THE MCJ

THE CASE OF THE CRIBBED CROZIER

A new “Chris Johnson, Anglican Investigator” adventure

Chapter One

In my legendary career as a Christian private investigator, I have had cases in which guns were stuck in my face and knives were held to my throat. I have had cases in which endangered the lives and/or Christian orthodoxy of my family, friends, associates and everyone else in the entire world. And I have had cases in which the very existence of orthodox Christianity itself depended on my success.

This is not one of those cases.

One afternoon a while back, Nicky and I were sitting in our living room watching our son Paul, who had just learned to walk, wander the room, examining its contents from his new vantage point. We watched alertly because while Paul grasped the concept of walking right away, the concepts of stopping and not walking into things sometimes eluded him.

About the time Paul suddenly decided that he was tired and needed a nap, the doorbell rang. While Nicky took Paul upstairs, I got up to answer the door. It was my good friend Dawn Eden. I was delighted to see her, of course, but the look in her eye told me she was there on business rather than pleasure.

I made two bourbon-and-sodas, handed her one and the two of us sat down in the living room. After a few minutes of family talk, I asked, “So what brings you to town?”

“I was approached by an individual on behalf on an institution that wants to engage your services for what it calls an extremely serious case,” she replied. Dawn had just gotten started in full-time Christian private investigation.

“What institution?

“The Episcopal Church.”

“CRosk dropped by, did she? How’s she doing these days?”

“As embarrassing as ever. She sends her regards. My, uh...primary contact will be along shortly.”

I leaned back and said, “Dawn, I really don’t want to take on anything for a very long time. After my last case, I just want to stay home, relax and enjoy my family. But maybe Nicky will do it. She can handle this stuff.”

My wife stood at the entrance to the living room and glared at me. “No, I can’t, Chris! I have responsibilities, you know! I can’t just drop everything and fly all over the country whenever the mood strikes me. A little boy needs his momma more than anything else in the world and if you can’t understand that then…”

“Frank Griswold’s on the front porch, isn’t he?”

Nicky grinned sheepishly. “I guess I kind of oversold that one. But I already put in my Griswold time. Should I let him in?”

I sighed. “Yeah, why not?” Nicky opened the door, greeted Frank, made herself a drink and sat next to Dawn.

Frank seemed preoccupied when he walked in. “Make yourself at home, Frank,” I said. “What are you so nervous about?”

“What makes you think I’m nervous?” he asked me in a high-pitched voice.

“You’re wearing your miter.”

Frank reached up, snatched his miter off his head and said, “I know we’ve had our differences in the past and I hope we can put them aside. Because I’m here about a serious case. The most important case you’ve ever had or ever will have.”

“You intrigue me. Please sit down.”

Frank found a chair. “Now before I go on, I’m going to ask the three of you to swear what I’m about to tell you to total secrecy. If word of this leaks out, it could have devastating consequences for the Anglican Communion and for the entire Christian church worldwide.”

I looked at Nicky and Dawn and both nodded gravely . “You have our word,” I said. Frank tried to talk but couldn’t get the words out. “If it’ll help, make yourself a drink.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. But please try to control your emotions when you hear what I have to say.” Frank took a deep breath and intoned gravely, “The Jefferts-Schori Crozier has been stolen.”

After two full minutes of extremely awkward silence, I figured that somebody had to say something. “Frank?” I asked. “What is the Jefferts-Schori Crozier?”

Griswold looked like he was about to cry. “It’s a special crozier that the Episcopal Church will present to Katharine Jefferts-Schori at her installation as Presiding Bishop. Without it, the installation can’t happen.

“Can you imagine the effect that the news of this theft will have on ordinary Christians all over the world? They’ll be crushed. We’re an extremely important and influential church worldwide and what happens to us affects Christians everywhere, not just Anglicans!

“If the news gets out that the Jefferts-Schori Crozier has been stolen, I don’t see how Christianity will ever be able to recover from the blow. We have to get the Crozier back. For the sake of Christians everywhere, we have to get it back!!”

Consummate professional that I am, I managed to keep a straight face. Nicky and Dawn, however, could not. Both said, “Excuse me” at exactly the same moment and bolted from the room. “Frank?” I said. “What can you tell me about the Jefferts-...?”

“What in the world are they laughing at?” Frank asked in an anguished tone, referring to the shrieks of hysterical laughter coming from somewhere on the other side of the mansion.

“They’re not laughing,” I replied. “They’re practicing kimchi, an Asian discipline. My wife swears by it.”

“Oh, I see,” said Frank. “To handle the stress of the news.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I guess we ought to wait for them to finish.” So Frank and I tried to make small talk. After the longest fifteen minutes of my entire life, Nicky and Dawn returned, both a bit out of breath. “Frank?” I continued. “What can you tell me about the Jefferts-Schori Crozier?”

“It’s six feet three inches tall. It was designed to show our pride in our Anglican heritage as well as to become a symbol of our church and of Anglican Christianity worldwide.”

“What is it made out of?”

“Solid sterling silver.”

“Solid…sterling...silver? How much did this crozier cost anyway?”

“$100,000.” I watched my wife and my New York colleague sprint out of the room again. They only made it as far as the kitchen this time.

Frank glanced in their direction. “Are they…uh…laughing now?”

“No, no” I said over the howling laughter. “Kimchi is unpredictable. But let me ask you something. At any time, did the idea of dropping 100 large on a crozier strike anyone at 815 as just a tiny bit—oh, what’s the word I’m looking for—tacky?”

Frank looked confused. “No. Why would you say that?”

“Speculation.” I went to the bar, very slowly and deliberately made myself a Manhattan and stared out the window, waiting for Nicky and Dawn to get a grip. “Can I get you anything, Frank?” I asked.

“A Cosmopolitan would be nice.” I don’t know how to make a Cosmopolitian so I just poured some Ten High and soda into a glass and handed it to him. Frank took a sip and said, “Uh...this tastes like bourbon and soda.”

“That’s how we make Cosmopolitans here in Missouri. Are you insulting Missouri culture, Frank? Because if you are...”

Frank looked horrified. “Oh, no, never, I would never do that. I’m very, very sorry, I misunderstood. This will be fine.”

“Apology accepted.” As Nicky and Dawn returned, a good deal more out of breath then they were before, I asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have a picture of the crozier, would you?”

“As a matter of fact, I have two of them.” Frank rummaged through his papers and produced a couple of photographs.

Dawn, Nicky and I silently stared in stunned, open-mouthed disbelief at...something or other. “Okay, the word ‘tacky’ had to have come up when this design was proposed,” I said.

“Well, no,” said Frank, looking surprised. “We were inspired by the famous crozier of William of Wykeham. Are you familiar with the famous crozier of William of Wykeham?

“Of course I’m familiar with the famous crozier of William of Wykeham!” I snapped. “Who isn’t familiar with the famous crozier of William of Wykeham?!!”

“Why is there a bug on this thing?” Nicky asked.

“That’s not an insect,” Frank said, chuckling. “That’s Rowan Williams. This isn’t a very good photograph.”

“Whose are those portraits on the sides among all that filigree?” asked Dawn.

“Those are all the Presiding Bishops of the Episcopal Church along with Martin Luther King, Coretta Scott King, Desmond Tutu, Kofi Annan, Jimmy Carter, Bill and Hillary Clinton, John Lennon, Bob Dylan, Jim Morrison, Jerry Garcia, and Bono.” There was no possible way that Nicky and Dawn were going to make it.

“What’s happening down the back there?” asked Nicky.

“Great moments from Episcopal Church history. Samuel Seabury getting consecrated in Scotland, the Episcopal Church not splitting over slavery, the ordination of women, the 1979 prayer book, Gene Robinson, The Book of Daniel and some others.” Any second now.

“I recognize the symbol of the United Nations on that medallion but what’s that big thing on the very top?” I wondered.

“The National Cathedral.”

Exit the ladies.

“Tell you what, Frank,” I said, sipping my Manhattan. “I don’t want to take up too much of your valuable time so let’s just keep going and I’ll fill them in on the details later. Who made this thing?”

“Acme Liturgical Supply, Inc.

“So why don’t you just order another one? ECUSA has the jack,” I said.

“It was one of a kind,” Frank said. “After they made it, they broke the mold.”

“Well, that’s some good news anyway,” I mumbled, staring at the pictures.

“What?”

“Nothing. Did you actually receive delivery?”

“Yes. I signed for it myself.”

“When and where was it seen last?”

“Last Friday, exactly where I left it. Conference Room A at 815. I was the last to leave so I know it was there.”

“Who has access to that room?”

“Everybody on staff. But the Crozier design committee met there.”

“Who was on that committee?”

“Let’s see. Bishop Chane, Bishop Bruno, Bishop Swing, Bishop Shaw, Bishop Smith, Bishop Robinson, Jan Nunley, Jim Naughton and myself.”

“I’ll get started on this tomorrow. My usual rates apply. Same for my wife and Dawn.”

Griswold drained his glass. “Agreed. I’ll immediately fly back to New York and set up a command post.”

“Outstanding idea, Frank. Set up a command post.”

Frank stood up and left. After he drove off, Dawn and Nicky poked their heads around the corner. “Is he gone?” Eden asked.

“All clear,” I said.

When I sat back down, my wife made herself a Martini, took a sip and dryly commented, “A command post, Gracie?”

“Anything to keep him out of our way.” I looked upstairs. “I believe that’s our son. Why don’t you go get him while I show Dawn to her room?”

Next week - Chapter Two

Posted on 12/8/2007 6:06:28 PM , 20 comments