Epiphany of Evil: Sequel to Massacre of the Innocents

By Thomas Stacey

The sequel picks up where “Massacre of the Innocents” left off . . . the murder of Bishop Rizek. Father John Paziek, once again, is pulled into the police investigation along with Detective Doug Emery. Father Bernard and a scoutmaster were caught by Father John while attempting to molest a boy scout. He is on the run. He left after a troubling encounter with Bishop Rizek and is on a quest to make changes in his life. The changes he perceives as his epiphany are leading in the direction of evil rather than good! Father John’s life takes on new directions as his feelings for Denise Novak, a former nun, intensify. His vocation to the priesthood is questioned and he must decide whether he can continue a life of celibacy and serving God. As he struggles with this decision, he reconnects a friendship that he has enjoyed with Calvin Teasley, owner of a blind pig casino in the Black Bottom area of Detroit. Father Bernard’s psychosis leaves a trail of torture, murder, and eventually a thirst to satisfy his revenge on both Father John and Denise. The killer of Bishop Rizek is revealed amid a murderous, revengeful plot at Saint Francis Parish . . . where the saga began! 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Sep 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781977269188

Thomas Stacey

Thomas Stacey resides on Lake Marion in Michigan where he retired with his late wife Sandra. He has published five previous novels. His last novel “Devil’s Night” was awarded runner-up in the Eric Hoffer Book Award Grand Prize in the Mystery/Crime genre.  

Book preview

Epiphany of Evil

Sequel to Massacre of the Innocents

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2023 Thomas Stacey

v2.0

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Cover Design © 2023 Thomas Stacey.

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For

Sandra

Thanks to my editors

Craig

And

Diane

I can’t thank them enough for their help on this exciting journey!

Other books by Thomas Stacey

The Sam Browne

Alone, Together, Nevermore

Massacre of the Innocents

1861-D

Devil’s Night

Table of Contents

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Epilogue

1

Father John Paziek unfolded the moist Detroit Free Press, shook off the droplets of rain and reread the bold-faced headline above the fold.

CATHOLIC CHURCH ROCKED.

BISHOP FOUND DEAD

Monsignor Gannas saw Father John’s face melting as he stared at the newspaper in disbelief.

Well, John. What is it? What happened? What does it say? Tell me.

Father John looked up from the paper and looked at Monsignor Gannas for a second. It’s Bishop Rizek. They found him dead in his office over at the Blessed Sacrament Cathedral. Not a lot of detail. Just says that his seminarian assistant, Adrian Nabozny, found him dead late last night. I’ve met Adrian on my visits to the bishop. Father John’s mind raced back to his last meeting with Adrian and hearing his confession. Questions from Monsignor Gannas were going unanswered as Father John thought about the horrible facts of the confession.

Oh, sorry Father. I was just thinking about my last meeting with Adrian. I heard his confession and as you know, I can’t discuss. Monsignor Gannas nodded and sat back in his chair. Father John walked over and handed the newspaper to Monsignor Gannas.

I’m gonna get dressed, say my breviary, say Mass and then make some breakfast. How does that sound? I’ve got a strong feeling I may be getting a call from the police asking for my knowledge in this matter. Father John was nervously thinking of the letter he left with the bishop on their last meeting.

Father John and Monsignor Gannas had a nice quiet breakfast after the 8 o’clock Mass. Monsignor Gannas retired to his office to catch up on his reading of The Michigan Catholic newspaper and listen to 760 WJR radio for any news on Bishop Rizek. Monsignor Gannas was on the upside of a senility issue that was coming and going over the past two years. He struggled with it during his clear-thinking episodes as to what was happening to his memory and his energy. Father John, as assistant pastor, dealt with it as best he could, by keeping Monsignor Gannas up to date on everything that was going on in Saint Francis Parish. When the down days came Father John just prayed for the upside to come back. It was a difficult, troublesome, struggle for both.

Father John went to his bedroom after breakfast and sat at his small desk and looked at the calendar blotter covering most of the top of the desk. The wind propelled rain was hitting a small octagon shaped window creating a calming effect on his mind. He flipped the calendar pages back to when all the turmoil started and began to run in his head a silent soliloquy of all that happened since that fateful day.

It started with a terrorized janitor, Stanley Paciorek, rapping frantically on the rectory door early one morning. He followed the janitor to the Church belfry room to find his fellow priest, Father Sylvester Rogalski, hanging from the bell ringing rope in the room below the belfry.

His mind movie was interrupted by Monsignor Gannas yelling.

John, get in here. It’s the phone for you. I think he said it’s the police. They want to talk to you.

Father John hurriedly got up from his desk and raced to the study where Monsignor Gannas was holding up the receiver of the phone. He anticipated a call after reading the news about the bishop, but this was sooner than expected.

He took the phone and said. Hello, this is Father Paziek. Can I help you?

A familiar voice on the other end answered. Hello Father. Doug Emery here. I suppose you heard about the bishop by now? Father Paziek nodded and then realized he was on the phone. Yes, I heard Doug. Terrible. How can I help?

Since this is such a high-profile death, the big boys with scrambled eggs on their caps downtown at Beaubien Police Headquarters, are taking charge. They called and told me they might be needing our help in the investigation. Since Duke and I, along with you . . . I must say, were the main investigators of the Father Rogalski suicide slash accident slash murder, they knew of the death and as investigators, the one thing that we never accept is coincidence. So, there must be a connection. Wow! That was a mouthful. What I’m trying to say Father, is that we’ll be part of the investigation whether we like it or not. Can you make some time to come down to the precinct here and we can sit down – you and I – and go over the case of Father Rogalski and make sure we have our ducks in a row, so to speak. Duke’s out of town. I’ll explain later.

Yes. My afternoon is free. I just have to catch Monsignor up to date and get some clothes on and I can be there in an hour or so. Will that work?

Great. See you then. Didn’t expect to see you so soon after closing the Rogalski case but here we go again. Detective Doug Emery said and they hung up the phones.

Father John gave Monsignor Gannas the facts as to what was going on and that he might be involved with the police again, since now there were two clergy dead under mysterious circumstances. Monsignor Gannas was on the upside of his senility so he was understanding everything Father John was telling him and even recalling all the trauma that had been blanketing the parish and the neighborhood since Father Sylvester was found hanging in the belfry room.

2

Father John left the rectory, lit a cigarette and headed to the three-car garage at the rear of the rectory. He was wearing the priestly black suit and Roman collar. Winter was approaching with a slightly cooler breeze blowing leaves around the courtyard separating the Church, the rectory, the school, and the nun’s convent. He walked slowly as he dragged on his cigarette, almost afraid of what was in store at the police station. The last week was one of resetting his compass. The death of Father Sylvester had been resolved officially and he was getting ready to start a new phase in his life. The envelope he left with Bishop Rizek was now looming large as he drove to the 6th Precinct to meet with Detective Doug Emery.

He parked his black Buick Roadmaster in the visitor’s parking spot and made his way into the lobby of the police station. It was a familiar feeling after all the time he spent with Detective Doug Emery and Detective Sergeant Marion Wayne. Sergeant Wayne was affectionately known as Duke, a nickname he acquired when someone found out John Wayne’s birth name was Marion. He had a distinctive cowboy gait that matched his stature to go along with the Duke moniker.

The desk sergeant on duty recognized and greeted Father John and directed him into the interrogation room where Detective Emery was patiently waiting for him.

Good morning, Father, or should I say Good afternoon? How are you? Didn’t expect to see you so soon and I suppose you had other things to think about other than getting wrapped up in another police investigation. They shook hands.

Good day might be the right salutation. How are you, Doug?

I’m good. Duke is on vacation with the Mrs. down in the Caribbean somewhere. So, I’m in charge. I didn’t call him. No need. He’ll hear all about it when he gets back. And he’s gearing down in his last year. Getting ready for retirement. So . . . I don’t have a lot of information other than what’s in the newspapers or on the radio. But I do know that it was apparently a murder . . . stabbed in the chest with a letter opener and found by his assistant late last night. After all the mystery trying to figure out Father Sylvester’s demise, this just adds another facet to that case . . . if they’re connected? What’s your thoughts Father?

After working with you and Duke for so long I guess I’ve got the investigator’s hat on and I’m not going to believe in coincidences here. There has got to be some connection. You’re not going to believe this but, I had another confession recently and a meeting with the bishop that didn’t go so well, so here we are again with the secrets of confession.

What was the meeting with the bishop about if you can tell me? Remember Father that the dicks downtown will be questioning you for sure and you have to be up front with them except for the confession stuff.

He had me investigating reports of priests accused of assaults and we had an ongoing disagreement about how to handle some of these wayward priests – if you will. He wanted to protect the Church much more than the victims of these priests. The final act was that I gave him a letter of resignation. That was a couple of days ago. I never heard back from him. The next thing I know is this morning’s headlines. You have to keep the resignation thing between us for now if the police haven’t found my letter to the bishop. I may have to put that on the shelf anyway. Can you do that for me, Doug?

I sure can. Not a problem, Father.

I think you and I should go over the Father Sylvester death investigation and make sure we’ve got all our ducks in a row or singing off the same church music or whatever idiom you want to use. Agree? Doug asked.

Agree.

Doug Emery was an up-and-coming investigating detective for the Detroit Police Department in the 6th Precinct located on McGraw Avenue in Northwest Detroit. He had been promoted to detective when his superiors noticed his attention to detail and his ability to figure out what needed to be done when he worked the streets as a patrolman. His military service as an MP didn’t hurt either. Duke Wayne, a senior detective, suggested he be promoted over other police officers with more seniority and that was the beginning of the team of Emery and Wayne. Doug welcomed the promotion and even fellow police officers, he had been promoted over, congratulated, and supported his new assignment.

He took advantage of all the knowledge that Sergeant Duke Wayne routinely passed on to him. Serving in this role for only a short time and his talent for picking up the routines and his deductive reasoning was quickly showing signs that he would be ready to assume a senior role upon Duke Wayne’s retirement.

Detective Doug Emery was a man of thirty something that looked much younger than his years. He kept his body in shape and wore his dirty blond hair moderately cut and free flowing with no part. He was happily married to Donna with an infant daughter Jill, which he proudly displayed in a picture on his desk. They were his first loves. Being a detective on the Detroit Police Force was his second.

They settled into one of the smaller interview/interrogation rooms. It had a small wooden table that had years of scars and cigarette burns and frightening stories. There were two swivel desk chairs. One wall had a 4 x 6-foot one-way mirror and the opposite wall had a 6 x 6-foot blackboard. Two gold tin ash-encrusted ashtrays and a smattering of notepads, pens and pencils, and a box of chalk scattered across the desk made up the rest of the room. The smell of coffee and cigarette smoke and nervous sweat permeated the room.

Doug excused himself and returned shortly with a pot of coffee, two mugs and a bag of leftover donuts.

Okay. I think that’s everything, so let’s get started. Why don’t we just go over the whole case as we remember it and see if there is anything that we think that is going to be a gotcha by whoever talks to us.

Father John nodded. Sounds like a plan. I wasn’t expecting this. And to be perfectly honest, I was starting to erase the past few months out of my memory bank. Most of them were uncomfortable and bothersome but there were some that were pretty good. Especially working with you and Duke. I really enjoyed the rush of investigating and was getting envious of you two. Father John gave a broad smile to Doug.

As he spoke, he was thinking about the pleasant times spent at Calvin’s blind pig playing 7-card stud and his meeting with Sister Lorraine – nee Denise Novak – after she left the convent. And his decision to pursue leaving the priesthood. That was all compartmentalized for now and it was back to a new investigation on the tails of the investigation of the mysterious death of his fellow priest at Saint Francis of Assisi Church.

Doug interrupted his thoughts. Why don’t you start from the beginning Father . . . from the time you found the body.

Not wanting to revisit that in my head again but I guess we have to. It was about a year ago, I guess. Right before school started. The janitor, Stanley Paciorek, was banging on my door at 6 o’clock in the morning, frantically telling me to follow him to the Church. That’s when I found Father Sylvester hanging from the rope that rings the Church bells. We called the police and that’s when you and Duke got involved. Plain and simple up to that point, if you can call a hanging priest’s body plain and simple. And then . . . and then, that’s when things got very complicated as you well know. The three knots on the hanging rope, one with blood on it, the upturned chair and the chocks under the desk and the absolute mystery on how someone could hang himself standing on a chair with wheels on it. Do I have it so far, Doug? Father John was careful not to mention the suicide letter he picked up from the crime scene. It was a secret he would keep for now, or maybe forever. He didn’t want to damage his relationship with Doug. It was a piece of evidence that he held back from them initially and as the case developed it became harder and harder to tell Doug and Duke he had held back evidence. As it turned out, the case was closed and the suicide letter didn’t matter after all.

Yes, very good Father. And I agree this is where everything turned to shit. Sorry Father, but I couldn’t think of a better euphemism.

Turned to shit is a good analogy, if I do say so myself. They both laughed.

Just then there was a rap on the door and a teenage looking cadet opened the door. There’s a call for you, Detective. It’s the brass downtown. They need to talk to you NOW! He said.

Doug pushed back his chair that screeched on the not so clean tiled floor, got up, and followed the police cadet out of the room. He returned a short while later with a somber look on his face.

The call I was waiting for and they were very adamant that I . . . I should say we, get down to the bishop’s residence . . . pronto! I told them you and I were meeting so they want both of us. Maybe I shouldn’t have told them you were with me. Oh well, they would find you sooner or later. Sorry, Father.

Not a problem Doug. I agree. They would get to me sooner or later. Especially if they’re interrogating Adrian, the bishop’s seminarian assistant. He knows I had a lot of meetings with the bishop. You ready to go now?

Before we go, let’s get the suicide thing straight between us. As we agreed when we closed Father Sylvester’s case, we said it was a suicide with possibly some help from someone. And the bishop agreed to that, in order to close out the case. Is that what you understand Father? We don’t want to tell them two different stories. And the part we keep between us is that you received information in the confessional that some others were involved. It would be of no use to bring that out. It would just not be of any value.

Yes Doug, I agree with everything you just said. That should keep our stories straight to avoid contradiction and suspicion. The other shoe is . . . what the fuck is going on with both of these deaths? Sorry for the army language Doug. Sometimes I can’t help it.

Doug let out a loud snicker. Gotcha!

They agreed to ride down together to the bishop’s residence next to the Blessed Sacrament Cathedral on Woodward Avenue. On the way they talked about the Father Sylvester case, continuing to get all their facts straight and avoid any glitches when they spoke to the downtown brass.

Father John was feeling bad for using the word fuck when talking to Detective Emery . . . after all – he is a Catholic priest!

Listen Doug, I am sorry for the salty language. Let me give you a little more of my background to help you understand.

I didn’t even think twice about it. It’s not a problem. But if you want, I would like to hear some more about yourself. After all, we spent a lot of time together working on the Sylvester case so, shoot. Let me have the real Father John Paziek.

"After I finished college at Saint Mary’s Seminary in Orchard Lake, it was December 1941, and all my friends in the neighborhood were enlisting and I felt I needed to do my part. I got permission to apply for chaplain school, got my butter bars (2nd lieutenant gold bars resembling