“Miss Warshawski thinks she can succeed where the FBI and the SEC are baffled,” Jablonski said jovially, his nasal midwestern accent blaring above the dining room cacophony.
Pelly gave me a measuring look, then smiled. He was almost as thin as Father Carroll, and very tanned, which surprised me-where did a monk go sunbathing in mid-winter? His blue eyes were sharp and alert in his dark face. “I’m sorry, Miss Warshawski-I know Stephen well enough to tell he’s joking, but I’m afraid I don’t get the joke.”
“I’m a private investigator,” I explained.
Pelly raised his eyebrows. “And you’re going to look into our missing securities?”
I shook my head. “I don’t really have the resources to match the FBI on that type of thing. But I’m also Rosa Vignelli’s niece; she wants someone from the family on her side in the investigation. A lot of people have had access to that safe over the years; I’m here to remind Derek Hatfield of that if he starts breathing down Rosa ’s neck too hard.”
Pelly smiled again. “Mrs. Vignelli doesn’t strike one as the type of woman to need protection.”
I grinned back at him. “She certainly doesn’t, Father Pelly. But I keep reminding myself that Rosa ’s been aging just like any other human being. At any rate, she seems a little frightened, especially that she won’t be able to work here anymore.” I ate some of my sandwich. Kraft American. Next to Stilton and Brie my favorite cheese.
Jablonski said, “I hope she knows that Augustine and I are also forbidden access to the priory’s finances until this matter is cleared up. She’s not being singled out in any way that we aren’t.”
“Maybe one of you could call her,” I suggested. “That might make her feel better I’m sure you know her well enough to realize she’s not a woman with a lot of friends. She’s centered a good part of her life around this church.”
“Yes,” Pelly agreed. “I didn’t realize she had any family besides her son. She’s never mentioned you, Miss Warshawski. Nor that she had any Polish relatives.”
“Her brother’s daughter was my mother, who married a Chicago policeman named Warshawski. I’ve never understood the laws of kinship too well. Does that mean that she has Polish relatives because I’m half Polish? You don’t think I’m posing as Rosa ’s niece just to get inside the priory, do you?”
Jablonski gave his sardonic smile. “Now that the securities are gone, there’s nothing worth worming your way into the priory for. Unless you have some secret fetish for friars.”
I laughed, but Pelly said seriously, “I assume the prior looked into your credentials.”
“There wasn’t any reason for him to; he wasn’t hiring me. I do have a copy of my P.I. license on me, but I don’t carry any identification that proves I’m Rosa Vignelli’s niece. You could call her, of course.”
Pelly held up a hand. “I’m not doubting you. I’m just concerned for the priory. We’re getting some publicity which none of us relishes and which is really detrimental to the studies of these young men.” He indicated the intently eavesdropping young brothers at our table. One of them blushed in embarrassment. “1 really don’t want anyone, even if she’s the pope’s niece, stirring things up here further.”
“I can understand that. But I can also see Rosa ’s point-it’s just too convenient to have her on the outside of the priory taking the fall. She doesn’t have a big organization with lots of political connections behind her. You do.”
Pelly gave me a freezing stare, “I won’t attempt to untangle that one, Miss Warshawski. You obviously are referring to the popular myth about the political power of the Catholic Church, the direct line from the Vatican that was going to control John Kennedy, that sort of thing. It’s beneath discussion.”
“I think we could have a pretty lively discussion about it,” I objected. “We could talk about the politics of abortion, for example. How local pastors try to influence their congregations to vote for anti-choice candidates regardless of how terrible their qualifications may be otherwise. Or maybe you’d like to discuss the relations between Archbishop Farber and Police Superintendent Bellamy. Or even between him and the mayor.”
Jablonski turned to me. “I think pastors would be gravely lax in their moral duty if they didn’t try to oppose abortion in any way possible, even urging their parishioners to vote for pro-life candidates.”
I felt the blood rush to my head, but smiled. “We’re never going to agree on whether abortion is a moral issue or a private matter between a woman and her physician. But one thing is clear-it is a highly political issue. There are a lot of people scrutinizing the Catholic Church’s involvement in this area.
“Now the tax code spells out pretty specifically how clear of politics you have to stay to keep your tax-exempt status. So when bishops and priests are using their offices to push political candidates, they’re walking a pretty thin line on tax-exempt status. So far, no tax-court judge has been willing to take on the Catholic Church-which in itself argues some hefty clout.”
Pelly turned an angry crimson under his tan. “I don’t think you have the least idea what you’re talking about, Miss
Warshawski. Maybe you’ could keep your remarks to the specific points that the prior asked you to discuss,”
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s concentrate on the priory here. Is there anyone who would have reason to take close to five million dollars?”
“No one,” Pelly said shortly. “We take vows of poverty.”
One of the brothers offered me more coffee. It was so thin as to be almost undrinkable, but I accepted it absently. “You got the shares ten years ago. Since then, almost anyone with access to the priory could have taken the money. Discounting random strangers walking in off the street, that means someone connected with this place. What kind of turnover do you have among your monks?”
“They’re actually called friars,” Jablonski interjected. “Monks stay in one place; friars roam around. What do you mean by turnover? Every year students leave-some have been ordained, others find the conventual life doesn’t suit them for some reason. And there’s a lot of movement among the priests, too. People who taught at other Dominican institutions come here, or vice versa. Father Pelly here just returned from six months in Ciudad Isabella. He was a student in Panama and likes to spend a certain amount of time down there.”
That explained his suntan, then. “We can probably eliminate people who move on to other Dominican seats. But what about any young men who’ve left the order in the last decade? Could you find out if any of them claimed coming into an inheritance?”
Pelly shrugged disdainfully. “I suppose so, but I would be most reluctant to do so. When Stephen said young men find the monastic life doesn’t suit them, it’s not usually because of lack of luxury. We do a careful screening of our applicants before we allow them to become novices. I think we’d turn up the type who would steal.”
Father Carroll joined us at that point. The refectory was clearing. Knots of men stood talking in the doorway, some staring at me. The prior turned to the brothers lingering at our table. “Don’t you have exams next week? Perhaps you should be studying.”
They got up a little shamefacedly and Carroll sat in one of the empty seats. “Are you making any progress?”
Pelly frowned. “We’ve progressed past some wild accusations about the Church in general to a concentrated attack on young men who have left the order in the last decade. Not exactly what I’d expect from a Catholic girl.”
I held up a hand. “Not me, Father Pelly. I’m not a girl and I’m not a Catholic… We’re really at a standstill. I’ll have to talk to Derek Hatfield and see if he’ll share the FBI’s ideas with me. What you need to find is someone with a secret bank account. Perhaps one of your brothers, possibly my aunt. Although if she stole the money, it certainly wasn’t to use on herself. She lives very frugally. Perhaps, though, she’s a fanatic about some cause I don’t know anything about and stole to support it. Which might be true of any of you as well.”