn’t the coincidence stretch credibility?”
Moore didn’t know whether to engage this outsider in a pedantic debate when there was the serious business of a homicide investigation going on. She glanced around and caught the affirmative if slight nod given by Inspector Koznicki.
“It’s not all that odd, Father,” Moore explained. “Our newer people especially like to visit the basement at headquarters where all these old records are kept.”
“Why would they do that?” Koesler asked.
“It’s just fascinating reading,” Moore said. “We don’t write up reports this way anymore. It’s the terminology as much as anything else. Often as not, they use terms like ‘thug’ instead of ‘criminal’ or ‘perpetrator.’ They’re very. . uh. . emotionally written. They’re fun to read. Sort of like an old Batman strip. So, especially the newer people, when they find where these records are kept, well, it’s not uncommon for them to spend a little spare time browsing through them.
“That’s what Stewart was doing recently, see? She was going through the records-just recreational reading-when she got into the abortion files. And today when she saw the name of the nun mentioned as part of our investigation-well, as I said, it rang a bell. She says she remembered it because it was so Irish. Stewart figured that back then, with a name like that, abortion would have been not only a crime, but a sin.”
“I still find it hard to understand why you would keep records that old,” Koesler said.
Koznicki had been quietly studying the police record of Marie’s abortion that Moore had handed him. “You see, Father,” he explained, “with the frequency of criminal appeals of cases, the police tend to hold on to all records, just in case. Just in case a civil lawsuit is filed, we will not be caught short. We throw nothing away. It makes for a cluttered basement, but it also ensures that we will not be caught needing a record that has been discarded.
“This record, for example,” Koznicki continued, “of an abortion performed on one Marie Monahan, gives the name of the doctor who repaired the damage caused by an obvious amateur, who, it seems, almost killed Miss Monahan. So there is a complete medical record. But no name of the person who botched the original abortion. Apparently, Marie Monahan refused to cooperate with the investigating officer-which, I should mention, was not uncommon. That is why there are so many old records of abortion investigations in these files. Very, very infrequently did the victim of an illegal abortion agree to testify. And without the victim’s testimony, there was no case.”
Koesler said nothing. Seemingly, he had run out of questions and challenges.
“Well, that ties it,” Tully said. He seemed satisfied that they would be delayed no more by Koesler. “That’s a full house,” Tully continued. “Each of these writers has something in his or her past that they didn’t want revealed. Desperately didn’t want revealed. The rabbi had betrayed his own people. The monk is an alcoholic. The priest was an adulterer. And the nun had an abortion.”
Somehow, stated so flatly, so abruptly, these sins-if such they were-seemed to Koesler to be best kept buried as they had been prior to this police investigation. Then he recalled that the police were only reacting to what had already been ferreted out by Klaus Krieg.
“And,” Tully continued, “Krieg discovered every one of their secrets and threatened to publicize them unless they signed contracts with him.”
“How do you suppose he dug up all these secrets, Zoo?” Moore asked.
“Right now, I don’t know. But with his money, just about anything is possible. I got the feeling we’re getting down to the bottom line. It feels right.”
“Just one more question, please,” Father Koesler said. “Doesn’t it seem peculiar to anyone but me that we suddenly know so much about everyone connected with this workshop with the exception of the Reverend Krieg? I mean, all of a sudden we know some of the deepest, darkest secrets of four very dedicated religious-secrets we wouldn’t even have guessed existed except that Krieg found out about them and because of him the police investigated and found them out. But Klaus Krieg-the one who started all this-Klaus Krieg remains in the shadows. Doesn’t this seem odd?”
In the silence that followed Koesler’s question, it seemed the detectives were quietly passing around the responsibility of answering. Sergeant Moore fumbled through the sheaf of papers she was holding. She extracted three of them from the file and handed them to Koesler.