“Sort of,” Koesler said. “But, as Lieutenant Tully said, we may be getting to the good part.
“After I looked for, but did not find, any distinctly Catholic idiosyncrasies in your mannerisms, it occurred to me that I might be going about this business backwards-something I’ve done lots more than once. So I just reviewed what I had observed about you in the few days I’ve known you.
“The very first thing that came to my mind when I tried to remember what you’d done that drew my attention was food.”
“Food!”
“Yes, food. I remembered our first dinner together on Sunday evening.”
“What of it?” Krieg was challenging. “I came late for dinner. As I remember, the food was cold.”
“Do you recall what you had to eat?”
“Of course not. It was of no consequence.”
“I wouldn’t have thought so at the time. But I noticed anyway.”
“And now you’re going to tell everyone what I had to eat for Sunday dinner.” Krieg was contemptuous. “Really, Inspector, how long is this going to go on? What earthly difference can it make what I ate?”
Koznicki, his expression of thoughtful interest unchanged, continued to gaze at Koesler. Tully looked as if he were withholding judgment. Moore and Mangiapane were kids watching “Sesame Street.”
“Actually,” Koesler replied, “it wasn’t so much what you ate as what you didn’t. The main course was beef Stroganoff. And I noticed that Rabbi Winer ate everything else that was served that night except the Stroganoff. He just toyed with that. Didn’t eat a bit of it.”
Krieg sighed noisily, signifying a boredom he was being forced to endure.
“When you arrived, Reverend, everyone else was just about finished with dinner.”
“That’s what I said. Or, if this is some sort of kangaroo court, perhaps I’d better phrase it, ‘I stipulated to that.’”
“But, Reverend, the dinner had not been served in common dishes. Each person was given an individual serving-a plate with the food already on it.”
“So?”
“So, it wasn’t a case of the food’s being cold. It wasn’t cooling in a common dish all the while we ate. Your meal, Reverend, was undoubtedly being kept warm since you were expected for dinner. But you looked at the remains of what had been served and decided to have something different than the rest of us.”
“That’s a crime?”
“Impolite, perhaps. Unmannerly, maybe. Not a crime. Not yet.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“You had what the rest of us had as far as the salad and vegetables were concerned. But as the main course, you had an omelet. And you had milk, followed by coffee with cream.”
“I did?”
“The kitchen staff undoubtedly could corroborate that.”
“Marvelous, Father Koesler; you have a unique memory. I can’t imagine anyone else who would-or would want to-recall everything I have to eat.”
“Oh, it didn’t make all that great an impression at the time. It was only later that I began to wonder about it, without even knowing I was wondering, in fact. And I began wondering the very next evening when we had dinner together again.”
“What did I eat, good Father?”
Koesler smiled. “We were served a fruit salad, beef broth, lamb, and red potatoes.”
“And I suppose the kitchen people could corroborate that again. Inspector, must I sit here and listen to this drivel?”
“For the moment I would do so if I were you,” Koznicki said. “Father Koesler is not in the habit of wasting anyone’s time.”
Krieg’s countenance hardened. “All right, Father. We had salad, broth, lamb, and-what? — potatoes.”
“And coffee,” Koesler said.
“And coffee,” Krieg repeated.
“Except that this time I noticed that only Sister Janet took cream in her coffee. I passed the cream to her and noticed that no one else asked for any.”
“Meaning I didn’t have cream in my coffee. Well, that should do it. . whatever ‘it’ is.” Krieg dripped sarcasm.
“‘It,’ Reverend Krieg, is dietary laws. It occurred to me when I was thinking of your growing up as a Catholic child learning Catholic habits, idiosyncrasies, superstitions, whatever, from your mother.”
“My mother!” There was a decided change in Krieg’s attitude. At mention of his mother, he became perceptibly aggressive. “What does my mother have to do with any of this?”
“Just about everything,” Koesler replied. “I was thinking of you in terms of myself. Two Catholic kids growing up in a Catholic environment. I was thinking of you learning about the rosary as I did, watching as Mother recited it regularly and fervently. Then it occurred to me: Maybe you were without any discernible Catholic mannerisms because you didn’t really grow up in a Catholic atmosphere. You didn’t learn the rosary from your mother. But you did learn that you should never mix dairy and meat products in the same meal.”
“This is an outrage!” Krieg erupted. “My mother is a saint! How dare you drag her into this sordid affair!”
“I think you’re right, Reverend: It is a rather wretched affair and your sainted mother doesn’t belong in it. It’s just that she taught you dietary customs. She taught you so well, you observe them without even thinking. That’s not odd. Catholics follow Church rules, regulations, and laws out of pure habit. There are any number of Catholics who still do not eat meat on Fridays. Outside of a certain few Fridays, it’s not even a matter of law any more. But many Catholics continue to exclude meat from their Friday menu. It’s a matter of ingrained habit.
“When you saw the remnants of beef Stroganoff on the plates, instinctively you knew you could not eat that dish because it contained both meat-the beef-and a dairy product-sour cream. A sign to your chauffeur and he ordered a different dinner for you. I noticed him being very insistent with the waitress.
“So instead of Stroganoff you had an omelet. No meat in that, nor in the salad or vegetables-both of which you ate. Keeping the meal clear for dairy products, you added a glass of milk, and cream in your coffee.”
“I don’t-” Krieg began.
“Just give me one more moment,” Koesler broke in. “The following evening, if you’ll recall, we were served fruit salad, consomme, lamb, and potatoes. No dairy product. After dinner, you had coffee without cream. Remember? Sister Janet was the only one who took cream. People who drink coffee take it black, or with cream, or with cream and sugar, or with sugar. And that’s the way they drink it all the time. Once you notice how a person takes coffee, you know how to serve it from that time on to that individual. Unless. . unless the person is consciously or unconsciously observing some dietary restriction, such as one that does not permit meat and dairy products at the same meal.”
There followed a few moments of silence.
Then Krieg said quietly, “And where are you going with this line of reasoning, Father Koesler?”
It was the unspoken question on the minds of everyone else in the room.
Instead of directly addressing Krieg’s question, Koesler said, “All I’ve really been doing Reverend, is putting together building blocks that seem to fit. For instance, Rabbi Winer was the only other person who did not eat the Stroganoff.”
“So two people out of eight don’t care for Stroganoff. That seems normal enough.”
“And the first word I heard you say was a Yiddish one. The rabbi was telling his story at dinner Sunday night. You happened to reach the dining room just as he got to the punch line. Only you were the one who said it: ‘Gevalt!’”
“Oh, come now, Father-Officers-isn’t this getting a bit thin? English-language dictionaries are filled with foreign words that are so popular and common that they are accepted in ordinary English usage. ‘Gevalt!’ is just one of many foreign words that are understood by almost everyone. I just have no idea what you’re driving at. Does anyone?” Krieg looked at the others but got no reaction. The police were busy absorbing, weighing, and evaluating the interchange between the priest and the minister.