JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps (50 page)

The pretty blonde secretary came back into the room bearing a tray with a pot of coffee, two mugs, and bowls of sugar and creamer. She set them down on the edge of Father O'Grady's desk. “Will there be anything else?” she smiled.

“No,” Father O'Grady said. “Thank you, Theresa."

Theresa smiled at Father Glowacz and left the room shyly. “Is she new? She seems awfully bashful."

“She's replacing Alice while she's on vacation,” James O'Grady replied, picking up the pot and pouring them coffee. Alice Peterson was Father O'Grady's personal secretary and had been working for him for twenty years. “Alice and Charles, her husband, went to Europe for the month. Theresa is a friend of Alice's daughter, Joyce.

She is enamoured by the church. Totally enamoured."

John's eyebrows raised. “Really? She seems so young. I don't think I've seen anybody her age be so enamoured with the inner-workings of the Catholic Church in ...

well, in ages!"

“Yes,” James said. He handed John his coffee. “It's really refreshing. Theresa is only twenty-one and is entering Cal State Long Beach this coming semester. She's the total opposite of Alice's daughter, Joyce, who is more interested in chasing boys and going to ... what do they call them now? Raves."

Father Glowacz laughed. Raves. Synonym for Wild Party.

“Here's some cream and sugar if you want some.” Father O'Grady pushed a small container of sugar and a cup of powdered creamer in John's direction. He leaned back in his chair and sipped at his coffee. “I prefer mine black."

John Glowacz picked up the plastic spoon that Theresa had brought in on the tray of coffee and spooned some sugar in his coffee. He opened the powdered creamer and began doling it out. “I like it with the works, myself.” Cream and sugar added, he stirred it into the coffee, making it a rich golden color. He set the spoon down and picked up the cup, taking a sip. “Ahh. Perfect."

James O'Grady smiled at him over his desk. “Good.” He sipped at his own coffee, regarding him calmly. “So what can I do for you today, Father Glowacz?"

John had been rehearsing what he wanted to say all morning and now he let it all out. “I am here to put in my request to be moved to another parish."

Father O'Grady's eyes widened slightly in surprise. “A new parish? Are you sure, John? Forgive me for sounding so crass, because I know you've suffered such a tremendous loss, but all the work you've—"

“I know, James,” Father Glowacz interrupted. “The work I've done at Our Lady is still incomplete. Four years ago I had outlined my entire plan to you for what I wanted to do at Our Lady of Guadalupe. And I'm halfway there. But ... may God forgive me, I just...” he was at a loss for words. He struggled to rein his emotions in. He couldn't cry in front of James O'Grady. He took a deep breath and looked the older man in the eye. “I just can't take it, James. I spent all day yesterday going through my mother's things at the house, trying to decide what stuff I wanted to donate to charity, what I wanted to throw out, what I wanted to keep. And being in that house left me feeling so cold. Ever since the press found out my relation with Charley, it's been horrendous. They were practically camped out there at the house when I arrived and wouldn't stop asking me questions when I walked up to the front door. I asked them very nicely to please leave me alone and one of them blocked my path.” His breath hitched. “I'll tell you, James, when that happened, when that reporter blocked my path to my mother's house, I felt this—God, forgive me—I felt this incredible
rage
. I just wanted to reach out and snap that man's neck with my bare hands. I was literally shaking. I was thinking the whole time ‘you don't
care
about the people who died. You don't
care
that my mother died. You
don't
care about the conditions the people in these neighborhoods have to deal with. You don't care who my brother was as a person. You just want to make him up like some cheap monster to sell more newspapers and magazines. If I were to tell you everything I knew about my brother, all the good things that he was, all the good things he stood for and did in his life and the community, you would ignore it and write about the crimes it is alleged he committed. And if I didn't tell you anything, you'd make things up anyway and it would be printed and
that's
what people would believe. And it wouldn't matter
what
I had to say'. I thought all that and I was filled with so much rage that I came close to ... physically
assaulting
this man. I gave a quick silent prayer for the Lord to lead me strongly and then I merely said, very calmly, ‘Would you please step out of my way, sir. You're blocking my path.’ Just like that. I spoke to him the way I would speak to a young kid coming to me for guidance, or the way I speak to people in the confessional booth. And he blinked as if he were snapping out of some delirium and stepped out of my way, calm as you please. And he asked me one question as I was unlocking the door. Actually it was a very astute observation, followed by a question. He said, ‘Father, your brother Charley is believed to have committed the Eastside Butcher killings, all the while assuming what you thought was a normal, productive life. If you had known what he was doing would you have tried to stop him?’”

Father Glowacz paused, his mind racing on how to proceed, then plunged on. “Of
course
I would have stopped him. If I had only
known
what was happening I would have been the first to put a stop to it. But I didn't tell that to the reporter. I almost did, but I couldn't. It would merely lead to him having an opening into what I considered a beautiful thing; my relationship with my mother and brother Charley. He would taint that, corrupt it. I wouldn't let him in that place, so I told him nothing. He moved aside and I inserted the key in the door and said I had no comment, that I really couldn't comment on this because the whole thing was still upsetting to me, and by then I was almost crying. And he saw that I was becoming emotional and something in him changed; he became less arrogant, less aggressive. He moved aside and I stepped into the house and closed the door. And then I retreated to the bathroom, shut the door and cried my eyes out."

He looked up at Father O'Grady, eyes red but dry from the last four days of mourning. “Frankly, James, I am devastated over this whole thing. It's bad enough to lose your mother, but to lose her in such a horrible manner.... “He shuddered, head down. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands. “And to have him charged with my mother's murder, and have the authorities accuse him of the Eastside Butcher murders. I mean ... I was utterly
shocked
when they found those bodies in the freezer ... or what was left of them.” The rest of it came in hitching sobs. “It was such a shock ... to think that
my
brother ... the man I had looked up to when I was a kid growing up ... the man that took
care
of me, kept me from the wrath of our drunken father ... to think that this could
happen
to him!” He broke down in an uncontrollable fit of sobbing.

Father James O'Grady sat behind his desk for a moment as if unsure whether to rise and comfort the younger priest, or maintain some semblance of authority and guidance. He was just beginning to shift his chair backward to rise when John Glowacz raised his hand. “It's okay, James. I've been bawling so much lately that I seem to have run out of tears.” He looked up, offering James a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

Father O'Grady reached for the box of Kleenex that was on his desk and handed it to John, who accepted it thankfully. After the young priest had wiped his eyes and blew his nose, Father O'Grady leaned forward, his fingers steepled on the desk. “John, again, please accept my heartfelt condolences for ... the loss of your family."

“Thank you,” John Glowacz said, dabbing at his eyes with the Kleenex.

Father O'Grady spoke slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “I will submit your request to the council along with my recommendation that you be transferred to another parish. If you have a particular choice where you would like to be transferred, I would like to know as soon as possible so I could include that in your request. I agree that what you have to go through, the emotional as well as the ... psychological trauma, is too intense for you to remain at your parish. You've done such good work at Our Lady that it is hard for me to accept your request, but I will do so because you mean so much to me as a priest and as a person.” He smiled at the younger priest. “There is much good work ahead in store for you, Father Glowacz. Despite what happened in the East Los Angeles area and the murders, the good work you have done to help build that community up before
and
during the murders, is commendable. When you were parish priest at Our Lady of Guadalupe, gang murders fell by thirty percent. They were on a fifty percent decrease when the murders started, and if you hadn't been stationed at that particular section of the city I'm afraid we would have had an all out war in the area.” He paused, letting his words sink in. John was only too familiar with what the older man was talking about. He nodded, agreeing with everything Father O'Grady said.

“During the time of crisis you held your parish together like glue,” Father O'Grady continued. “You soothed the spirits of those whose loved ones had been killed, as well as those who fell to the resulting gang violence. You worked harder with your counselors to reach out to the youth of the community, to urge them to drop their weapons and take an active part in their community. Your ministry brought more gang members to Christ than any I can remember. You raised money to help some of the young gang members to open a legitimate business, which is doing very well and is expanding. I have no doubt that you will duplicate these goals and more where ever you go."

Father John Glowacz smiled. It felt good to be recognized for the good contributions he had given to the community. He knew very well that without the guidance of the Lord it wouldn't have been possible. “Thank you, James,” he said. “That really means a lot to me. It really does. God knows I want to stay but...” He took a deep breath and looked down at the floor, struggling to keep his emotions in check. “But it's hard,” he said, his voice cracking, hovering on the brink of breaking down again. “It's so
hard
."

“I know, my son.” Father James O'Grady rose from his chair and walked around the desk to comfort the younger man. He put a fatherly arm around the young priest's shoulders and for a moment the two men awkwardly embraced, John Glowacz still sitting in his chair, his head resting against Father O'Grady's belly while the older man stooped over him, his arms around his shoulders. “Have you seen anybody? I know a good psychiatrist that could help you."

Father Glowacz shook his head. “Thank you, James, but I've already set up an appointment with somebody. I see him tomorrow."

“Good.” Father O'Grady patted John on the back and went back to his chair behind the desk. “If there is anything else I can do for you, just give me the word. I mean that, John."

“I know,” Father Glowacz said, looking up at James with a look of gratitude.

“Thank you."

Father O'Grady sighed and set his hands down on his desk. “Well, I guess first things first. How soon do you want to be transferred and did you have any place in mind?"

And as Father John Glowacz thought about that question and answered it to the best of his ability, it seemed that even though he still hadn't faced up to the source of his problems, today he had taken the first step in ending the hurt and the pain that had been plaguing him for ages. He would work at it; he promised himself. He would do so through the act of confession.

God give him the strength to go through with it and give up the burden of his sin.

Chapter 31

The week of Charley Glowacz's suicide was turmultous for both Daryl Garcia and Rachael Pearce. Daryl launched into his investigation full tilt, often staying at the station for sixteen and seventeen hours a day while the various members of the task force collected data on Charley Glowacz. It was exhaustive, time consuming work, but within a few days they had enough to sufficiently pin Charley Glowacz to all eighteen of the Eastside Butcher murders, the crimes in South Bend, Indiana included. For Daryl that meant the world. It meant that the case could be officially closed, their suspect identified, caught and stopped by his own hand. They might not have gotten a solid confession or found out what drove Charley Glowacz to the grisly murders, but the evidence he left behind was enough for the forensic psychiatrists to paint a ghastly picture.

Daryl got the opportunity to discuss it one evening two weeks after Charley's suicide, in the office of Bernie Haskins. They had spent the evening with the forensic psychiatrist, a bespectacled man named Eric Donahue, and a grizzled, lumbering man with long scraggly blonde hair and a beard who was a criminal psychiatrist, the best in the field. His name was Edward Cooper. Rachael had stopped by the office on her way home from work, and she had been lucky enough to sit in on the conversation.

“You know, even though we couldn't prove it in court,” Daryl said after introducing Rachael to the two psychiatrists, “I am one hundred percent sure that Charley Glowacz was the Butcher."

Rachael nodded. “I agree.” She was leaning against the frosted pane glass of the windows that looked out at the Homicide Department.

“I'm also glad that Father Glowacz was able to hightail it out of here before the press descended on him like wolves,” Bernie said, leaning back in his chair. The two psychiatrists were sitting in chairs in front of the FBI Agent's desk.

“I know,” Rachael said, shaking her head. “That poor man. I did all I could to not have anything to do with the press finding out about him. I even tried to get the people I worked with at the paper to ease off the guy, but no go. I guess now you can understand why this book deal means so much to me."

Daryl smiled. The day after Charley killed himself, Rachael's agent had landed a six-figure deal for the book she was working on, hardcover rights only. Negotiations were still underway for a paperback deal, and her agent had put her in touch with a film agent in Hollywood for possible option of the book for development as a feature. The first installment of the advance would allow Rachael to quit her job as a reporter for the
Los
Angeles Times
. She was fairly confident that she could find appropriate subjects for future true-crime books.