"Jazzed up?"
"A big screen TV behind the pulpit would be a good start. Slides to illustrate the sermon. I saw it at my parent's church in Atlanta. I could help you with it, and? Joey. Stop! We better go, Frank, before we get arrested."
The kids were back to throwing pebbles at the ducks.
CHAPTER 28-SHORE MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
Monday morning Angela Rossi called.
"I have something that might interest you, Professor."
"I thought we agreed that I'm Frank."
"Okay, Frank, I did a little research over the weekend in the obituary archives of local newspapers looking for the deaths of priests in the last year. Came up with a list of eight names and cross-checked the names with a list of the priests named in the Grand Jury Report. Got a hit with a Father Anthony Cinelli. The obit was in the Camden Courier Post last July. He died at Shore Memorial Hospital in Somers Point, New Jersey. He was retired and lived with his sister across the bay in Ocean City."
"Finding a priest on the Grand Jury list that died doesn't seem very unusual," I said. "Most were elderly."
"I agree, but there's more. I called the hospital and talked to a nurse who was on duty at the time of Cinelli's death. I identified myself and told her I was investigating the possible homicide of another priest and was looking for information that could help. I asked her outright if there was anything about the death that might be considered unusual. She wouldn't tell me anything about the medical details but did say that a priest who was visiting him left just when the code blue was called. She thought it strange that the priest did not stay to offer some prayers or at least to learn the outcome of their efforts to revive Father Cinelli."
"That is strange. I've been present at a bedside when a code was called. You step aside and let the medical team do its job. If the patient dies you administer the last rites, if that hasn't already been done, and offer prayers for the repose of the soul. I can't imagine a priest leaving."
"Neither can I. I'm going to take a ride down to the hospital today, flash a badge, and see if I can find out anything more. I also called the sister and she agreed to talk to me. I could use your sleuthing ability again."
"I can't possibly get away today, Angela."
"No, no. I don't want you to go with me. I want you to see if you can find any connection between Soroka and Cinelli. They were both in their eighties. Did they know each other? Were they in the seminary together? Did their lives intersect at any point?"
"The archdiocese must have records on them. I have a friend at the chancery who may help, a former assistant DA."
"Who?"
"Monsignor Tom Lacey."
"Slam-dunk Lacey?"
"You know him?"
"No, but he's a legend in the department. He was a big factor in putting away the Philly Mob."
"I'll give him a call. Good luck at the shore."
"Thanks. One more thing. I could take a look at your computer tomorrow morning. When do you come in?"
"I'll get there about seven-thirty to drop my daughter off at day care. How about eight?"
"Eight it is."
CHAPTER 29-JESUS IN MY POCKET
That afternoon in lab my green thumb was back. The students were getting a kick out of it. I was beginning to feel that maybe Joe was right and I was a witch doctor. When the lab was over Joe and I went into the adjacent storeroom and pulled a Geiger counter off a shelf. While Joe took a background count I emptied everything from my pockets and laid it all out on a table. We took a count of each individual item: my keys, handkerchief, wallet, a ball point pen, a small daily calendar, thirty-seven cents in change, a metal case for communion wafers, a small Swiss army knife, and a pack of Lance peanut butter crackers. Nada. Nothing with anything above a background count. Ditto for my belt buckle, clothing and shoes. Whatever was the cause of the unusual cosmic ray activity I was not the source of any stray radioactivity.
On the way home Olivia and I stopped at Clara Murphy's apartment. Clara is an eighty-year-old in a wheel chair and can't get to church so I bring her Holy Communion on Monday afternoons. Whether it's the Eucharist or Olivia our visit is probably a high point in Clara's week. She had lemonade and cookies ready for us.
"And how was your day at Munchkin House sweetheart?"
"It was fun. I made you a pumpkin. Here."
"It's a beautiful one, Olivia. Did you do this all by yourself?"
"I cut it out with scissors. Miss Julia said I'm an ex'lent cutter."
"I can see that. Put it right over there by the TV so I can see it all the time. What else did you do?"
"Jason is in trouble again for pushing and hitting Megan, and Clarence said that Jesus would punish him because Jesus was everywhere and could see Jason. And then I said, no, he's not everywhere. He's in my daddy's pocket. Isn't that right, Daddy?"
"You're right honey, and Clarence is right too."
I reached into the inside pocket of my sport coat and took out the small metal case with the flat wafer I had consecrated the day before at Mass. I knelt on one knee in front of Clara's wheelchair and held the host in front of her.
"Clara, this is the body?" I stopped. My hand shook as I mentally added a few words to what Olivia had just said. "Jesus is in my daddy's pocket-but only on Mondays and not on Wednesdays." Only on Mondays when I got the strange cosmic ray behavior in my lab. Not on Wednesday when things were normal.
Clara looked at me. "Are you okay, Father Frank?"
"Yes, I'm fine, just a thought." Then I repeated those words that I have said thousands of times; so often that it has become routine. This time my voice trembled as I said them. "Clara, this is the body of Christ."
"Amen," she said as I put the host in her palm.
Clara, as did I, believed those words to be literally true, that she received the body of Christ. Did this same host have something to do with the cosmic ray phenomenon or was it just pure coincidence. The lab was scheduled again for Wednesday. I needed to tighten controls.
CHAPTER 30-EMAIL RESURRECTION
Angela Rossi showed up at eight-fifteen the next morning to check out my emails.
"How was your trip to the hospital yesterday?"
"Good. I got a partial description of the priest that visited Cinelli from one of the nurses," she said taking a notebook from her bag. "Tall, slim, six feet or more, probably older. She didn't get a good look as his face."
"Anything suspicious about the death?"
"Initially there was. They found a syringe on the floor next to Cinelli's bed. It was a type not commonly used by the hospital. There was no autopsy but they did do a blood test. Nothing unusual, and the syringe was found to contain a small amount of a saline solution. Harmless. He died of cardiac arrest. It was not a surprise. He was in bad shape."
"What about the sister?"
"Nothing very interesting. He lived with her for the past three years across the bay in Ocean City. On nice days he would go up the boardwalk and sit on a bench for hours. I asked about a computer. She said he never owned one."
"No 'priest-should-be-truly-priest' connection," I said.
"No. Pretty much a dead end."
"I want to do a few things in my lab before class. Is there anything you need here before I go?"
"I think I'm all set. I arranged for temporary administrative access to the system with the university's head of Information Technology. I promised only to look at your emails. Two things, though, before you leave."
"Shoot."
"How long have you been at PaCom?"
"This is my fifth year."
"So we have potentially four full years of email traffic. And?I need a signature," she said pulling a sheet of paper from her bag. "This is a form giving me permission to snoop on your computer."
She wrote a few lines on the paper.
"You have to sign. I'm restricting my access to emails only. No Internet history or anything like that."
"Okay," I said and signed. "I'll leave you
to your work. There's water in the fridge and snacks in the bottom desk drawer. Help yourself."
"Wait, Frank, your 'New Mail' icon is blinking. Want me to see what it is before you go?"
"Yes, please."
"Well, well, well," she said. "Look at the subject space."
It read: "PRIESTS SHOULD BE TRULY PRIESTS"
"Respond to it. Quick!" I said.
"Who are you?" she typed and sent it.
"No response Frank. Wait. Here it comes."
"Quisnam es vos?"
"What is that, Spanish, Portuguese?"
"Latin. It translates to, 'Who are you?' Let me sit there."
I typed: "Frank Donnelly. Et Quisnam es vos?"
We waited.
"Looks like he's not there, Frank."
And then, "Dico mihi "M".
"He said, 'Call me 'M'. I have an idea."
I typed: "Introibo ad altare Dei" and sent it.
"That's the priest's opening prayer in a traditional Latin Mass, 'I will go unto the altar of God.' I want to see if he knows the proper response. Come on, come on, surprise me. Okay, here we go."
"Very clever, Father. Am I priest or perhaps a former altar boy? Ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me. How's that?"
"Keep me informed, Frank. Did he give the proper response?"
"No, but it's just as good. The Latin translates to, 'deliver me from the unjust and deceitful man.' It's another line from the Mass."
We waited. There was nothing else.
"Pen pal, aka 'M', just made his first mistake, Frank. Now we know something about him. He could be a priest or a former altar boy."
"Or a classical scholar," I said. "Or a Latin teacher, or a seminarian, but it certainly narrows the field. I need to get to class. I'll be back about ten-thirty."
CHAPTER 31-EEQMC2
"I forgot to give you my password," I said when I returned after class.
She flipped a few pages in her notebook, held her hand over the bottom half of a page, and showed me what she had written.
"Am I right?"
She had written, "EEQMC2."
"Yes," I said, surprised that she had it.
She moved her hand and uncovered the rest of the page.
"Meaning this," she said "Einstein's famous equation, E=MC2?"
"Right again," I said "but how did you??"
"I had it with me when I came in. I guessed it over the weekend. I tried combinations that would be meaningful to you-your birth date, address, et cetera, even the name of your pet dog."
"Daisy," I said. "Where did you find that?"
"Same place I found your password; your web site."
She typed briefly on her laptop and came up with my web site and clicked on my bio.
"Here's the picture of you with the dog standing next to your car. The caption mentions her name. German Shepherd?"
"Yes. It's my mother's dog. When she moved into a condo Daisy moved in with us. She's great with kids and a good watch dog too."
"Anyhow, the back of your car with Pennsylvania tag EEQMC2 is clearly visible in the photo. I went to the PaCom web site and logged on using your email address as ID and EEQMC2 as the password. It worked. Very appropriate combination for a physicist but not very secure, especially since it's also your license plate. Hackers know it's a favorite and it probably took no longer for your pen pal to guess it than it took me. By the way, did you set up that new account I suggested?"
"Yes, a hotmail account for family and friends."
"Good. Leave your university password as is. We don't want pen pal to know you suspect a leak."
"OK," I said. "Did you find out anything about the emails?"
"Quite a bit. Did you know that you had six hundred plus unread emails?"
"What?"
"Apparently this is what happened. Almost four years ago your original email address was changed from
[email protected] to
[email protected]. The numeral two was dropped when the owner of the original fdonnelly handle, Fiona Donnelly, retired from the faculty."
"I had forgotten about that."
"Well you continued to receive emails at the fdonnelly2 address. It was never closed. You would be unaware of their existence unless you logged on under the old name; which evidently you never did."
"But I had sent out email notices to everyone informing them of the change of address."
"To everyone on your contact list, but your pen pal never got the notice and kept sending emails to the old address- for a while-until he probably noticed the change on your website. Of course, the spam also kept pouring in to the old address too."
"Usually when I received one of the "priest" emails I replied with 'who are you'. Any address that I send an email to is automatically added to my contact list. If I received any emails from pen pal before the address change he would have been on that list and received the notice of the change."
"He would have been on the list but I doubt he read your notice. Look at this list I made of the thirteen emails with the 'PRIESTS SHOULD BE TRULY PRIESTS' subject line. I traced the locations they were sent from."
I looked at the list. The locations were mainly libraries and senior centers in Philadelphia, the surrounding suburbs, and South Jersey. There was one from the airport and one from somewhere on campus. Also, all the email addresses were different.
"I may have more than one pen pal."
"I don't think so," she said. "I've run into this before. It's a way to avoid being traced. Go into a library, a senior center-incidentally, we now know that pen pal is a senior citizen or can pass for one- or any place where there are computers for public use and set up an email account with yahoo or hotmail or any of a dozen other providers of free accounts. Send your message and walk out. No credit card number, no billing address, a phony name and birth date. I can trace the location but not the sender. Pen pal probably used an email account once and then abandoned it. That's why he never got your notice of an address change. Check the dates of the emails on that list. I am interested in whether any of the dates precede your wife's death."
I checked the list. The dates were clustered in two groups; one almost four years ago, the other about two years ago. I took a pen and circled one of the emails.
"This earliest one is dated five days after Connie's death," I said.
"So none before," she said as she scrolled down a list on my computer. "The earliest date on any of these unread emails is for some spam the day that the account was switched. And that is-let's see-about two weeks before your wife's death, which means there were no pen pal emails before your wife was killed."
"Which rules out the emails being intended as a threat to Connie," I said. "Thank God."
What do you want to do with these unread emails in your old account? They're mostly spam and university memos."
"Just leave them, I guess. I'll root through them to see if there is anything important when I have time. Thanks for doing this, Angela. Anything more on the Soroka case yet?"
"They'll compare the blood sample from the candle to see if it came from him and analyze the wax samples. Also, the CSIs found a hair embedded in the candle. That will be checked too. They found a few smudged prints on the candle but nothing where it would have been held if swung like a club. It was wiped or whoever handled it wore gloves."
"How about the FBI cyber forensic lab?"
I'm taking the computer and cell phone out there this afternoon. I'll give you a buzz when I know something definite. Meantime I'm outta here."
Angela Rossi wasn't gone a minute before Martha was at my door.
"You know, Frank, for a minister of the gospel there seems to be an unusual number of good looking women in and out of your office; all those coeds who just can't solve a problem without your help, and Vicki of course."
I laughed. "That one was a cop, Martha. Philadelphia Police. It wasn't a social call. I have a problem with thefts of my email. She's trying to trace the culprit."
"Any luck?"
&nbs
p; "Not yet. What do you have?"
"Here's the minutes of the Senate meeting. Do me a favor and look them over before I copy them and send them out. Wasn't that a hoot about the foreign language thing? We'd make Freud take Psych 101."
"Or Einstein take introductory physics," I said
"I'll get these back to you tomorrow."
After lunch I called Tim Boyle in the Newman Center. On Wednesdays he celebrates Mass at noon in the chapel. Occasionally I give him a break. I volunteered to say Mass the following day. "Go over to Juniata Park and play nine holes, Tim." He jumped at my offer.
CHAPTER 32-MORE COSMIC RAYS
More students than I expected showed up for Wednesday's Mass, probably because of mid-terms. After Mass I stopped in the faculty dining room, ordered a salad and a turkey sandwich, and suffered through twenty minutes of conversation about the economy at a table with faculty from the business school. I tried to steer things toward a more interesting subject by asking if anyone had ever petted a shark. That triggered a dissertation on the investment opportunities in fish farming. In desperation I tried "Hey, how about those Eagles on Sunday?" I got some relief with that.
Walking back to my office I put my hand over the case in my breast pocket containing the host I had just consecrated at Mass. I felt uneasy about planning to experiment on it but I had to know. The plan was that if I got an increase in cosmic ray activity in my lab I would get Joe Amanti's help with more controlled experiments later. The lab was scheduled from two o'clock until three-fifty. I asked Joe if he could be available to help me with something at four o'clock if I needed him. He said he was good until five.
At one-thirty I set up the aquariums and then went back to my office to give the dry ice a chance to cool the alcohol vapor before the students arrived. I straightened up my desk and lobbed Olivia's empty morning juice box into the waste basket under some framed mementos: a diploma from Kenyon College, two from MIT, and two photos. In one I was shaking hands with John Paul II and in another I was dunking the ball in a high school basketball game. The two are separated by seven years and a miracle. In the first I was a sickly ten-year-old with no hair undergoing chemotherapy. In the second I was a healthy teenager free of any cancer. Supernatural intervention or medical cure? I don't know. I do know I made a bargain with God; cure me and I would become a priest. God kept his side of the bargain and I kept mine-so far anyhow. I looked at the picture of John Paul. He didn't just shake my hand that day. He asked my name, what my illness was, and put his hands on my head. He told me he would pray for me and then said words that he had repeated often to millions around the world, especially when he addressed young people. He said, "Be not afraid." I sat and picked up a pencil from my desk and waggled it at the picture.