Chapter 8

The House on Congress Street was right across from the little park. It was a quiet street in a prosperous Brooklyn neighborhood, sandwiched between Carol Gardens and Brooklyn Heights. Jimmy O’Reilly didn’t see any hill in the Cobble Hill district. As far as the Albany attorney could tell, the area was as flat as a pancake with its eastern border fixed by the Brooklyn Queens Expressway and its western by Court Street. At its center, Cobble Hill had a small park where young parents brought their toddlers to play.

The McManus home was one of a solid wall of row houses opposite the park. A little more than twenty feet wide each house had a set of steps called a stoop, an English style basement, and three upper stories. Most had been divided into small overpriced apartments, but not the McManus residence. There was technically an apartment in the basement, But the upper house was a single unit where the priest Thomas McManus had maintained his family.

Jim O’Reilly arrived on a sunny late October afternoon having called and made an appointment with Maryann McManus. He was greeted by an elegant woman whose age he would put at no more than fifty. She was dressed stylishly in a dark blue dress suit and low heels. Maryann was sophisticated and clearly well educated. The way she held herself and her supple motions as she showed her guest to the parlor suggested an underlining sexuality that he had not expected.

Jim O’Reilly had come to question an elderly matron but found a formidable and worldly woman.

“Please Mr. O’Reilly, have a seat,” she said indicating one of the leather wingback chairs bracketing a small loveseat. The parlor was furnished expensively and its walls papered in Victorian fashion, but the furniture was a mixture of contemporary Twentieth Century and late Nineteenth. It was the home of a rich couple who had acquired their furnishings individually and over a long period.

As Jimmy took his seat, she said, “I’m going to have a small whiskey, but I have coffee if you would prefer it.”

He took the coffee, and in a moment, she returned with a tray containing a coffee mug, creamer and sugar together with a tumbler holding an inch of rich brown liqueur. “Thomas preferred Irish Whiskey to Scotch. I’m afraid I’ve formed the bad habit of a small nip in the afternoon,” she said taking a sip of her drink.

The coffee was excellent, and Jimmy said so.

“I can’t take great credit for that the little Italian grocery down Court Street roasts its own. It’s remarkable what fresh roast will do for the flavor. You should stop and buy a pound before you return to Albany. It’s just a little way into Carol Gardens.”

“Thank you. I will give it a try,” he said.

“Now perhaps we better discuss what has brought you to my home, Attorney O’Reilly,” she said.

“I’ve been appointed as a special prosecutor, and I’m seeking certain documents,” he replied.

“May I ask why you believe I have these documents?” she asked.

“That is hardly relevant to the question of whether you do have the missing documents.”

“But how would I know of these documents except for you telling me?”

“Because the arch-diocese gave them to Bishop McManus to hold, and now the diocese is searching for them. Since the Bishop is deceased, I’m asking the woman who lived with him.”

“You’re asking his widow. I am Tom McManus’ widow. My lawyer will confirm that. We have a condominium in Fort Myers, Florida. That is a very progressive state my lawyer informs me. When Tom and I would go each winter to escape the snow, he put his collar aside, and we lived openly as man and wife—”

“And under Florida law that forms a common law marriage making you Mrs. McManus. Very astute madam,” Jimmy finished for her.

“Coming from you that is a fine compliment. I know of your reputation. I looked you up after Cecilia Porter called. Google can be so informative,” she said.

“You know Mrs. Porter.”

“Of course, we shared a common status. I’ve made it a point to keep in touch with all the women ... Shall we say ‘coupled’ with priests. It is a small sorority, but much bigger than the Church would admit, or the public is aware.”

“Cecilia didn’t know what I was looking for, but it seems to me you do. Otherwise, you would have answered the question of whether you had the documents with a definitive ‘No’ and not another question.”

“Think what you want, but I’m no whore to be intimidated. There is no way you can prove I have it, and you can rest assured if I did that I would never turn it over to a man of your reputation. I know your wife is rated a great humanitarian. I know what that can mean for a family and a marriage.

“I have lived in the shadows for a noble man’s public image and his benevolent works. It is difficult to live in that obscurity bearing all the everyday responsibilities and receiving none of the credit. It must be harder for a man. However, I do not accept that as an adequate excuse for your actions. I have no respect for the Church’s lawyers, and less for a man like yourself who is there for whoever is paying his price at the moment.”

“You judge me rather harshly, madam.”

“God’s judgment will be harsher. You should fear it.”

“I believe God will be far more forgiving than the people whose file you have taken. I’m not suggesting you should be anyone’s puppet, but perhaps you should consider what your best interests are here.”

“I have considered that and can see no advantage to me in this matter by doing anything other than staying completely free of entanglement.”

“Then perhaps there is something you want that I might provide?” he said.

“I hold title to this house and all my late husband’s real and personal property. It is a considerable fortune, but I hold it for the benefit of the McManus children. The church didn’t hand it over easily. They had plans to cheat my children and me, but they failed because I’m cautious and prepared. There is nothing that I want for.”

“Yet, I think you fail to see the possible consequences of your actions. You may be placing yourself in danger that you do not perceive,” he said.

“I assure you, I have taken every precaution and am well prepared. I’m no virgin to meet the bridegroom with an empty lamp.”

“Have you considered the individuals involved. They were innocent children.”

“And, they are not so innocent now. They have obtained worldly success despite what happened to them.”

“Why don’t you at least tell me what happened to Patrick Sullivan and Steven Fitzgerald?” he asked.

Maryann saw where this was going, but she wanted this man to understand and accept her position.

“I’m sure as the friend of both these men you are aware as a boy Steven was routinely assaulted by the pedophile priest Edward Danbury, and that his friend Patrick Sullivan a slightly older and bigger boy on the last occasion came to his aid. During the course of that altercation, a heavy silver crucifix came in contact with Danbury’s head. The blow fractured Danbury’s skull.

“But that was merely the beginning. Despite the fact that Sullivan was injured, someone had to be charged with assault due to the serious injury Danbury had suffered. The alternative would be that the truth about Danbury would have come out. The man had more than a hundred victims, but Fitzgerald was the last thanks to Sullivan’s intervention. They sent Sullivan to a juvenile detention facility. He did six months. But you know that. What you want is the names of those involved, and those I will not give you. I will tell you nothing you do not already know.”

She wasn’t quite right. She had told Jimmy something he had not realized before, but he wanted one more piece.

“It doesn’t bother you that your husband was involved?” he said.

Jimmy saw her immediate shock and smiled, “Your Thomas involved Edward Kincade, Sr. It was the law firm Thomas used for the diocese real property transactions. They had to have a willing defense lawyer to make the scheme work.”

Maryann gave a superior and knowing smile and said, “it makes no difference, and a law firm, I believe, is not just the attorneys listed on the office door. Moreover, what you want cuts both ways. The innocent will be hurt with the guilty.”

Jimmy understood then the trick that had been played, but all he said was, “Is there nothing I can say to persuade you.”

“Nothing but tell the governor that he need not worry for I will keep watch and my lamp is perpetually lit.”

Maryann thought she was being clever, but her words were very clear to lawyer O’Reilly.

As she walked him to her front door, Jimmy gave one last try and a bit of advice, “Please change your mind. No one can keep their virtue while dancing with the devil.”

Theresa Hartman was in the plush Manthan offices of Susan Singleton’s PR firm. Susan was seated across from Theresa reading the first surveillance report. Theresa could see the other woman was not happy. No matter how often she did this Theresa never was able to remain completely cynical. Susan Singleton Fitzgerald to all the world possessed everything necessary for a perfect life and had certainly done nothing to deserve any of the gifts life had bestowed upon her. Nevertheless, it was still impossible for Theresa to not feel the woman’s suffering.

Susan had been very foolish, and most would say downright wicked, in her treatment of her husband, but the pain of her actions she was feeling now. Theresa knew Steven’s infidelity hurt all the more because of the woman’s own guilt. It was a fact that Theresa had learned over long years in her trade. “The guilty wife was far more vulnerable than the faithful spouse.” She had no moral high ground to stand on and no right even to complain. Yet, her pain was no less.

“And, he sees this woman on a regular basis?” Susan asked.

“Two and three times a week,” Theresa responded.

“You say here that the relationship seems serious on her side. Can I ask how you reached that conclusion?”

“She’s twenty-seven and, as far as I have been able to determine, never had a serious relationship until now. By serious, I mean she has been seeing your husband and no one else. Her past liaisons seem to have been limited to casual relationships and one night stands. None of which I would call serious or exclusive.”

“So, she a younger version of myself.”

“In physical appearance quite different, but otherwise you are correct. She is smart, well educated, and career driven. From what my staff has been able to learn from her friends, family, and prior bed partners, she is competitive professionally, a bit controlling in her relationships, and sexually aggressive in bed.”

“All characteristics of mine,” Susan admitted.

“It’s been my experience that men rarely stray far from type,” Theresa said.

Susan gave a small sob and tears began to streak her cheeks.

“What am I going to do?” Susan said, but it was not a real question merely a venting of her frustration and guilt.

Theresa passed her a tissue from a small packet extracted from Theresa’s carry all bag. The detective strove to give the appearance of someone’s maiden aunt, from her frumpy green dress to the over large stripped bag she carried. The bag was most convenient as a carry-all for the tools of her trade including the lady’s version of a .38 Smith and Wesson revolver.

“Mrs. Fitzgerald, I have what may be a much more pressing concern,” Theresa began.

Susan’s head shot up straight, and she gave Theresa her full attention, “What”!

“Your husband is being followed and not just by my people or simply one other party. He has multiple groups surveilling him. Professional agents and possibly a government agency. I fear he may be in some danger.”

Susan only stared across the conference table at her investigator. She was finding it hard to comprehend what she was being told.

“I didn’t place the information in my report because I thought we should speak in confidence about this matter, and what, if any, action you want me to take.

Susan finding her voice demanded, “What in the hell are you talking about.”

“Your husband is under heavy surveillance by multiple parties. Some give the indications of government involvement, but others are what I believe may be more unpleasant parties. He could be in physical danger.”

“Why? What you say seems incredible.”

“I believe this may go back to the molestation incident in your husband’s childhood.”

“What?”

“His sexual assault by the pedophile Ed Danbury, a parish priest. Danbury’s is a very notorious case. His crimes were discovered long after the fact, and your husband was a victim, in fact, his last victim. That has long been a relatively obscure detail. Now, however, there is renewed interest in this matter, and your husband is intimately involved in attempting to reopen the Danbury cases.”

“I knew nothing of this. He never told me of an assault,” Susan said her shock very real. Steven had kept the matter from her. Held this from her. In effect lied to her by omission. Why had he done that? Had she been so much worse of a wife than she believed?

“Why should this place him in danger now?” she demanded of Theresa Hartman.

“I don’t know. I have only bits and pieces. There apparently is some belief that others may have been involved after the fact. Something to do with the prosecution of Patrick Sullivan.”