JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps (37 page)

Rachael looked up at the sky and tried to look north toward the San Gabriel Mountains. The mountains were obscured by thick smog. Likewise, the sky was heavily laden with smog. It was so thick she could barely tell that the sky was blue.

Swinging her purse, which contained her notebook and a mini-cassette recorder, over her right shoulder, she headed toward the church's offices at the rear of the chapel.

The smog was so bad it was a wonder that she hadn't developed some form of lung cancer by now. She had been breathing the stuff for the past thirty-four years, save for four years spent away at college. When the smog levels were high everybody she knew that was from the midwest or the east coast could barely breathe. Rachael barely noticed it.

She found the church offices easily enough, and went through the double glass doors. Sighing in relief at escaping from the heat outside—the inside lobby of the church office was cooled by the central air conditioner—Rachael managed a smile and approached a middle-aged secretary who was seated behind a large, executive style desk typing into a computer. The secretary smiled up at her. “How can I help you?"

“I have an appointment with Father Glowacz,” Rachael said, holding out her hand.

“I'm Rachael Pearce, from the
Times.
"

“Yes. Father Glowacz is expecting you.” The woman rose from behind the desk and motioned for Rachael to follow her. “This way please."

Rachael followed the older woman down a corridor that ran lengthwise along the building. Halfway down she stopped at a door on the right and knocked twice before opening the door a crack. “Father Glowacz?” She asked, leaning forward to speak through the crack in the door. “Miss Pearce from the
Times
is here to see you."

“Oh. Um, tell her to come on in."

Smiling at Rachael, the secretary pushed the door open and stepped aside. “Go right in, Miss Pearce."

Rachael went inside the small office as the secretary closed the door behind her and a tall, wiry man rose from behind a desk to greet her. The man certainly didn't look like a priest; he was a good few inches taller than she, rather well built, with large hands that had a firm grip when she shook hands with him. His face was youthful, his blue eyes dancing with glee, like those of a young boy. His brown hair was rapidly fading from the top of his head and was cut short along the back and sides. He wore wire-rimmed glasses.

In a way, he resembled a bulkier version of the actor Anthony Edwards on the television show E. R. His wide, affable grin put her immediately at ease. “Please, have a seat,” he said, motioning to the chair set in front of his desk. His eyes locked on her briefly, as if studying her. “Can I get you something to drink?"

“No, I'm fine."

“Good."

Father John Glowacz wasn't dressed like a parish priest today; he was wearing a tan colored t-shirt with a computer logo over the breast pocket, a pair of faded blue jeans, and white tennis shoes. He noticed her puzzlement and laughed. “It's not customary for priests to wear their clerical collars twenty-four hours a day. When we do administrative work, some of us like to dress casually."

“I know that,” Rachael said, trying to remember her days as a catechism student back when she'd been a practicing Catholic. “I guess I just assumed that if we were meeting in your office at the church that you would be, you know, dressed for work."

“Presiding as a parish priest at Our Lady of Guadalupe is only one small part of my job,” Father Glowacz said, seating himself behind his desk. His eyes appraised her again and he appeared to relax a little. He moved the paperwork he had been working on to a small pile beside his desk blotter and placed his hands on his desk, smiling at her.

“Today is the only day I have to catch up on correspondence and other church miscellany, so I come in dressed casually. It surprises the regulars, too. Especially the little old ladies who come to church every day to pray the rosary. It practically gives them a heart attack, which is why I try not to set foot in the church when I come dressed this way."

Rachael laughed and John Glowacz laughed with her. He had a hearty, merry laugh. She immediately liked him. “Well, I guess maybe I should get started on what I came to talk to you about."

“You said something on the phone about a book?” Father Glowacz cocked a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Yes.” Rachael took out her notebook and mini-cassette recorder. She held the recorder up. “Do you mind?"

“Go right ahead.” Father Glowacz waved his approval.

Rachael pressed the PLAY button.

“I guess the first thing I want to go over is to reiterate what is already common knowledge,” Rachael said, flipping through her notes. “Forgive me for being so curt, Father, but I know you're on a time-limit to see me today."

“That's quite all right. Whatever I can do to help you, just ask."

Rachael started by going over the murder series and verifying which victims had been actual Our Lady of Guadalupe church members. All told, four of the victims had either attended Our Lady of Guadalupe in the past, or were active church-goers at the time of their murders. Of those four, two of them came from Danny Hernandez's Bible Study. Danny Hernandez had a passing acquaintance with at least six of the victims, knowing two or three of them personally. “Didn't you find that a little strange, Father?”

Rachael asked, breaking off from her verification.

“To tell you the truth, no,” Father Glowacz said. “Danny used to deal with a lot of gang members from many different gangs, and it wasn't uncommon for many of these young men to be shot or killed in gang shootings, or get arrested for some viscous crime."

Rachael nodded. She supposed that made sense. She continued. Danny Hernandez had been a gang counselor for ten years and the parish had been shocked at the news of his arrest three months ago. “Danny has officially bowed out of the youth gang outreach program,” Father Glowacz said, a glum look on his face. “It's really tragic. I can understand why the police might have thought of him as a suspect, but the suspicion that was placed on him has made him a changed man. He entered a substance abuse program a month ago to help himself through the problems he's been facing."

Rachael frowned, wincing. “Has he gone back to using again?"

“No,” Father Glowacz shook his head. “Of course, he had long been hiding his marijuana use. But the possibility for getting back into heroin is there, especially in light of the recent events. I sat up with Danny a few times at his apartment in the weeks that followed his release from custody. He was so close to going over the edge, either getting back into using heroin or committing some horrible crime. I stayed with him as much as I could, prayed with him, tried to rally support at the church to give him strength. Through my help—well, really, myself and several other people here at the church—we succeeded in persuading Danny to take a sabbatical from his ministry and enter a drug rehabilitation hospital for therapy. He was surely dangerously close to using, and he needed the support of the substance abuse program one gets in a hospital to keep him focused and on track."

“And how's he doing?” Rachael asked.

“Fine.” Father Glowacz smiled. “Thank God. With the strength of his supporters here and some prayer, Danny will be back at Our Lady of Guadalupe once again using his talents."

Rachael continued her questioning. Father John Glowacz told her how it was becoming a priority for them—for himself, Father Murphy, and a few of the other counselors at the church and the neighboring St. Anthony's—to reach out to the community plagued by the aftermath of violence the killer had left. “Every time a body turns up,” Father Glowacz said, “the gangs go nuts. One gang accuses another of committing the murder, and since the accused has had an issue with the accusers for years, they retaliate with gunfire. And it goes on and on and on. For awhile it died down, especially late last year and early this year. That last victim wasn't from the barrio, and the gangs still don't seem to recognize the fact that all these crimes are the work of the same person. They still think it's the work of rival gang members. And now that summer has come, the heat has brought tempers rising to a boil again. Just normal stuff, actually. Drug turfs being protected, honor being upheld, all that stuff.” Father John Glowacz appeared to banish the normal everyday activities of gang warfare under the rug with a sweep of his hand. “I don't mean to sound crude, but it's finally getting back to normal, for which I'm glad in a way. We've only had three murders in the East Los Angeles and Echo Park area since summer started, which is one below normal. If the killer strikes again those numbers will most likely double, maybe even triple."

Rachael listened, getting it all on tape and making mental notes to herself. She supposed for those who lived and worked in the area, gang murders were a relatively common thing. Many of the children in these neighborhoods would have been first hand witnesses to death or would have personally known somebody who was murdered by the time they were twelve years old. It was a cruel fact of life.

“How well did you know the victims who attended this church?"

Father Glowacz frowned and leaned back in his chair. His forehead furrowed, as if he were concentrating on dredging up whatever memories he may had about the victims.

“Not well at all,” he said, softly. “You are Catholic, aren't you, Miss Pearce?"

Rachael started, blinking rapidly. The question caught her off guard, and she tried to hide her surprise by answering quickly. “Yes, I am. Why?"

“You're no doubt aware of what I see as the most negative thing about the Catholic Mass,” Father John Glowacz said, drumming his fingertips on his desk. He regarded her calmly as he spoke. “My superiors would probably have me excommunicated for saying that, but I mean it. It hurts to say it but it's true. One of the most negative criticisms leveled toward the Catholic Mass is what its critics call its ...

how should I say it ... its...” He appeared to struggle for the right words. “From what I've been able to understand from people who had been Catholics who deflect to non-denominational faiths, the Catholic Mass is impersonal. It's all a series of rituals: sit, stand, kneel and pray, sit, kneel, sit, stand, sit, rise to take communion, kneel, stand, sit and then it's over. With the exception of admonishing the parishioners to greet their neighbor and grant them peace, ninety percent of all those who attend Mass simply show up, go through the motions, then leave again. That's why there's been such an interest in the Charismatic movement lately. Have you been to a Charismatic Mass, Miss Pearce?"

Rachael nodded. She had been to a few ten years ago. They were held at the church she had been baptized in, St. Mark's in Redondo Beach. It was a Sunday evening mass.

“The Charismatic masses are slightly different,” Father Glowacz continued. “I preside over them every other Sunday. I like them very much. I've always believed that the feeling of a church, the ...
essence
, you might say ... comes from God. But it's up to the people to harness the love that Christ bestows on them. Those that complain about the unfeeling nature of the Mass are those that are holding back the gifts that Christ has given them. It takes action to receive the results one wants. The Vatican has held the Catholic Mass and its rituals in sacred regard for over a thousand years. Taken in the right frame of mind, the Mass is a beautiful ritual, designed to uplift the Spirit of Christ and bring Him glory and worship. It is intended to soothe the spirits of those who come to Mass as well.

But when people began wanting more, instead of attempting some method of reaching out, they leave the church and go to other Christian sects where they find something that fills their spirits. The Catholic Church saw this happening and many parishes adapted.

Our Lady of Guadalupe has its own Charismatic mass as I just mentioned, on Saturday and Sunday nights."

Rachael was listening closely, trying to figure out what this all related to Father Glowacz's knowing any of the victims. She was just about to interrupt him politely and ask him what this all had to do with her question when he beat her to it.

“It is sometimes because of the ... impersonal nature of the Mass that makes it almost impossible for me as a priest to get to know all of the parishioners on a personal level.” Father Glowacz looked grave as he spoke. He stopped drumming his fingers on the desktop and leaned forward over the desk. His light blue eyes focused directly on her.

His mouth twitched in a smile. “I make myself available to anybody who wants to speak to me after each Mass. I meet a lot of wonderful, joyful people. I wish I could meet more, but they don't hang around after Mass. Most people leave immediately after it finishes and head for wherever it is they go in their lives. I place myself at the entrance right by the parking lot so they can stop to meet me if they want to, but most don't. A few people stop by and it is always a pleasure to see them, to talk to them and get to know them better. But for the most part it is literally impossible to meet each and every single parishioner who attends all of our Masses. I conduct five Masses during the weekend alone, and with nearly two hundred people at each Mass, I probably talk to only fifty or so. Of them, I probably know half of those on very good terms.

“So, no, I can't say that I knew the unfortunate victims who attended Our Lady of Guadalupe at all. One of them, Louis Hernandez, was a familiar face, but the others I don't remember at all."

Rachael's heart sank. She knew very well what Father Glowacz was talking about when he spoke about the impersonal feeling of the Catholic Mass. You could attend church for ten years and sit next to the same person week after week and never learn their first name. It was one of the reasons she stopped attending church.

“Miss Pearce? Are you okay?"

Rachael turned and saw that Father John Glowacz was regarding her with a questioning gaze. He managed a slight smile. “I apologize if anything I said may have offended you."

“Oh no! Not at all."

“Good. Some people are very defensive of their faith, which is a good thing. Other people have such ... ideas about it, that anything you throw at them that countermands their belief hits a brick wall. For instance, if you were one of the little old ladies that comes here every day to pray the rosary and heard me say what I just told you, you can guarantee that I'd be chased out of this administrative wing and out into the streets with such fury that it would make the gang killings that go on look like child's play."