Dead Wrong Page 7

  It would be difficult, then, to try to convince Brenda of the seriousness of this threat. It was unlikely that she would respond to his argument unless he had the luxury of time to explain perhaps repeatedly and in great detail with ever more convincing logic.

  If he could not move Brenda in what might be the allotted time, what else might he do?

  How about Ted Nash?

  Koesler had to assume that Nash had tried to get through to his son, probably very forcefully. If that were indeed the case, the confrontation between father and son would already have occurred, probably shortly before Nash had contacted Koesler.

  Why hadn’t Nash proposed that Koesler try to convince Teddy rather than Brenda? Because Charlie figured that Koesler would have better luck with his “cousin”? Not a bad supposition; Brenda had grown up respecting Koesler and his priesthood. Except that Charlie Nash obviously didn’t know Brenda.

  Koesler closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair.

  If not Brenda, then Teddy.

  The end result, the bottom line, was agreed upon. If there was an illicit affair going on between Brenda and Ted—and from all appearances, and especially from what had happened this evening, there probably was—it would have to end. Their spiritual welfare, and possibly Brenda’s very life, might depend on it.

  From Koesler’s point of view, it didn’t much matter which of them, Ted or Brenda, was instrumental in calling it off. If Brenda’s cooperation seemed uncertain, Koesler could try his powers of persuasion on Teddy Nash.

  It couldn’t be that difficult. From all Koesler had heard, Ted Nash considered himself a super-Catholic. Even if that reputation was bolstered with a measure of hype, still and all there must be a germ of truth to it. Adultery was adultery, and a Catholic of any stripe would know that.

  Yet Koesler could anticipate considerable resistance. There had to be a strong attraction between them, else there would have been no affair. But Ted should be educable.

  Whatever else, Koesler was sure Ted would be by far the more malleable of the two.

  The next problem: How did one get an appointment to see Ted Nash?

  C H A P T E R

  7

  PROTOCOL FOR MAKING an appointment with Theodore Nash, Esquire, Father Koesler learned, depended on who wanted the appointment, and its purpose.

  The answers to those questions dictated which if any department head one might see. One was scarcely if ever ushered directly into Mr. Nash’s office. Not on the first try, at any rate.

  Koesler had to admit he was taken aback.

  Priests usually receive some form of preferential treatment. And considering the aura of piety surrounding Ted Nash, Koesler, frankly, expected better. In short, he expected to be granted an immediate interview with the proprietor.

  Instead—and, to Koesler, this was a large instead—he was referred to the secretary to Father Arthur Deutsch. Not even the Father himself. His secretary.

  It wasn’t that Koesler so much minded being shunted off to secondary layers of management. But he’d assumed that a priest asking to see a prominent Catholic layman about a “personal matter” would be ushered into the inner sanctum forthwith—or, that if he were going to be shunted off to an assistant who happened to be another priest, he would at least be able to speak to that priest. If there was no professional courtesy among priests, what then could be said for lawyers and doctors?

  At length Koesler did get an appointment to see Father Arthur Deutsch—two days hence. And even then, Koesler was informed, Father Deutsch would have to shuffle his schedule to accommodate this request. Right about then Koesler came close to telling them what they could do with their precious protocol. But he reminded himself he was doing this for Brenda. It helped to have a quest, like the knights of old. Koesler felt like Don Quixote.

  Now, ten minutes early, he arrived for his 10:00 A.M. appointment with Father Deutsch.

  Father Koesler was impressed. Whatever Deutsch’s parochial assignments had been, Koesler was sure none had provided a more opulent setting. The office was located in one of those buildings that springs up seemingly overnight on Telegraph or Northwestern in Southfield or West Bloomfield or Farmington Hills. The salient difference was that this building was a model of tasteful as well as utilitarian design, with a sensible amount of glass, overhang, and passive-energy implementation.

  The waiting room was striking, with soft indirect lighting, genuine wood paneling, and superplush off-white carpeting. The secretary was courteous and efficient, but unsmiling. At precisely 10:00 A.M. Koesler was ushered into Deutsch’s sanctum.

  It was a spacious extension of the outer office, except that where the art displayed in the waiting area was mainly contemporary, here it was almost exclusively religious and traditional. The most prominent portraits were of Pope John Paul II and his alter ego, Cardinal Ratzinger. Together, Koesler thought, these two men did their best to make the Church uninteresting.

  Noteworthy by its absence was any depiction of the present archbishop of Detroit, Mark Cardinal Boyle.

  A smiling Father Deutsch rose from behind his king-size desk to greet Koesler. The chair behind that desk was also oversize. It resembled one a bishop might use in his cathedral—if, that is, the bishop wanted to be ostentatious.

  “You must be Father Koesler. I recognize you from your photos.”

  “Yes.” Koesler could have returned Deutsch’s exact words; he had seen Deutsch’s picture in newspapers and in his graduation portrait on the cloister wall in Sacred Heart Seminary. But the two men, prior to now, had not met.

  Deutsch indicated a straight-back chair near his desk, and Koesler took it.

  “Would you like something?” Deutsch asked. “Coffee? A little sherry?”

  “Some coffee would be good.”

  Deutsch pressed a button and a coffeemaker purred into operation. The two men studied each other. Each knew there was about a fifteen-year difference in their ages.

  Other than that, Deutsch knew relatively little about Koesler. As was common in the diocesan clergy, older priests were relatively unfamiliar with their younger counterparts. During the early years of the two men’s priesthood, chronology had guided priests’ ascendancy from associate status to a pastorate. But the drastic priest shortage of recent years had made the position of associate pastor almost extinct.

  At the time of Koesler’s ordination in the mid-fifties, it had been statistically feasible that few of his classmates would live long enough to become pastors. Now, priests became pastors before the oils of ordination dried. Thus it was understandable that Deutsch would know little about Koesler. What Deutsch did know arose out of the events that had given emphasis to Koesler’s career. Deutsch was aware, for instance, that Koesler had been editor of the archdiocesan weekly newspaper, and that the younger man had been involved in some police investigations over the past several years.

  It was unclear to Deutsch exactly what the association was between Koesler and the police; but, because priests were among the most faithful readers of the Detroit Catholic, he was aware that Koesler was considered to be of the so-called liberal school of theology. An excellent reason to be wary of him.

  Never having met Deutsch, all Koesler knew of the man was what others said of him.

  Deutsch was reputed to have been a brilliant student. By virtue of that, he had, during the early years of his priesthood, taught in the seminary.

  From there, he had been sent forth to found a suburban parish. In which niche he had stayed until retirement. Had it not been for the Vatican Council, his would have been a totally uneventful history.

  The council had caught Deutsch, and many other priests, napping. Of course he knew the council was taking place in Rome during the early sixties. But he had no inkling that it would have so radical an effect.

  Thus it had come as a massive cultural shock that he found himself facing the people and celebrating Mass in English. After that, one change closely followed another with mind-boggling rapidity. Wi
thout having read a single council document through, Deutsch decided that the council was an abomination, and that Pope John, who had convened the council, might well be the antichrist.

  Deutsch soon found other priests, mostly his age and older, who were of a similar mind. Leading this fraternity, quite naturally, was Father Charles E. Coughlin.

  Father Coughlin arguably was the most widely famous priest in the history of the Detroit diocese. He was not cofounder of the University of Michigan, nor had he been elected to Congress, like Father Gabriel Richard. He was not a profoundly holy man or even a wonder worker, as was Father Solanus Casey.

  But Father Coughlin was mentioned in just about every book that chronicled United States history of this century. One scarcely ever read of Father Coughlin without the descriptive suffixal phrase, “controversial radio priest of the thirties.”

  In the backwash of the council, Coughlin formed the ground zero of its opposition. Many priests gathered round him. Chief among these was Father Arthur Deutsch.

  All this—the sketchy reputation of Father Deutsch—was common knowledge, especially among the priests of Detroit. Although little of his earlier history was popularly known, Deutsch had attained a measure of fame when he was selected as, and accepted the role of, chaplain to Theodore Nash, Esquire. That was when he achieved far more than the promised fifteen minutes of fame Andy Warhol ascribed to each human.

  The principal item that Father Koesler did not know was what he himself was doing here.

  His purpose was to meet with Ted Nash. Once he had stated his name and the nature of his desired meeting with Nash—a personal matter—he had been summarily shunted to Father Deutsch. Since there seemed no way around this rigmarole, Koesler had accepted this route. But he was confused and not at all happy.

  Deutsch poured from what looked to be a very expensive coffee service. Koesler thanked him and tasted the brew.

  “Like it?” Deutsch obviously did. “It’s my own private blend.”

  Koesler nodded. To him, coffee was a dark, hot drink. He couldn’t tell one brand from another. If Deutsch wanted to enter into an informed disquisition on the merit of his creation, it would be a startlingly brief conversation.

  There was a lengthy pause while Deutsch savored the satisfaction of his brew. “How are things at Old St. Joe’s, Father?”

  The question cleared a couple of items for Koesler. First, Deutsch had done some homework; at least he knew where Koesler was stationed. And second, Deutsch wanted to stay formal: It would not be Art and Bob, it would be “Father.”

  Fine.

  “All things considered,” Koesler said cautiously, “not bad. The congregation continues to grow … although I wish we could attract more black Catholics. Some of the other inner-city parishes are doing very well on that score. But then they offer a liturgy more in tune with the African-American experience.”

  Deutsch frowned. “I know what you mean. Those other parishes … they’re more Baptist than Catholic. At least St. Joe’s still offers Mass in union with Holy Church. You even have a Sunday Mass in Latin. We were very pleased with that.”

  We? Who was “we”? Did the Nash-Deutsch connection have spies? And he knew about the Latin Mass. He had done his homework.

  “Well,” Koesler said, “the Latin Mass sort of grew like Topsy. I lucked into a great organist and choir director. It was actually his idea to try the Latin. He and I agreed that one unfortunate consequence of the council was the loss of all that great music—plain chant, Palestrina, Perosi. I don’t think the council intended that to happen. But it did: A whole bunch of not very talented musicians wrote a lot of rotten music for the new vernacular liturgy. And all that inspired music that took centuries to build just got lost.”

  Deutsch nodded. “There are those among us who think the entire Council was ‘unfortunate’… more coffee?”

  “Thanks, no. This is plenty. Look, I don’t want to take too much of your time—”

  “Don’t think of it, Father. This time has been set aside for you.” Deutsch pushed the intercom button. His secretary entered and wordlessly removed the coffee service. “Back to St. Joseph’s. Got many weddings?”

  “Not many. Most of the parishioners live in the high rises and condos. Most of them are pretty well set before they move in.”

  Deutsch pursed his lips. “Such problems now! Couples these days have no sense of sacrifice, no sense of commitment. Divorce! Why, it’s as common now among Catholics as it is among everybody else. And birth control! They think nothing of it at all. I can remember a day when if Catholics got divorced and remarried they had the good grace to stop coming to Mass. And when Catholics would confess birth control and at least tried to avoid it.”

  “So can I,” Koesler said flatly.

  More and more, he wondered what this was all about. The state of St. Joseph’s parish, the subjects of divorce and birth control … what did those have to do with his desire to see Ted Nash about a personal matter?

  A less patient person might have walked out, or at least demanded that they get on with the matter Koesler had in mind. But Koesler, when subjected to gamesmanship, usually wanted to find out the name of the game before clearing the board.

  “The Holy Father, you know,” Deutsch said, “has made it crystal-clear that any use of artificial birth control remains gravely sinful.” He paused, but there was no response from Koesler.

  “And yet,” Deutsch continued, “Catholics—some so-called Catholics, I should say—oppose this teaching openly.” Another pause. Again no response.

  “What do you think of this, Father?”

  Koesler shook his head. “I think the Pope, most of the bishops, some priests, and a few Catholics have problems with methods of family planning. Most priests and all but a few laypeople have solved the problem—and not with the solution the Pope recommends. That this interpretation is not made clear to all the laity, especially in Third World countries like those of Latin America, I think is a tragedy.” The statement was made calmly but firmly.

  Deutsch was livid. “But … but … that’s heresy!”

  “No it’s not.”

  “You’re denying the explicit teaching of not one but two Popes!”

  “When Paul VI discarded the conclusions of his own blue-ribbon committee and wrote the encyclical ‘Humanae Vitae,’ he went out of his way to make clear that he wasn’t teaching infallibly. And John Paul just restated the earlier encyclical. So any denial doesn’t come under the heading of heresy.”

  Flustered, Deutsch stammered slightly. “M-maybe not. Maybe not technically. But it is disobedience to the ordinary magisterium—the ordinary teaching authority of the Church.”

  “You don’t have to translate for me; I know what the ordinary magisterium is. There’s more than one way to respond to it.”

  “I suppose you feel the same way about abortion!”

  Koesler sighed deeply. “Look, Father Deutsch, we didn’t have to meet each other to know that we differ in certain theological matters. Our archbishop, Cardinal Boyle, has claimed more than once that no one is entirely anything; conservative or liberal. But, let’s face it, you are generally of a conservative bent, and I am usually in the liberal camp. As far as I can see, our differences are irrelevant to the reason why I want to see Mr. Nash.”

  “No, they’re not!” Deutsch shed his defensive demeanor instantly. “Part of my responsibility here at Nash Enterprises is to interview all clergy and religious of whatever denomination prior to the granting of any donation or funding. And I must say, with your attitude, you don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of getting a penny.” He concluded with a triumphant gesture.

  Koesler sat with his mouth hanging open in utter disbelief for several moments. Then he began to chuckle. Gradually he began to break up, and burst out laughing. Finally, he said, “Is that what you think? Is that what you’ve thought all along? That I want some of your money?”

  Deutsch, unnerved by Koesler’s reaction, became unsure
of himself. “St. Joseph’s is … is an old … is an old parish. Why, good God, it’s registered as a historical landmark! It’s of an age where everything falls apart: furnace, floor, ceiling, roof, tiles, organ, pulpit, you name it. What else would you want but money? And to get that, you go through me. The only way to get it is to go through me. And I can save you time and suspense by telling you there’s no possibility whatsoever of your ever getting anything—anything—from us! Now I think this interview is terminated! Good day, Father.” He did not offer his hand.

  Koesler stood. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Yes, we can terminate this meeting. But it was very informative. I’ll keep it in mind particularly when I finally have my meeting with Ted Nash. And next time, when I set up that meeting, I’ll be a lot more specific about the reason for it.”

  As he left the plush office, Koesler reviewed his meeting with Father Deutsch. It had not been a waste of time. Koesler had gained some valuable insights into one facet of Nash Enterprises.

  What had most intrigued him about Ted Nash was how the man could square his religiosity with some pretty questionable business practices.

  Now Koesler began to understand. A meeting with Ted Nash in the flesh might just fill in the gaps.

  Koesler’s interest in Nash and his empire was expanding far beyond his attempt to help Brenda.

  C H A P T E R

  8

  THE GREATER DOWNTOWN AREA of Detroit had become a series of pockets. There were pockets of life and pockets of decay. The hub of the city was now what it had been at its founding. The nucleus was Woodward at the river. Thence it spread north, east, and west like a spiderweb. Tucked into that web were those pockets.

  Areas that might be termed “thriving” were the financial district, the riverfront area featuring the Renaissance Center, Hart Plaza, Cobo Arena, Joe Louis Arena, the City-County Building, and scattered hotels and businesses; Greektown and Bricktown; a renovated Fox Theater anchored a budding entertainment center. Most of the rest of downtown once was vibrant, now it rotted.