Father Andrew's Bishop was dead. On Holy Thursday morning, he was found in his room on the floor by Andrew. The Bishop left hand held a gun and the wound to his chest was deemed as self-inflicted.
Father Andrew did not believe this good man could commit suicide. However, he was over-ruled not only by the police and the coroner, but by the Rector of the Josephinum, Msgr. Bird. This death became the big news in all the national papers and on the main stream media. Many people saw this death as a vindication of the suppression of the Seaview Diocese. Crazy men, apparently, ran the Church-homophobia and craziness went together.
Father Andrew could not stay in grief, as he had guests. Poor Anabelle was confined to her room by the college doctor. She had known the Bishop well, since childhood. David was distraught by the death and his wife's illness. Also, the fact that Senator James Longley was staying in the same building as the dead Bishop could not be kept quiet. Father Andrew tried to protect James, but the police officer interviewed at the press conference did not see any reason to omit this choice bit of news. The entire Triduum Liturgies would be interspersed with the chaos of reporters and police. Father Andrew and James were invited into the Rector's private rooms in order to get away from the confusion.
The Rector, Msgr. Drew Bird exclaimed, rather loudly, as the brothers sat down. "Father Andrew, I suggest you do not push an inquest into this unfortunate death. You would be the prime suspect, you know."
Both Andrew and James jolted. James spoke first. "You better explain yourself, Msgr. This is a serious accusation."
"I make no accusation, and I shall merely repeat information which Father Andrew gave to the police and coroner himself. That he did not hear a gunshot as he was in the chapel for two hours in prayer, between two and four, the approximate time of the suicide."
Father Andrew stood up, "Msgr., I am more concerned about the good name of the late holy Bishop and the scandal this is causing rather than my own alibi. Besides, those who know me, know I pray frequently in the night and morning."
"Sit down, Father. Your feelings towards the Bishop are understandable, but you must see your own danger in this situation. James, as a politician, I am sure you see my point."
James drank some coffee out the china cup presented to him by the Rector's secretary, who left as soon as they all sat down earlier. "I see both sides of the problem, Msgr., but do the innocent have anything to fear?"
Msgr. reacted by coming from the other side of his huge oak desk to sit in a third chair in the circle where the brothers sat. "One innocent person has died already here. Do you want to ask me that question again?"
James and Andrew looked at each other. Again, James spoke first. "So, you know it was not a suicide."
The Rector was silent. "I, too, knew this good Bishop and I believe he was a holy man. As Father Andrew knows, even here he was receiving death threats. How many death threats since Christmas, Father Andrew, would you say this good man got in the mail or on the old diocesan e-mail?"
"Dozens, maybe hundreds. I gave up counting," Father Andrew answered in a low voice. "We began to ignore these under the advice of the Bishop's lawyer. I could not continue to read the vile notes. But, are you suggesting, in this high security building, where only priests live, that we were intruded by a murderer? This seems highly unlikely."
"Which is why," continued the Rector, "I suggest you do not push for another inquiry and accept the bad press regarding a suicide." The Rector poured more coffee into their cups and his. "Well, James, do you not, as a man of the world, as it were, advise your brother to lie low?"
James' answer was interrupted by a knock at the door. The secretary came in. "There is a phone call for the Senator. Where do you want to take it?"
James asked the Rector is the phone call could be placed in this office. "Of course, and thank you, Mrs. Waverley."
The phone call was from James' office in Washington. The president was calling an emergency session of Congress. He was to be back by Monday morning, at 10 am.
"Msgr. I shall have to leave. And, I shall talk with my brother about these possibilities before doing so."
The two brothers stood up and thanked the Rector for him time and advice. The decided to meet in James' rooms, immediately. It was Good Friday night already. The service had been at three. They had the entire evening in which to plan what to do next. But, before doing so, they stopped in to see David and Anabelle in the married couples suite. Anabelle had gone to bed very ill after the news. Her sickness was compounded by grief. David led them into the little sitting room next to the bedroom. The rooms were like a suite in a five star hotel. David knew that Anabelle needed the privacy.
"Of course, it is not suicide," exclaimed David. "We all knew this good and holy man. So, what do we do next?"
Father Andrew remarked that it was terrible that Anabelle had to be here for this shock. David nodded. "She is having a hard time. Of course, it is very early days, but I am surprised."
"David, I have to return to Washington, almost immediately. I can take a plane, but under the circumstances, and if Anabelle could travel, would you want to leave?" James was doubtful the girl could travel.
"Anabelle and I discussed leaving. The Bishop will be buried here, on the grounds. We want to stay for the funeral. And, Father Andrew, you may want company."
Father Andrew said yes to David and that he was grateful for company, especially if James was leaving.
James and Andrew walked down the long hall and stairs to the floor below. James room was near the end.
They went in and locked the door.
"Were any of these death threats credible? I mean, did your lawyer take any of these seriously?"
James sat down in a small leather chair. Father Andrew sat on the bed.
"There were, perhaps ten percent, which were serious enough for investigation, but most of it was just anti-Catholic hate speech. And, of course, we could not prosecute for that. There were one or two which clearly showed that the writers were deranged, but the Bishop, under his lawyer's advice, just ignored these. He told me that is God had allowed David to be cursed by Shimie, who was he, a man not as holy as David, to complain. But, David, it is so unjust for all to think this man committed a crime of despair or exhibited a loss of faith at the end. These slanders are iniquitous. He was a saint. And, as a saint, should be seen as such. And, and I am angry, I fear for the repercussion. Many Catholics are confused and this may dishearten many."
James heard a knock at the door. He opened it and Mrs. Waverley apologized for the intrusion, but realizing that there were no phones on this floor in the guest rooms, would the Senator like her to make his travel plans back to Washington?
James thank her but said his office was doing all the necessary arrangements. They would e-mail him all the information and he has his tablet and phone. The middle-age, motherly-type woman left.
James wondered that women could be on this all-male floor. He also wondered why she bothered to come up now. In addition, he wondered if she had heard any of the brothers' conversations.
"I am getting more and more paranoid in my old age," he chuckled.
Father Andrew walked over to the window. Robins sang in the small apple grove, the trees laden with blossoms brought no comfort. "I honestly do not know what to do, James. I have never felt such a loss since our parents' death. And, I do not think I shall ever get over, as they say, that so-called accident. Now, another falsely defined death. These things are begging to seem like a pattern. I cannot help it, James, to have these thoughts. I have always been, as you say, paranoid."
James came over to the window and put his hand on this brother's shoulder. "I do not think we should be thinking or doing, but only praying. Let us go to the chapel together. The emptiness of the Tabernacle seems appropriate for our moods." James, who up to this time held Washington D.C. in his capable hands, felt helpless.
To be continued....
