Tully, particularly, felt this unnecessary, but said nothing. He had gone this far in including the priest in this investigation; he could see no reason not to humor him one more time.
“We began,” Koesler proceeded, “with four writers and a publisher invited as an ad hoc faculty for this workshop. The writers specialize in mystery novels cast in a religious setting. The protagonist in their books, in each case, is an extension of the author of each one: an Episcopal priest, a rabbi, a Trappist monk, a religious Sister. The publisher specializes in religious books. All five of these people are successful, in varying degrees in this general field.
“Now, it’s been established that Reverend Krieg wants-covets might be a better word-these four writers for his stable. And, to this end, he has offered each of them a contract to be published by RG. Press. . all right so far?”
No one had any objection.
“I can well imagine,” Koesler continued, “that it would be flattering for a writer to be pursued by a publisher. But it’s a free country, and in keeping with that truth, there is nothing that says a writer must sign a contract with any specific publisher. All one need do is say no. Which, we are told, each and every one of these writers said to P.G. Press.
“On the other hand, it is nowhere written that a publisher need take no for an answer. And this, we are told, also happened. P.G. Press hounded-I think that’s the word-all four writers.
“Still, nothing terribly unusual going on. We’ve all had the experience of being pestered by salespeople who simply won’t give up. In fact, what we consider ‘pestering,’ to the dedicated salesperson is just a good salesperson doing his or her job.
“In this case, P.G. can say please. The writer can say no. P.G. can say pretty please. The writer can say a thousand times no. To some extent, just about everyone in this country has gone through this sort of verbal exchange at one time or another in one context or another.
“What startled every one of us on the outside looking in on this crossfire between writers and publisher was the vehemence of the writers in rejecting the publisher, and their evident antipathy-one might even say loathing or hatred-toward Reverend Krieg.
“Why, was the obvious question-why was everyone so emotionally riveted in his or her refusal to sign with P.G.? We are, after all, dealing with rational, dedicated religious people: a monk, a rabbi, a nun, and a priest. Here are people whom we should suppose have much more than average patience at their command. Here are people we would expect to be capable of politely refusing an offer-even if that offer were repeated too frequently. Yet even if we were to encounter one or another of the writers who might be lacking in a sustained ability to refuse politely ad infinitum we would not be terribly surprised. But, all of them? All of them? Each and every one of the writers was furious at P.G. Press and the Reverend Krieg. Why would that be?
“Then we learned that each of these writers had at least one deeply embarrassing episode in life that could spell ruin for career and/or vocation if the secret were to be revealed. You police suspected the existence of such skeletons. Your investigation uncovered these embarrassing secrets. It was then you discovered why the writers were so angry and why they were having such difficulty in making their rejections of P.G.’s overtures stick. The Reverend Krieg had uncovered these secrets and was threatening to reveal them unless the writers signed. He was making them an offer they could not refuse: blackmail.”
“Now, just one minute, Father Koesler,” Krieg said. “Praise God! Blackmail is a strong word. You can’t prove-”
“Hear him out, Krieg,” Tully cut in. “I think he’s getting to the good part.”
“I surely hope so,” Koesler said. “Anyway, we now have the reason why the writers are so angry with P.G. Press in general and Klaus Krieg in particular. But, angry enough for one of them to kill him?”
“Well, one of them tried,” Moore said. “One of them tried and got Rabbi Winer by mistake. And that’s what we’re trying to figure out now. Which one-or ones-tried to kill Krieg and got Winer by mistake.” She did not try to conceal her impatience.
“Yes, Sergeant,” Koesler said, “but before the event you describe, something else happened that I think was related. Remember the psychodrama? Reverend Krieg set up this play within a play, as it were, in which he was murdered-ostensibly by one of the writers. The staging was so realistic that I called the police, and Lieutenant Tully and Sergeant Mangiapane came here to investigate a murder that hadn’t happened.”
Mangiapane smiled. “That’s okay, Father. It happens. Like I told you then, this was not the first false alarm we ever answered.”
“And it was very kind of you, Sergeant, to let me off the hook. But the question that’s never been answered to my satisfaction is why the Reverend went to all that trouble. It was explained away as a kind of game. But I’ve always thought it was more than that.”
Krieg was smiling broadly. “I think that explanation is sufficient. But, Praise God, if you’ve got to look for something more, you have only to look at my state of mind. After all, I am not insensitive. What it boils down to is that, yes, I want these writers under contract. It will be beneficial to them and to P.G. Press. All right, for our mutual good, I may have pursued this matter a bit further than the average publisher might. But, Praise God, I’m only doing it for their own good. Can I help it if they develop an antipathy toward me to the point where I fear for my life? Maybe I did have more than one reason for staging that psychodrama. Maybe I wanted them to face realistically what evil consequences would follow if I were to be murdered. And just maybe I wanted the police to be alerted as well. Is there some sort of crime in this? I mean, really! Praise God!”
It was Koesler’s turn to smile. “That’s it exactly, Reverend Krieg. You did want the police in on this as early as possible.
“The reason is obvious. You had to know you were assembling four very angry people-four very threatened people-at this conference. Despite their religious station, it was well within the realm of possibility that one or more of them, pushed to the wall, might try to harm you-maybe even threaten your life. You brought your own bodyguard with you. But I can see where you would value having police protection as well.
“In fact, I think that’s why you stipulated that I be invited to take part in this workshop: because I have a history, limited though it might be, of having been involved in homicide investigations in the past. You figured that with your cleverly staged murder, there was a good chance I would get the police involved. And I did.”
Krieg still smiled, but not as broadly. “Now why would I do a fool thing like that?”
“A very good question,” Koesler said. “It didn’t even occur to me until just a short time ago, when I started to think of things in a different light. It all began when I learned that you were once a Catholic.”
Krieg’s voice had a touch of challenge to it. “You’re not going to hold that against me, are you?”
“No, Reverend, not that. But when I discovered you’d been a Catholic, I began to look for telltale traits that might be vestiges of your Catholic upbringing. Call it an avocation, but I am so deeply into Catholicism that I tend to value those little habits and superstitions that most of us Catholics share.
“Except. . except that I didn’t find any such signs in your behavior. None at all.”
Krieg was clearly annoyed. “Really? Really! Hasn’t this gone on far enough? Inspector. . Lieutenant. . isn’t it about time we go back across the hall and get on with the investigation? I mean, Praise God, are we here to discuss homey little Catholic practices?”