SWITCHEROO
A new “Chris Johnson, Anglican Investigator” adventure
Chapter 1 - Company’s Coming
Since the rumors in the mainstream press won’t die down, I’m going to go ahead and break the news here. Nicole is pregnant. Didn’t take us very long either; happened pretty much right after we got back from Washington. It was not unexpected since I’m, well, me.
So for the past seven months, apart from occasional unpaid consulting jobs that I did over the phone or the PC, I stayed home and drove my wife crazy. That 60’s-sitcom overly-solicitous expectant father thing; been looking forward to it all my life.
No one could have been happier to see Dale Price effortlessly crack that Vatican Museum heist or Captain Yips just as effortlessly untangle that multi-billion-dollar vestment scam for the Canadian Anglican Network. I watched both of their ticker-tape parades with pride and was delighted to see them get all the attention.
Until the baby was born and probably for a good chunk of time thereafter, I decided to stay completely out of Christian private investigation.
And I was out of it until one Thursday afternoon a while back. Nicky and I had just returned from her obstetrician’s office (everything was perfect but you already knew that) and were relaxing in our living room when the doorbell rang. When I answered it, I was delighted to see Amy Welborn.
For a few minutes, Amy and I got caught up and she and Nicky swapped pregnancy stories. The three of us had gotten very close since our last encounter. But I could tell Welborn was nervous. “So what brings you to Missouri?” I asked.
“I'm not sure,” she quietly replied, sitting down on the couch.
“What do you mean?”
“Ever heard of Mark Sullivan?”
“Auxiliary Bishop there in Fort Wayne, one of the youngest bishops in the Church. Impeccably orthodox. An up-and-comer for your team. Some people are even making pope noises.”
Welborn leaned back. “Bishop Sullivan is a local boy, Fort Wayne born and raised. He comes from a very wealthy Indiana family. Nominally Catholic but really lousy in practice except for the mother.”
“Are those the folks they call the Allen County Kennedys?”
“The very ones. Anyway, the Bishop was originally slated to be a corporate lawyer or an investment banker with the family business, perhaps with one of its international branches. Back in the day, he was basically the male Paris Hilton with more than his share of flings with more than his share of teen singers and actresses.”
“What happened?”
“His wife happened. He married a very beautiful young woman who was also a very devout Catholic. To the astonishment of just about everybody, he was intensely devoted to her so he got more and more serious about his faith. She died when Sullivan was twenty-eight.”
“Oh God. That must have killed him.”
“Devastated him for a while. But when I interviewed him for Open Book, he told me that one night he realized that he would never love any woman the same way again for the rest of his life and that the signal from God couldn’t have been clearer. So he chucked it all, quit the family firm and entered a seminary.”
“And started moving up the ladder,” said Nicky.
“Yup,” said Amy. “His administrative skills are extraordinary and he’s turned struggling parishes around everywhere he’s gone all over the country.”
“He’s also an incredible preacher,” I remarked.
“A Southern Baptist friend of mine called him the Catholic Spurgeon. She loves his stuff. So naturally he moved up the line fast. He was named Auxiliary Bishop of Fort Wayne last year at the age of 40 which is almost unheard of. But it doesn’t look like we’re going to keep him long.”
“Why not?” asked my wife.
“According to my sources, he’s slated to become an auxiliary bishop in New York City. Apparently Rome would like to groom him to replace Egan. There have been rumors going around about Egan’s health and the Vatican would like nothing better than to have a young, vigorous and orthodox voice ready to take over its most prominent American see.”
“I can see why,” I said. “So what’s the problem?”
Amy shut her eyes and was silent for a few moments. Then she sighed, reached into her briefcase and handed me a piece of paper. “Two weeks ago, Bishop Sullivan delivered that sermon.”
I began to read. “In the name of God the Creator, God the Redeemer and God the Sanctifier.” I looked at Nicky and said, “Uh oh.”
“It gets worse,” said Welborn. “Third paragraph down.”
I found the third paragraph and read, “Through God's Child Jesus Christ, God gives us all the gift of Godself.” I looked up sharply at Welborn. “What’s going on?”
“There are six more Godselfs after that one,” Amy replied. “And not a Son to be found.”
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Nicky. “What’s causing it? Stress?”
“That’s what I thought and what I maybe still think. What made me come here was the fact that I recently received two visitors. The first dropped by the Saturday before that sermon. A lady I’d never met came by my office with a bizarre story.
“There’s a park not far from Bishop Sullivan’s residence where he likes to take long, slow, contemplative walks. It’s very large and very forested. Sometimes he takes his Bible with him, sits under a tree and reads.
“This woman told me that she regularly saw him there and talked with him all the time. Really liked him too. She said he was always alone, that he never had any company. Until the previous Thursday.”
I walked over to the bar, made myself a bourbon-and-soda and began pacing around the room. “What did she see?”
“She saw him emerge from the park with a man she didn’t recognize. She told me that the two of them got into a car and drove off. And she said that Bishop Sullivan looked very, very scared.”
“Did she report it?”
“She called the police. They went by Bishop Sullivan’s residence that same afternoon, found that he was there and perfectly all right and dropped it. That’s when this lady came to me. I thought she was crazy until I got another visitor.”
“Who was it?”
“Bishop Sullivan’s mother,” said Amy. “I’ve known her for a long time. She’s old but she’s probably got as much mental and physical vigor as I do and she’s not given over to wild flights of fancy. She’s the most stable one in the family, actually.
“She asked to see me about a week ago. ’Amy,’ she said, ’This is going to sound like I’m losing my mind and I hesitate to tell you. But I have to tell someone.'”
“’What’s the matter?’ I asked her. ’Tell me, whatever it is.’
“Took her the longest time to get it out. Finally she said, ’I had lunch with Mark yesterday afternoon. And I’ve spent a lot of time with him recently. Amy...that’s not my son. I don’t know who it is but that’s not my son. Someone’s taken my little boy.’”
I glanced at Nicky and she looked as bewildered as I felt. Just then, the doorbell rang and Nicky got up to answer it. ”I need to stretch my legs,” she said in a low voice.
I sipped my drink. “What exactly do you want from me?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Welborn replied, looking away. “Help, I guess. Guidance. Some way to clear up whatever this...thing is.”
“You haven’t given me very much. An old woman, one witness and a bishop that’s apparently in one piece. Have you checked out this park?”
“Yeah. I found nothing suspicious.”
Just then, another visitor arrived. It was Wannabe(Newbie)Anglican. He, Amy, Nicky and I caught up for a few minutes before I got back to business. “So what brings you to Missouri?” I asked him.
“Someone dropped by my office a few days ago,” said Wannabe. “Something’s seriously wrong with Bishop Duncan. Two weeks ago, he gave this sermon.” He handed me a piece of paper.
I didn’t take it. “Let me guess. He opened it with that Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier line and it included Godselfs out the wazoo.”
Wannabe looked staggered. “Who...who told you?!” he stammered, dropping the paper to the floor.
“She did,” I replied, nodding toward Welborn, who took a step back, her mouth open. “Have any other Network bishops been affected?”
“None that I know of.”
“Who made the approach?”
“Duncan’s wife.”
“Did she say something along the lines of that man’s not my husband?”
I thought Wannabe was going to faint. “My God, how did you...”
“Never mind.” I asked Amy and Wannabe to sit down, relax and make themselves drinks and then, with a very slight shake of my head, signaled for Nicky to join me in the kitchen.
“What do you think?” I quietly asked as she closed the door behind her and sat down.
“Personally, I think it’s just stress,” said Nicky. “If you’re a bishop, even in Fort Wayne, you’re going to deal with stress. Add to that the prospect of taking the biggest stage in the country and Sullivan’s got to be under a lot of strain.”
“And Duncan?”
“Same thing. He’s the head of the Network, he’s got General Convention coming up and he’s got some very, very serious decisions to make real soon.”
I nibbled on a piece of ice. ”That’s the way I read it. You think I should pass on this?”
“No. I think you should look into it.”
“Why?”
“It’s most likely nothing,” said Nicole. ”But if you can prove that, and you can, it’ll ease Amy’s mind. A friend is always worth a few days of your time. I just wish I could join you.”
“But I hate to leave you right now.”
My wife laughed heartily. “You just heard the report. Everything couldn’t be better and I’m not due for a long time. If something does happen, I’ve got a great support system here and a phone to call you with. And frankly, sweetie, you’ve been driving me nuts lately. So hit the road, Jack. Besides, you need me back here to work the computers.”
I could see that I was not going to prevail. “That I do,” I admitted. The two of us went back out to the living room. “Amy,” I said, “get back to Fort Wayne. Find out where Bishop Sullivan will be this weekend and make sure you’re there. Sit as close as you can. And if you have any other opportunity to interact with him, take it. Just watch him as much as you can.”
“What am I looking for?” she asked.
“Tells. Physical mannerisms you’ve never noticed before. Anything that might indicate that something’s not right. And Wannabe? Do the same thing with Duncan. Get a flight to Pittsburgh today.
“Tell him you want to interview him for your web site; he’d be crazy to turn that down. Anything you can think of to get close. If anything jumps out at either one of you, call me. I’ll meet both of you in Fort Wayne on Monday morning.”
“What are you going to do?” Wannabe asked me.
“Work the phones. Hit up some sources.” I don’t know why, I guess it was the famed Johnson intution, but I turned to Nicole and said, “Nicky? After I leave, could you check something for me? I want to know every airline flight both Sullivan and Duncan have taken for the last month. Start with the most recent and work back.”
“Got it,” said Nicky.
“What do you think this is, Chris?” asked Welborn.
I silently stared out the window for a very long time. “I have no idea,” I finally said to nobody in particular.
Next week: Port and Cigars
GA/FL
Submitted by Colleen
at 1/22/2006 5:32:09 PM