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Fr. Carlson led Fr. Miller down the long hallway that ran the length of the main building and when he reached his destination, turned abruptly to face the door to Monsignor Copani’s office. There was no marking on the door, just a wooden portal similar in all respects to the others they had passed. Carlson knocked twice and opened the door, leading Fr. Miller into a richly appointed office. The Monsignor sat behind his very large desk, where a second chair had been pulled around for a man that Fr. Miller had not yet met.
“Fr. Miller, as requested,” Fr. Carlson said and then stepped smartly to the side to allow Fr. Miller to step up. When he failed to do so, Fr. Carlson cast him a disapproving glance.
“Thank you, Fr. Carlson,” the Monsignor said. “That will be all.”
This clearly caught the smaller priest by surprise, but he recovered quickly and stepped from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
“Thank you for coming straight away, Martin,” the Monsignor said. Copani had been a Catholic priest for over 30 years. Now, at the midpoint of his 50s, he appeared much older. There was a tiredness hanging under his eyes that made him look melancholy even when he smiled, which was rare. He was not smiling now. “Please meet Cardinal Armando Mara.”
The Cardinal stood and Fr. Miller let out a small gasp. He hadn’t been paying attention. The clerical clothing worn by the clergy in Italy differed from that worn in America. He had assumed that Copani was the highest ranking priest in the building. A thoughtless mistake! Mara saw the younger priest’s embarrassment clearly on his face and extended his hand with a smile. Smaller of frame and darker of hair and eye than Copani, Mara seemed younger than the Monsignor, and quite fit.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Father Miller.” His English was excellent, but the Italian accent made it twist and curl like a true romance language. “Please have a seat.”
Fr. Miller sat down in a high backed chair that faced the desk squarely. Behind and on both sides of the large desk were framed paintings, that could have come from an Italian museum for all he knew, not being an expert. The dark wood of the frames went well with the dark paneling. It all conspired to make the room feel like it was home to more power than a similar 12-foot by 12-foot office elsewhere in the building. However, Fr. Miller thought, with both the Monsignor and the Cardinal tucked behind the large wooden desk, it probably was the epicenter of power at the moment.
“You haven’t been to your office yet,” the Monsignor said. It wasn’t a question so Fr. Miller merely nodded. “When you get there, you’ll find that you have received a message from an old friend of yours, a police officer by the name of Rob Gilbert. Do you remember this person?”
Fr. Miller was momentarily taken aback. First, how did the Monsignor know about his message before he did? And what form did this message take? Was it a voice mail message? E-mail? And Rob Gilbert. He hadn’t heard that name since he was an undergraduate at the University, almost a decade ago now. These thoughts, though moving quickly, gave him pause and he realized that he had been silent a moment and that both priests were now watching him very closely. He suddenly felt like he was being examined.
“I do remember, Rob. He was my roommate when I was in college many years ago,” he replied. “Is there some problem that I should be aware of? Has something happened?”
“Have you been in touch with Officer Gilbert recently?” the Cardinal asked. His accent made the question sound less like an accusation, but something in his eyes was giving Fr. Miller an uncomfortable feeling.
“No, I have not,” he replied. “What is this about, please? What is this message and why, if I may ask, did it come to your attention before my own?”
The Cardinal started to lean further across the desk, his face darkening, but the Monsignor spoke first.
“Martin, your message came to my desk because a keyword filter directed it to me. We set that system up during the crisis that almost bankrupted our diocese some years ago. The fact that the message came from a law enforcement organization caused it to be re-routed to me.”
Fr. Miller had just become a priest when the child abuse scandal rocked the Church to its core. By the time it was over (if one could ever call it over, given the ongoing suffering of those involved), hundreds of millions of dollars had been paid out by the Church in legal settlements, leaving a number of diocese across the nation bankrupt. The Archdiocese of Boston was particularly hard hit, but survived, financially, in large part due to the measures taken by the Monsignor’s office.
“I didn’t know such a system existed,” Fr. Miller said. He felt a cold weight in the pit of his stomach. He personally knew priests, men he had known for years and respected, who were accused during the scandal. He felt certain then that they were innocent of any crimes and continued to be convinced to this day, but during the crisis, even the suggestion of wrongdoing put enormous pressure on the Church to settle. Had someone accused him? “But I see why one is necessary. Of course, this could not be related to…”
The Monsignor stopped him with a raised hand. “Of course not, Martin. That has not been suggested.”
“But we are very interested in what this is related to,” the Cardinal added.
Fr. Miller looked from one priest to another and then shook his head. “I haven’t even seen the message.”
Monsignor Copani explained that Gilbert was asking for help on a case and had promised to send over materials that he would like Fr. Miller to examine. Those materials were expected to be faxed to his office as soon as the staff at his parish in Texas arrived at the church office. Instructions had been sent that would reroute those materials to the Monsignor’s office.
Fr. Miller’s confusion showed clearly on his face. “I have no idea what this could be about,” he said.
“It could be nothing,” Monsignor Copani said. “Just an old friend seeking some spiritual support.”
“Or,” added the Cardinal, “it could have to do with the government’s investigation of our financial records, in which case we must take great care in how we respond.”
Now, Fr. Miller was really confused. He recalled Rob Gilbert as a serious young man who’s only goal was to get into law enforcement and investigate crimes, specifically those against what he called defenseless victims. He was not involved in financial crimes and, in any event, Fr. Miller had found no evidence that there was any crime to be found in the Church’s financial records -- aside from the possible crime of losing too much money. He was about to point this out when they were interrupted by two quick knocks on the door, which was then opened to admit Fr. Carlson. He held a stack of papers.
He placed them carefully on the desk, each page stacked perfectly above the one below it, and then stood at attention near the corner of the desk. The monsignor pulled the stack of papers over, messing them up in the process and causing Fr. Carlson to grimace.
“Thank you, Fr. Carlson,” the Monsignor said. “That will be all.” The small priest’s grimace began to trend toward a scowl. He spun on his heel and left the room.
The Monsignor and the Cardinal studied the printouts for a moment and then both sat back in their chairs. Neither man looked happy. Fr. Miller waited. Finally, the Cardinal took one sheet from the stack and pushed it slowly across the desk. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.
Fr. Miller studied the page for a moment. It was a copy of a drawing of the Sigillum Dei, the Seal of God. “Yes,” he replied.
“Is it possible that your friend is investigating the Church?” the Monsignor asked him directly.
Fr. Miller shook his head. “No. I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t even spoken to him yet. Besides,” he said, lifting the sheet with the medieval symbol and holding it up to the light, “what can the Church’s finances possibly have to do with this?”
Monsignor Copani sat back in his chair but Cardinal Mara leaned forward. “Everything,” he said.
Read Part 13
