The Cosmic Ray Heresy Read online

  "Do you access your email through the university's web site?"

  "Yes."

  "Does anyone else know your password?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "The reason I ask all this is that if someone got into your computer to read your email he, or she, would have known you would be at the zoo that day."

  "It's easy enough to change my password. I'll do it today."

  "Maybe you should hold off on that. It's our only line of communication to your pen pal. Set up a new email account-hot mail or yahoo or something like that with a completely random password. Use that when you want to keep any personal information secure and change it frequently."

  "OK, I can do that."

  "Bear with me a minute while I catch up on my notes," she said. "They should make everyone take shorthand in high school. Okay, now the phrase 'you are reminded again' in the email suggests this wasn't the first one."

  "That's right. I had received a few similar ones soon after I was ordained."

  "Ordained as an Episcopal priest or Catholic priest?"

  "Catholic."

  "So you were married at the time. This was before your wife's death?"

  "Around that time. I'm not sure if it was before or after."

  "Do you still have the emails?"

  "I'm afraid I deleted them."

  "On this desk computer?"

  "Yes."

  She made a lengthy entry into her notebook.

  "You said your wife had an accident. May I ask what happened?"

  "Connie had taken Olivia to CHOP for a blood test."

  "Children's Hospital of Philadelphia," she said while writing.

  "Yes. Coming back, the front wheel on the driver's side fell off our old minivan when she was going through an underpass on the Vine Street Expressway. Connie was killed instantly when the car hit a wall. Olivia didn't get a scratch. I thank God for the engineers who designed her car seat. You don't think there's a connection between her accident and the emails do you?"

  She answered by saying, "It would help if we could establish when you first started receiving them. You said they started around the time you were ordained and then they stopped."

  "Yes."

  "Let me speculate for a moment. Suppose you received the emails after you were ordained and while your wife was still alive but they stopped after she died."

  "Okay, go on."

  "Recently you started to receive the emails again. Now my question is?"

  "I think I know the question. Did the recent ones start after I met Vicki Meyers?"

  "You read my mind."

  "The answer is yes. I met Mrs. Meyers last April. The emails started in the summer."

  "And someone who objected to a priest having a wife might also object to a priest having a-friend?" she said.

  "More than a friend, a fianc?e. Yes, and let me ask, do you think there's a possibility of foul play with Father Soroka? Someone sends a threatening email and then he has a fatal accident."

  "Reverse that," she said. "The email was sent the day of his death at 2:04 PM. The medical examiner estimated the time of death as between 9:30 and 10:30 in the morning. A post mortem threat wouldn't make any sense."

  CHAPTER 6-THE REQUEST

  "Is it just me or is it hot in here?" she said as she took off her sweater.

  "They turned the air off and the heat on last week. I think some state bureaucrat decided that there were no warm days after the first of October. Would you like some water?"

  "I would, please."

  I reached behind me and took two small bottles of Poland Spring from the mini-fridge on my windowsill and handed her one.

  "I'm afraid I don't have any cups."

  "Oh, this is fine. Thanks."

  I tossed the cap from my bottle into the waste basket in the corner. She turned and flipped her cap into the basket. As she did so she took a little extra time to scan my office.

  "Find anything interesting?"

  She laughed. "Was it so obvious?"

  "It's part of your job- and mine. I tell my students that there are two groups of professionals that are trained to be good observers; scientists and the police."

  "Part of the training at the police academy," she said smiling and taking a sip of water. "And It gives me an excuse to snoop."

  I took a long pull from my bottle. "So, did you take a mental picture of my office?"

  "It's automatic."

  She closed her eyes and rattled off a pretty good description of my space.

  "Square room about ten by ten-window across the back wall-microwave-small fridge-desk piled with papers-squeaky swivel chair-bookcases on two walls with books on physics and math-a poster of Einstein riding a bicycle-framed mementos and diplomas. You're about six-two, six-three, red hair, blue eyes, about one- eighty, one- ninety, red flannel shirt, khakis, black running shoes. Possibly a stamp collector. Anyone ever tell you that you look like a tall Matt Damon?"

  I laughed and thought briefly about who she looked like. With the glasses on a younger Sarah Palin would be close.

  I said, "Very impressive, but I don't think I look like any movie stars and the three stamps in that frame are the extent of my collection. They're commemoratives of three scientists: Nicolaus Copernicus, who proposed the 'revolutionary' idea that the earth and other planets revolved around the sun, Gregor Mendel, who discovered the laws of heredity, and Georges Lema?tre, who formulated the Big Bang theory for the creation of the universe. The three were also Catholic priests."

  "Defense or aspiration?"

  "Definitely defense. I doubt if my face will ever appear on a stamp. I point to them whenever anyone suggests that my dual roles as priest and scientist are incompatible."

  "One other observation if I may," the detective said. "Except for that picture of the boy-you I assume- shaking hands with Pope John Paul II there is nothing in here that has any religious significance."

  "And you find this absence curious?"

  "Considering that you are a Catholic priest, yes."

  "Ah, but you haven't seen the closet," I said getting up.

  I opened the door of my small closet which contained a clerically black suit, shoes, raincoat, two Roman collars, and my jogging sweats and golf clubs.

  "I stand corrected," she said. "You don't seem like a priest. Oh, wait, I mean you seem like a normal guy-now that doesn't sound right either."

  "It's Okay," I said laughing and trying to ease back into my desk chair without it squeaking. "I take 'normal' as a compliment. The Church has had some decidedly abnormal priests in the news recently and, by the way, you don't look like a cop."

  "Touch?, Professor."

  Prompted by a flash of lightning and crack of thunder Detective Rossi checked her watch and I turned to look at the clock over my door: eight-thirty.

  "I know you have things to do. I'd like to work with you, Professor. See if we can determine who is harassing you. With your permission I could stop in another day and try to resurrect those emails that you deleted; see if we can determine if they were sent before your wife died. I'll get back to you on that. One more thing. I hesitate to ask but you might be interested."

  She reached into her bag, took out a large red leather wallet, and after a brief search pulled out a small card encased in plastic. She handed it to me.

  "This was a souvenir from one of my instructors at the police academy; three questions all officers are supposed to ask themselves at a crime scene."

  I read the card.

  What IS there?

  What IS there that should NOT be there?

  What IS NOT there but SHOULD be there?

  I gave her back the card. "Reads like a script outline for a Colombo TV episode."

  "One of my favorite TV cops, a keen observer. Now here's what I'm thinking. What could be better than a trained observer, who is also a priest, for determining what should or should not be at the scene of an accident in a church? An accident involving a priest with
whom you seem to share an email history."

  "You want me to go to St. Gabriel's?"

  "It's an idea," she said pausing long enough to give me a chance to object. I was curious enough to let her continue.

  "Unofficially of course-with me. I have Father Soroka's computer and I want to ask the pastor at St. Gabe's a few questions. There wouldn't be any harm in us taking a look at the storeroom where the body was discovered. Maybe you could spot something we missed."

  "Play detective," I said. "It might be interesting."

  "More like a consultant. I'd like to do it soon, before the site is disturbed any further."

  "How about Thursday? I don't have any classes after eleven."

  "Great. I'll check with the pastor. Say about one o'clock if he's available?"

  "Sounds good."

  The detective put everything back in her bag. As she did so I saw the butt of an automatic protruding from a holster in the lining. She didn't get the bag in Kmart.

  "Interesting bag," I said.

  "It's a 'Gun Tote'N Mama'. My mother gave it to me for my birthday."

  "A what?"

  "Company that makes women's bags with built in holsters. Room for everything a lady needs-including a Glock Forty," she said smiling. "Very popular with the gals in Texas. Well, I'll get going and let you get back to your work."

  We both stood.

  "Nice meeting you, Doctor Donnelly. Let's see if we can find out who's been harassing you."

  "And what happened to Father Soroka," I said

  "Right. Hopefully I'll see you Thursday."

  We shook hands again and she took the small umbrella from her bag. I looked out the window behind my desk. The sky was even darker and the wind was picking up

  "Run fast and you might not need that."

  CHAPTER 7-TOM'S CALL

  After she left I set up a new email account that has a ten character password consisting of alphanumeric characters and random symbols. It looks like the sputtering curses of a cartoon character; hard to remember but secure. I wrote it on the back of a business card and stuck it in my wallet. As a start I sent a short email to Vicki, my mother, my sister, and a few friends asking them to use this new address for personal messages.

  I put the cold coffee into the microwave on the windowsill and settled down to mark some lab reports before my first class. The same mistakes appeared again and again. My colleague, Joe Amanti, wants to streamline the grading process. He claims that about ten stickers can cover the most common errors with the addition of a smiley face for "good job" and a frowning face for "Have you considered an alternative career?" Joe might be on to something.

  My red pencil judgments were interrupted by the beeping microwave and the first few notes of "Take Five" on my cell phone. I retrieved the coffee and answered the phone. Before going into the seminary Monsignor Tom Lacey was an Assistant DA in Philadelphia and was now legal counsel to Robert K. Reilly, Archbishop of Philadelphia. He's also a canon lawyer, an expert on Church law. Commit a crime in Philadelphia and Tom can tell you both the maximum jail time if convicted and how long you can expect to spend in purgatory. At six-six "slam-dunk Lacey" is still a force on a basketball court.

  "Tom. What's up?"

  "How are you handling your fifteen minutes of fame, buddy?"

  "You heard?"

  "Channel six this morning."

  "I'll pass on that kind of fame. Actually, it was a little scary. The police think it was vandalism. They've had similar shootings in the neighborhood. I hope they're right."

  "Well, if they catch the culprit, I'll volunteer to personally prosecute. Listen, the reason I called, have you received anything from corporate headquarters lately?"

  "Sitting on my desk. Not exactly what I expected."

  "I know. The Archbishop got a copy Friday. I read it."

  "They didn't even mention my petition to marry Vicki and then threw those silly charges at me. It seems so petty. A one hundred word letter to the editor? A few pictures of me with two women and some children? I'm not a theologian denying the divinity of Christ or questioning the infallibility of the Pope. What do you make of it?"

  "My guess?"

  "Yes."

  "You won't like it."

  "Try me."

  "They did not ignore your petition. This is their way of saying no."

  "Then why don't they just come out and say that?"

  "If they can persuade you to voluntarily leave the priesthood by charging you with breaking the rules and generally harassing you then they would not need to deal with your petition directly."

  "Encourage me to quit before being fired. Knuckle under."

  "Exactly."

  "Ecclesiastical blackmail," I added.

  "What do you expect? You're dealing with the Inquisition. Fight back. Blackmail can work both ways. Apply some leverage of your own."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as who interviewed you and Connie on that piece Sixty Minutes did on married Catholic priests?"

  "Leslie Stahl."

  "Maybe the CDF would be interested to know that she is thinking about a follow-up, something like 'Married Catholic Priests Five Years Later: How Do They Fare?'"

  "Tom Lacey, you have a very devious mind."

  "I didn't get to be a successful prosecutor by being a pussy cat, Frank. Think it over. In the meantime Reilly wants to see you."

  "Damn."

  "That's what Reilly said according to Mary Cleary, his secretary. She said that when he opened the letter he said, 'Damn'. A little later he said, 'Damn' again. For a finale he said, 'Damn, Damn, Damn'. "

  "That doesn't sound good," I said.

  "He's mad at them."

  "Or me. I've never been sure whether he likes me or not."

  "He never had to deal with a married priest before, Frank. Bishops like to move us around like pawns on a chessboard every few years. You're not portable. You have a job and income independent of the Church, a mortgage, a daughter and, let's say, a different perspective on the priesthood. He's feeling his way. At least he moved you to Saint Elizabeth's from that parish where Bishop Schmidt stuck you out in Chester County thirty miles from your home."

  "Schmidt really couldn't stand the fact that I was married and made things as difficult as possible for me. Reilly is a one hundred percent improvement yet he wasn't too happy when I asked him about the possibility of remarrying. I argued that I didn't make the usual promise of celibacy at my ordination since I was already married. It didn't impress him."

  "Well, it impresses me. How could you make a promise never to marry if you were already married?"

  "He read me the rules; said I was aware when I was ordained that if anything happened to Connie I could not remarry. I was now bound by the same rule of celibacy as any other priest, et cetera, et cetera. The priesthood or marriage. Rome's way or the highway."

  "But that was before Olivia had a little talk with him."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The picnic at the seminary last month. I was standing next to him and you had your back turned and were talking to Tim Boyle. Reilly bent down and said the usual adult-to-child things-'You must be Olivia-where did you get those pretty sandals? - How old are you?' and so on. Olivia said 'I'm four but I'll be five soon.' Then Reilly said something like, 'I'll bet you'll get a lot of nice presents for your birthday.' He wasn't prepared for her answer."

  "Geez, I hope she didn't ask him for a present."

  "In a way she did. She said, 'I don't want a lot of presents, just one.' And, Reilly said, 'Well, if you close your eyes and wish real hard maybe you'll get your wish.' So, Olivia closed her eyes tight, straightened her arms by her side, made two fists, and said, 'I wish, I wish, I wish that Aunt Vicki will be my new mommy.' Then she opened her eyes and said, 'That will be the bestest present of all cause my real mommy went to heaven'. "

  "What did he say?"

  "He didn't say anything. I think he was a little choked up but Olivia quickly made h
im smile. She said she didn't have a pop-pop either and her friend Joey did. Would he be her pop-pop? He knelt down and said he would be happy to be her pop-pop and she gave him a big hug."

  "I missed all of that. No wonder she's been asking me when we can go see pop-pop again. I thought it was just her imagination, like the fairies under her bed."

  "I guess I can tell you this too. At least Reilly didn't tell me not to. Soon after the picnic he asked me to do some research, see what I could find out about married priests whose wives had died."

  "And?"

  "So far I haven't been able to find any, like you that is, thirty-eight with a young child. Most of them are older men. If they had children they were grown when the wife died. I couldn't find any with children young enough to need a mother. Your case is unique."

  "Unique, but apparently subject to the same rules," I said.

  "Just don't give up hope."

  "When does he want to see me?"

  "Saturday at nine-thirty?"

  "OK. I'm good with that. I'll see you then on?"

  "Don't hang up. A wardrobe tip. Wear your collar and suit. No college professor grunge. Regular shoes too, not the black Reeboks you had on the last time. He likes uniforms-naval officer blue or clerical black."

  "He'll be able to see his face in my shiny shoes."

  "That's the spirit. Just remember the basic rules. Don't call him 'Your Excellency'. Stick to 'Archbishop' or simply 'sir'. And don't try to kiss his ring. After twenty plus years as a naval officer and chaplain he might prefer you salute but don't do that either. Sleep well and don't let the CDF scare you. They've made great progress in recent years."

  "Oh really. What's that?"

  "They no longer use torture."

  "Very funny. Okay to hang up yet? I've got to get to class. "

  "Hang up."

  CHAPTER 8-PHYSICS CLASS

  I put my laptop and some notes into my brief case along with the envelope from the CDF and headed for my first class. Students were quietly filling the small lecture hall for my ten o'clock Modern Physics class. I spent half the period going over homework problems before getting to something new.