Dead Wrong Read online

  “You knew Maureen well enough to know she loved you and there was no way in the world that she would have been unfaithful to you. You granted that her child was yours. There really wasn’t any doubt at all: Her child is your child. In your heart you know that to be true. All you’ve discovered through that test is that Mary Lou is not your child. And you know what that means. If you now submit to the test you’ve told everyone you’re willing to take, you will not test with Mary Lou. You’ll test with Brenda. And you know … in your inner heart you know what that result will be.”

  Koesler had never seen anything to equal the sudden transformation that came over the old man.

  Nash fairly sprang from his chair. It was as if he were a young man. Even the creases in his face seemed to smooth away for an instant. He raised both arms to heaven, his hands clenched. As Koesler, in dismay, started to rise, Nash cried out in an unexpected loud and firm voice, “I am consumed! Good God, it’s the end!”

  He pitched forward, almost knocking Koesler to the floor as he fell.

  The priest was completely unnerved. He had witnessed heart attacks, he had seen death. But never anything like this.

  He grabbed the empty wheelchair and pressed every button he could find. Lots of things happened. The room experienced a drastic change in configuration—walls ground slowly to new positions, forming where none had been before; a gigantic TV screen swung slowly down from the ceiling; and, most distressing of all, the empty wheelchair started to roll on its own. Koesler, in near terror, looked about. The door at the end of the room burst open and the manservant dashed in, expertly dodging the moving obstacles. He hurried to the wheelchair, first pressing the button that halted the chair’s motion, then pressing the others so that the walls and TV returned to their former positions.

  “Call 911, quick! Quick!” Koesler said.

  “No, no! Mister Nash has own crew. I call!” He hurried to a phone on the stand near the hospital bed.

  Koesler could not hear what was being said, but, satisfied that aid was being summoned, he immediately became engrossed in trying to help in the only way a priest could in this situation.

  He knelt next to Nash, who lay face down in a crumpled heap. Koesler turned him over as gently as he could. Nash’s eyes were open wide but seemed to see nothing. His mouth was grotesquely contorted as if struggling for every precious breath.

  Koesler grasped the dying man’s hand and bent his head close to Nash’s ear. “Charles,” Koesler shouted, “you’re dying. In a few moments you’ll be judged by a loving God! Give Him your love now. If you’re sorry for all the sins of your life, squeeze my hand!”

  In response there was something … a pressure. A conscious act …? A dying twitch? There was no way to tell.

  As far as Koesler was concerned, it was enough. He shouted in Nash’s ear, “The Lord, Jesus, absolves you. And I, by His authority, absolve you from every bond of excommunication or interdict inasmuch as I am able and you need such forgiveness. Therefore, I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. May the suffering of our Lord Jesus Christ, the merits of the Blessed Virgin Mary and all the saints, whatever good you have done or evil you have suffered, be, for you, a remission of sins, an increase of grace, and the reward of eternal life. Amen.”

  Charles Nash was gone. Koesler was sure of it.

  NO SOONER HAD Koesler finished the words of absolution than the emergency medical crew—Nash’s private crew—dashed into the apartment. Koesler was impressed. They went to work immediately and expertly. Koesler was convinced they were beating a dead horse; but they had been retained to keep Nash alive and they were going to strive for that even if he was beyond resuscitation.

  With two of them working on Nash, the others lifted his inert body onto a gurney and wheeled it toward the elevator. Koesler asked if he might accompany them. One of them nodded, and, but for the house servant, away they all went.

  He rode in front with the ambulance driver. From time to time, Koesler glanced back; the crew was still working feverishly. Whatever Nash paid them, they were earning it. He ruminated that once Nash was no more, that excellent income would go down the drain along with him.

  Koesler was surprised that they were not heading for Harper, Receiving, or any of the nearby trauma centers. They were speeding, siren blaring, eastward toward St. John’s Hospital. It had to be a prior arrangement.

  After they arrived, and Nash was whisked into emergency, Koesler found a seat in the waiting room. There he looked from person to person, composing a scenario for each. This woman was waiting for a husband who had cut himself trying to fix something around the house. That couple was worrying about their child’s unexplained fever.

  And those three who had just walked in were anxious about Charles Nash.

  Koesler of course recognized Ted Nash and Father Deutsch, but the third man was a stranger. No, he wasn’t; at second glance, Koesler recognized him from photos in the news and society pages. Avery Cone, a highly prominent and extremely wealthy attorney.

  Ted led the way to the receptionist desk. He didn’t need to identify himself; the attendant knew who he was. She disappeared into one of the emergency cubicles.

  A few moments later, a white-clad woman with a stethoscope tucked into a pocket of her smock emerged and walked directly to the trio. “Mr. Nash …” She looked grave. “I’m sorry, but your father is gone. There was nothing we could do. He was dead on arrival. So sorry. If you wish, I can get somebody from Pastoral Care to be with you …”

  Koesler noted that Deutsch bristled at the mention of incidental spiritual aid. What was he—warmed-over stew?

  “Did he have a priest with him?” Ted asked. “Was there a priest with him when he died?”

  “Not from our hospital,” she replied. “Our chaplain isn’t here just now. And, of course, your father was gone by the time they brought him in. He probably died almost instantly. But I heard someone say a priest arrived in the ambulance with him.” She looked toward Koesler. “Could that be the one?”

  Heads turned. “Father Koesler! You!” Nash’s exclamation was ambiguous.

  Koesler rose and came over to the group. “I’m sorry about your father, Ted.”

  “You were with him? He sent for you?” There was so much hope in Ted’s voice.

  “Actually, I called him. But he invited me over.”

  “Did you …? Did he …?”

  “It was terribly sudden. He just pitched over. But I’m pretty sure he gave me a sign that he wanted absolution, so I gave it to him.”

  Ted’s smile was sublime. “He did? You did!” He seemed near-ecstatic. “We were just on our way to see him about this morning’s announcement when one of my people called on the car phone. We came right away.” He turned to the attorney. “Avery, this is Father Koesler … the priest I told you about.” Then, turning back to Koesler, “Father, I don’t think you know our attorney? Avery Cone.”

  The two men shook hands, but had no opportunity to speak in the face of Ted Nash’s exuberance. “But this is really providential. I can’t get over it!”

  Before anything else could be said, Father Deutsch, who was obviously trying to control some inner ire, jumped in. “Just a minute. You said earlier that you called him. Why?”

  “It was about … uh … this morning’s announcement.” It was clear Koesler was uneasy talking about this in public. “Perhaps,” he suggested, “we could discuss this somewhere more private?”

  “What’s wrong with here?” Deutsch was enjoying Koesler’s discomfort.

  Cone sensed that some seclusion was in order. “There are private rooms here for Pastoral Care,” he said. “I suggest we use one.”

  The foursome repaired to the room Cone indicated. Once there and seated, Koesler reviewed the morning’s events, beginning with the J.P. McCarthy program (which of course Nash knew about), Bob Talbert’s column (ditto), through the visit and exchange with Maureen and Brenda, to Charles Nash’s reaction
.

  Though Koesler went over the events in detail, it did not take as long as it had with the senior Nash. In capitulation, Koesler was able to streamline the story. Woven into this account, prompted by questions from the lawyer, were all the contributory details. Things such as the roles played by Chardon and the ersatz attorney from Chicago.

  As Koesler reported on his conversation with Maureen and Brenda, Ted waxed feisty. But as Koesler related the gist of that conversation, an appalled Ted turned first beet red, then ashen with horror and shock, and finally sank back in a dispirited pallor.

  He collected himself somewhat as Koesler recounted the particulars of his visit with Charles Nash, climaxing with the old man’s death.

  At this point Ted leaped to his feet. “You killed him!” he raged at Koesler.

  “Calm down, Ted.” Cone waved the distraught Nash back to his seat. “Father Koesler didn’t kill your dad. If anything, he seems to have presented the facts as gently as possible. Besides, it was inevitable that Charlie would learn about it all.

  “The way I understand it,” he said, “Father Koesler, in effect, volunteered this morning to represent his cousins’ claims to Charles in the hope of effecting a quiet settlement out of court.” He turned to Koesler. “Would that be about it, Father?”

  Koesler nodded.

  As his father before him, Ted Nash continued to argue against the facts, as he had done throughout Koesler’s presentation. Unlike his father, at no time did he give complete credence to any of the story beyond those incidents for which he or his father was responsible. “I still don’t believe it!” Nash disclaimed. “Not Brenda. She wouldn’t have taken any part in this mad scheme. She can’t be my …” His voice quavered. “… my sister. Why … my God … that would make her … that would make us … our relationship incestuous. Incestuous!” He looked at Koesler challengingly.

  Koesler nodded firmly. “That’s the word she used.”

  “I can’t believe it!” Nash insisted. “Not Brenda!” He looked to Father Deutsch, who slowly shook his head. Ted and he had carefully constructed a patchwork of rationalism to justify more than half an adulterous affair between Ted and Brenda. But Deutsch could not bring himself to trot out the dependable double effect principle in order to whitewash incest.

  This left Ted in a series of unbelieving dilemmas. He could not believe that Brenda would plot against him. He could not believe that Brenda was his sister. He could not believe that Brenda, knowing she was his sister, could make love to him—could allow him to make love to her. He couldn’t believe that he could live without her.

  And deep down, just like his father, he knew that all of it was true.

  “Wait …” Something occurred to Father Deutsch. “With Charles Nash dead, doesn’t that do something to the will? Surely Brenda was not mentioned in Mr. Nash’s will! Wouldn’t that make it impossible for her to inherit?”

  “A good point, Father,” Cone said in his most attorney-like tones. “But—” He stopped, and looked at Koesler. “Father … would you mind?”

  Koesler immediately nodded and stood up. “I’ll be in the waiting room.” He quietly closed the door behind him.

  “Now,” Cone proceeded, “to get back to your point, Father Deutsch. We would have to allege that Charles knew that Brenda was his daughter and refused to include her in the inheritance. And I should tell you,” he explained parenthetically, “in such cases, it is usual to specifically mention this in the will.

  “However,” he continued, “if he didn’t know she was his daughter, her claim would be much more sound. If he did know that she was his daughter, the fact that his name had been expunged from the birth record but not from the baptismal record would have to be addressed and explained. That would, of course, introduce the participation of Chardon—”

  “Wait!” Deutsch could see where this was leading, and he didn’t want to follow that path until every escape route was examined. “Everybody thought that Mary Lou was the daughter. Tests prove she is not. Now everybody seems ready to believe Brenda is the daughter. What if she’s not?”

  “You can’t think she’d fall for something like we pulled on Mary Lou!” Nash said.

  “No,” Deutsch replied. “I mean, challenge her. Go through with the test just as we planned. Let the chips fall where they may.” He looked around brightly.

  “Father,” said Cone, “if such a test proves positive—as it almost undoubtedly would—and if the results were made public, which they must be, Ted would be lucky to come away from this with the clothes on his back.

  “Further, even the threat of such a test—the publicity attendant thereto—well …” He looked squarely at Ted. “Do you want to take the chance that all this will come out in the media? Your father’s affair with Ms. Monahan? Your affair with her daughter? Adultery, incest … even the mere alleging of incest? Even if it managed not to affect your business, what will it do to your home life? To your religious position?”

  Ted, stricken, sat with his head bowed.

  “Gentlemen,” Cone said, after a minute, “what we have here is a classic can of worms.” He addressed Ted again. “Should you try to pry the lid open, or worse, remove the cap, we will be trying to deal with all these worms for longer than we have any right to believe we’ll live.

  “Ted, you brought me along for legal advice. I’m giving you the best advice you could possibly get from anyone anytime. Settle!”

  The word seemed to infuse some spirit in Ted. “But …”

  “Settle!”

  Ted slowly deflated. Cone said nothing more, seeming to give the floor pro forma to anyone who thought he had a better solution. No one did.

  The attorney stepped to the door and opened it. Locating Koesler in the nearby waiting room, he nodded.

  With Koesler having rejoined the party, Cone once more took the floor. “Now, Father …” He could well afford to be cool; it wasn’t his money. “ … in the matter of the Misses Monahan, what do they want?”

  “I cannot speak to that, Mr. Cone,” Koesler replied. “I think that must be about the only topic that Maureen, Brenda and I did not cover.”

  “Well,” Cone said, “it shouldn’t be too hard to ascertain. Gentlemen—” he included each of them—”why don’t we go have a relaxing lunch. On me.”

  Koesler had to return to his parochial duties. Nash, feeling as if he might not eat again for the rest of his life, begged off. Deutsch went to lunch with Cone.

  C H A P T E R

  32

  THE PRINCIPALS in this drama had been involved with each other to varying degrees for thirty-some years. Father Koesler had been drawn into active participation for only a few weeks. But the fallout from his entanglement shook the roots of his extended family and affected the manner in which he would relate to the people closest to him for the rest of his life.

  It was now some months after the death and burial of Charles Nash. According to his wishes, Charles had been cremated. A memorial Mass was offered at Blessed Sacrament Cathedral. Given the life he’d lived, there well might have been some question about granting him Christian burial. Koesler had been prepared to testify that he’d been with Nash at the moment of his death and that absolution had been—apparently—requested and given.

  But no one asked. They just had the memorial Mass, which was very well attended by not only many high-rolling entrepreneurs but also by lower and higher clergy.

  His father’s sacramental exit was, at that time, the singular consolation in Teddy Nash’s now turbulent life, which was rapidly crumbling around his head.

  KOESLER WAS THINKING about Charles Nash and the aftermath of his life while seated in a confessional in an otherwise empty St. Joseph’s Church of a Saturday evening waiting for someone, anyone, who sought forgiveness for sin.

  Maureen and Brenda had been cold to the notion of arbitration and cool to mediation. They were not in a bargaining mood. They demanded.

  In his defense it should be said that Avery Cone had be
en given little leverage or room to maneuver. To begin, the shoe very definitely was on the other foot. Maureen at first insisted that the DNA test be performed. Convinced of the certain result of such a test and most conscious that the media would take that result and run with it, Cone found himself in a hole before he’d begun to fight. Not only were Maureen and Brenda holding most of the cards, Ted Nash had gone limp, metaphorically. What cursed him most was the impossible dilemma that he could not live without Brenda. And, now that he was convinced theirs was an incestuous relationship, he could not live with her.

  In the end, Brenda had demanded and eventually was ceded 41 percent of the stock of Nash Enterprises, making her the largest single shareholder. She also gained the chair of chief operating officer, and made it clear she had her sights on Ted’s position of chief executive officer.

  The final step was spin control: explaining to the public via the news media the sudden ascendance of Brenda Monahan into the Nash empire. Avery Cone adapted Henry Ford II’s M.O. and did not complain, while explaining very little as he put the best face possible on the situation.

  Maureen, in calling Nash to account, had not specified which of the girls was his alleged daughter. Thus, Mary Lou, hitherto heiress presumptive, could now be excluded, letting Brenda take center stage.

  Cone opened his statement with a brief eulogy of Charles Nash— paying tribute to the departed’s munificence as he fashioned a panorama of all that worthy man had done for the local community, not to mention the world at large. In keeping with this blessed memory, the fallen hero’s remains would not be subjected to desecration in the slightest degree.

  Whereas in life, Charles Nash had challenged the validity of Ms. Monahan’s claim, in death, no matter what the result of a DNA test might indicate, the late Mr. Nash would have no further redress. And, no matter how reliable such a test was reputed to be, it was not infallible.