Talk of the Town
Dear Friends -
I’m so very sorry to leave you all hanging with new chapters of The Spring the last two weeks. I’ve had quite a few things going on (mostly urgent family matters that cannot be ignored,) but also my darling dog Tillie died on Sunday, July 21st. (I wrote about this in a note, but I realize the “Notes” feature is only seen on the Substack site or app, and does not get distributed to email.)
Tillie was 11 1/2 and had some health issues since early June, but seemed to be on the mend. I’m so honored that she chose to be with me when she passed, as painful as it was for me. Tillie was my best friend. I miss her dearly and I’m still crying 3 times a day at least. So, you will probably understand why I couldn’t get it together to finalize chapters for a few days.
But, onward we go! I am committed to The Spring and I’m very excited to know that so many of you are looking forward to new chapters each week! Thank you so much for all of your support! Tell a friend!
xxx,
Annie
Previously: The investigators finally get inside of Pr3pSF.
11:35 AM - Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Xavier Prep, Outer Richmond District, San Francisco
Jeannie had been unnervingly silent the entire drive across town. Mark glanced at her and her face looked impassive, even bored behind her sunglasses. She propped an elbow on the car door and looked out the window.
“A penny?” Mark ventured quietly, maneuvering the SUV into space near the front of the school. Jeannie huffed a breath.
“You’d be overcharged.” She said, barely above a whisper. She shook her head slowly and turned toward him. “Sorry, I’m just thinking that I need to talk to Chris.”
“Yeah, I’m — I think that’s probably a good idea.” Mark said, putting the car in park. Jeannie looked forward at the school and licked her lips slightly. " I — I don’t really know what to say, but I’m Raj will find the source of it all.”
“And in the meantime?” She asked flatly.
“In the meantime, we go inside and talk to these kids.” He turned to look at her and she still stared through the windshield. “You ready?”
“Mark — “ Jeannie sighed, and took a sharp breath. “Why me, do you think?”
“Because you’re one of them. And I told them that in the meeting, so that works for us.” Jeannie’s head snapped toward him.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, whoever posted those photos of you was likely at the meeting on Sunday. They called you the “hometown hero” — the same thing I said about you when I introduced you. You also said you’d been to Holy Heart and Xavier — I gave it right to them. What I said was just enough information to do some digging and they did, and I’m sorry. This happened because of what I said.” Jeannie looked away again. “But, it narrows the field, doesn’t it?” She nodded curtly.
“I suppose.”
“Are you ready to do this? You don’t have to come in if you need some time.”
“No, I’m coming. Plus, we need to make a stop next door first.” Jeannie popped her door and climbed out.
About 50 yards from the school building was another building in a similar style but only half the size. A quiet garden, visible through a high fence, ran along the side but wasn’t accessible from the street. Mark followed Jeannie through a pair of tall wood-and-glass doors to a small entry with an elderly receptionist.
“Good morning,” Jeannie began, all sweetness. “I’m here to see Brother Driscoll, please?”
“Does he know you’re coming, er, do you have an appointment?” The woman looked between Jeannie and Mark over a large pair of eyeglasses pushed down on the bridge of her nose. She seemed like she’d been born to sit behind a desk and size people up and definitely been doing it for some time.
“No. No appointment. But my name is Jean Hagen and I used to be a student. He’s also a family friend.” The receptionist raised her eyebrows at Jeannie. “If that isn’t enough of an enticement,” Jeannie moved her jacket aside to reveal her star, “you can tell him this is an official visit.” The receptionist looked from Jeannie’s star up to her face, her pudgy cheeks going a shade paler.
“I’ll - I’ll try to locate him for you.”
“Great, we’ll be in the garden when he comes down.” Jeannie wasn’t going to wait like anyone. Besides, there were just two small chairs in the crowded entry, and Mark didn’t relish being under the glare of the receptionist either. He followed her a short distance down a quiet hallway to a pair of glass doors that opened out onto the garden.
“That went well.” Mark said quietly.
“Yeah, she’s been around forever. She used to scare me, but not any more.” Mark chuckled as Jeannie strode ahead between lush planter boxes of vegetables and herbs, interspersed with beds of rose bushes bordered with boxwood. Larger citrus trees bordered a semi-circle of concrete benches on the far side, flanking a large religious statue. Jeannie took a seat on one of the benches and stretched her legs in front of her. Mark looked around slowly. A fountain gurgled somewhere nearby, and you could hear hummingbirds twittering. It felt like an idyllic spot in a totally unexpected place.
“What is this place, Jeannie? It’s nice.”
“It’s the Jesuit residence - where the priests and Brothers live in community.”
“Okay.” Mark sat on the bench a few seats away from Jeannie. “So…can you tell me what the difference is?”
“Difference?”
“Between a priest and a brother? What’s the deal? Is that like a rabbi and a cantor?”
“Ah, okay, well a priest is one that says a Mass, you know, gives sacraments, hears confessions…and, okay I’m not really sure what a brother is to be honest. But I know they can’t say a Mass. They’re more in a service capacity, I guess? More administrative?”
“Is it like a Deacon?”
“Nope, a Deacon is something else, especially in Catholicism. Other kinds of Christianity have Deacons as well, but I think they may be different. Deacons are ordained but not quite priests. I think that’s the thing: brothers aren’t ordained? I’ll ask him.”
“And who is this guy?” Mark gestured at the statue.
“That, is St Ignatius Loyola, the founder of the Jesuit order.”
“Italian?”
“Spanish. Basque, actually. He was a soldier and got hurt in battle and during his recovery had a huge religious conversion or something. A vision? A visitation?” Jeannie shrugged looking up at the figure.
“And he started the Jesuits.”
“Yup.”
“But the Jesuits are sort of different from other priests, right?”
“Kind of. They’re more mission-focused. St Ignatius here didn’t want his priests to be stuck in parishes, especially if they were smart. He wanted them to be out in the world, learning, teaching, being of service. They still are.”
“Like that psychiatrist in The Exorcist.”
“Ummm, yeah.” Jeannie tilted her head at him. “Doctors, lawyers, professors…you like The Exorcist?”
“Don’t you? It’s pretty fantastic.”
“Yeah, but I never got to see it until I was in college; it was kind of not exactly allowed among the Catholics.”
“Yeah, but the Jews loved it.” Mark tossed out. Jeannie chuckled in reply. “There’s a lot of Jesuits in New York, too.”
“Yeah, Fordham, right? My brother almost went there, but went to Boston College instead — also a Jesuit school.”
“Hmm. Sounds like quite a network.”
“It is. They’re rich and powerful dudes in the Catholic faith. And unlike most Catholic orders or interpretations, I guess you could say? More liberal, more open, putting a premium on doing service.”
“Is that why you’re a cop?”
“Didn’t we cover this already?”
“Yeah, but the thought just occurred to me when you said the service thing.”
“Of course it’s one of the reasons.” A strong deep voice interjected from the other side of the garden. Jeannie sprang to standing and Mark followed. A man with a slight stoop and a cane approached. He wore a black priest’s collar and pants, topped with a red cardigan. “The Hagens are all about the service thing.” He paused, looking Jeannie over with a wry smile. “It’s been a long time, Jean, how are you?” Jeannie smiled and kissed the man on the cheek.
“Okay, Brother Driscoll, how are you doing?”
“Please, you know you can call me Dan.”
“Well, this isn’t cocktail hour, and we do actually need to speak with you. This is my colleague, Mark Greenberg, he’s with the FBI.” Jeannie gestured to Mark.
“FBI? Jeannie, you’re bringing me federal agents now?” The Jesuit moved to sit down on the bench between them.
“Well, I am actually a police officer, you know. Unless the news didn’t travel all the way out here into the wild mists of fog.”
“Are you kidding, it’s the talk of the town.” Brother Driscoll gestured for the two of them to sit. “I have to say, Jean, I can’t imagine what got into you to decide to go to the police, but when I heard it,” he gestured pointing outward with a flat hand, “boy, I was proud. I thought that must have taken a lot of moxie, going out of the family business…your father, I know he was caught up short, but in the end I know he was all about it too.”
“He’s come around.”
“And how’s Christopher?”
“He’s good. He’s still trying to come around.”
“Well, he loves you, he’s allowed to worry.” Jeannie smiled.
“Okay, well, we need to ask you about the new Hartman athletic facility.” Jeannie began gently. The Jesuit’s eyebrows raised at her.
“What do you mean? What’s this about?” Jeannie looked at Mark.
“I’ll explain, Brother.” Mark told him the story of Alexa Thomas, the initial conversations on Sunday, the rumors about Tripp Hartman. The old man shook his head and looked down. As Mark finished, he heaved a sigh.
“The Dean told me a girl from Academy Prep had died, but he didn’t mention how involved our boys were with it all. Of course it’s Tripp Hartman…”
“Yes, we’ve heard he’s been a bit of a troublemaker.” Jeannie added.
“And we also know the history of one of the other Hartman sons - Nathan?” Brother Driscoll’s face fell slightly, eyes turning cold.
“Nathan Hartman, yes. He left Xavier Prep after an encounter with another student.”
“The other student who was beaten within an inch of his life.” Jeannie tossed out. Brother Driscoll turned to Jeannie. “We know all about it, Dan.”
“Well, if you know all about it, there’s nothing I can tell you.”
“Is that situation the reason the Hartman’s built the new athletic facility for the school?” The old man looked up and shook his head.
“I suppose that was part of it, but we’re always soliciting our wealthier families for legacy projects.”
“How much did it cost?” Jeannie asked flatly.
“Two hundred thousand. It’s just an expanded weight room with two training rooms.”
“So they paid $500K to Mike O’Connell and $200K to the school — that’s the better part of a million just to make something go away.” Mark posited.
“Mmm.” The Jesuit replied, focusing in the mid-distance.
“What’s that mean, MMMM?” Jeannie asked.
“They didn’t pay.” The old man said quietly. Jeannie looked to Mark whose confused face matched her own.
“They didn’t pay? What do you mean?”
“Hartman didn’t pay. He wrote a check for $75,000 to get the project started and never paid the balance.” Jeannie looked stunned, her green eyes wide.
“They never paid, but they’re one of the richest families at this school!”
“Jeannie, you wouldn’t believe who doesn’t pay their bills around here.” The Jesuit said wryly.
“Okay, well why didn’t Jim Hartman pay on his own project?”
“No idea. We tried to ask him over and over, and he kept saying his accountant would get back to us. No one ever got back to us. We finally told him we’d have to get some answers or we couldn’t have Tripp in the school. He wrote a check for the full tuition on the spot, but said he wouldn’t be able to come up with the rest of the money for the athletic facility.”
“Did the check clear?” Mark asked.
“It did.”
“Jeeze, and Tripp Hartman is such a peach.” Jeannie’s impatience was at the surface. Mark glanced at her.
“He’s not a charmer, that’s true, but I’m glad I’m not the one in charge any more.”
“Yes, your departure from being the Dean definitely came at the right time.” Jeannie tossed out. The old man didn’t bite though. “So who actually treated to the new building?”
“We called Con Sullivan. He was willing to match Hartman’s 75, and then we moved money from the main fund to make up the difference.”
“Con Sullivan?” Jeannie’s brow wrinkled “He’s a big developer with plenty of money for things like this, but why would he be willing to take it on the chin for Hartman?”
“I’m not sure, but the board reached out to a number of our top donors at the time and Con volunteered.”
“And still let Hartman’s name be on the thing?” Jeannie countered. “I don’t get it.”
“Well, if I were to speculate,” the old man began slowly, “I think he’s an old friend of the Hartmans and didn’t want Jim Hartman to lose face.” He shrugged at Jeannie. “I don’t know. It’s between them. Seemed to me like an old-fashioned Irish showdown.” Mark huffed a breath.
“If - if Jim Hartman can’t pay up on his philanthropy — I realize the settlement to Mike O’Connell was a lot of money, but still, don’t these people have millions?”
“Supposedly so.” Brother Driscoll agreed.
“So then where’d all the money go?” Mark asked.