ALLEGEDLY TRUE POLICE STORIES – SERIES

The Crown of Thorns

The five men stood in a circle, discussing what should be done about the trespasser. If not for a late blast of arctic wind, none would have minded this Maundy Thursday. The sky was clear, but the sun failed to heat wherever the wind did not reach. As it was, the five just wanted this over and done with. Every time Sergeant Winstead spoke, the wind blew harder and colder.

“Okay, Sir, what do you suggest then?” Sergeant Winstead said to the head Jesuit as he folded up his uniform jacket collar and pulled it tight around his neck. 

Father Bushe, getting angrier with each blast of cold air and word out of the supervisor’s mouth, replied, “He won’t leave, so lock him up and be done with it.” The Jesuit turned and walked towards the retirement home’s administrative building. Father Bushe had more important things to accomplish, like ensuring the Jesuits knew their Good Friday and Easter Sunday assignments. The other four turned back towards the police car and …..

On arrival at the Jesuit House, a retirement home for Jesuit priests, C-5 ( aka: only to himself ) parked in the one and only guest parking slot in front of the main hall. The Jesuit House had been built in 1863 at the height of the Civil War and was classic John Henderson Scottish architecture. The House, as the place had come to be called by everyone except for the residences, had 4 floors with 16 bedrooms and 18 baths ( the older Jesuits needed all the bathrooms they could find ); a great room with a substantial beautiful stone fireplace; a vast eat-in kitchen; big enough for twelve to eat in comfortably; 2 dining rooms of equal size; a Morning Chapel; two recreational rooms; and a hell of a lot of closets. Oh, yes, the basement was unfinished, cold, and packed with, what’s the word, yes, shit. The last basement inventory was conducted in August 1928, right before the big crash, and that list hadn’t been seen in so long none of the current residences knew where it was or if it still existed. The House furnace was either installed or replaced during the same period. Only Varment found the basement cozy. One ventured into the basement at one’s own peril.

As “John Wayne” exited the cruiser, an elderly Jesuit approached his car. “They are in the back. This is really serious. You need to get him out of here.” With that said, the balding Jesuit ran off around the side of the building with “The Duke” slowly following behind him. The one and only John Wayne never ran or walked fast. He loped along. The new John Wayne, C-5, copied his boyhood, teenage, and current hero. As he cleared the side of the building and could see the backgrounds, he saw three men in casual dress, black jackets, pants, and shoes, and one white male, with just past collar length brown hair and beard, dressed in a dark brown robe tied with brown rope or something like a rope.  What the? Hethought. The closer he got to the white male, his color became yellow-brown. Within minutes, he was calling for the sector supervisor.

The sector supervisor, C-10, had told his troops on numerous occasions that he was only to be called to the scene of confirmed murders, kidnappings, rapes, and armed robberies in progress. Anything else C-9, the Corporal, could handle. On hearing C-5 on the police radio request his presence, he inquired of the communications dispatcher and the nature of the call. The dispatcher’s response was “trespasser.” T. P. Winstead did not like being summoned for such trivial bullshit, but the request had been made, and he had to respond, like it or not. He would, what was the new politically correct term for it now, not chew the rookie a new asshole, yes, counsel the little fucker. C-10 advised the dispatcher, “En Route,” with a twenty-minute ETA. He started the car engine, shifted into gear, and gently and slowly drove out of the station lot, making sure his coffee, in a brand new stainless steel topless thermos cup, didn’t spill over. He had left the cap on the kitchen sink counter when he left for his babysitting job, supervising, and, according to him,” no nothing, hot-headed and stupid kids.”

None said a word while the three Jesuits, mystery man, and John Wayne waited for the supervisor. The Jesuits stood twenty feet from their visitor just outside the garden gate. John Wayne was standing next to the visitor inside the garden gate. The visitor kept repeating, “I am the Lamb of God,” in a soft, monotone voice. So weak that John Wayne could hardly hear him. As the visitor spoke, John Wayne could not help but marvel at the garden’s beauty. The English garden may have been 100 square feet in a typical English pattern. Twelve-foot-trimmed American boxwoods surrounded the area with a vegetable garden in each corner, each with its own Italian marble six-foot fountain. There was a life-size statue of Ignatius de Loyola, the founder of the Jesuit Order, in Italian marble in its center. 

After 20 minutes, the bald Jesuit left his fellow brothers and returned to the parking lot to wait for the supervisor. When the sector supervisor arrived, the bald Jesuit approached him and asked that he follow him to the rear gardens where the officer and the others were. The sector supervisor replied, “Okay, Father.”

“Oh, I’m not a priest; I’m a Brother. The Jesuits order has both priests and brothers. The director is a priest. You will meet him in a second.” Brother Hall stopped and pointed to the four men standing not more than thirty feet away when they came to the garden.

When C-10 got within 10 feet of the group, he said, “Father, brother, whatever, how can I help you” while looking directly at him, a silver-haired, ruddy-skinned, with the typical Irish facial redness. Father Bushe nodded in the direction of the man C-10 thought looked like Jesus or what he thought a Jesus should look like.   Then he remembered that he once saw a picture of the Shroud of Turin, and the guy looked like him.  “He refuses to leave our property. This person has been here for five days camping by that fountain,” pointing towards the northwest fountain, “plus he keeps saying, I am the Son of Man.” Then, raising his voice, he continued, “I want him out, now.”

Turning his head towards the trespasser, C-10 says, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Looking straight ahead, not moving, he replied, “I am the Light. I am the Lamb of God and the church that Peter built. The Black Pope answers to the Light. I shall say no more.”

C-10 instantly thought The Pope is white, isn’t he?

Waving his arms and shouting, the Jesuit Director said, “I want him gone now, or I’ll call your supervisor.”

“Okay, Father, let me talk with my officer first.” C-10 turned, motioned John Wayne to follow him

C-10 and John Wayne walked about twenty feet from the three Jesuits before C-10 stopped and asked his troop, “What the fuck? This is a simple trespasser. Get him to move on so we can get the fuck out of here. Understand?” 

John Wayne nodded his head and said, “Yes, sir.” Then, he returned to the trespasser and said, “I am advising you one last time to leave this property, or you will be arrested.

“The Black Pope answers to ‘The Light,'” came his response. The Superior General of the Society of Jesus, the Jesuits, is known unofficially as ‘The Black Pope’ because of the black robes worn by the Jesuits. The Jesuit order has the most significant number of priests and brothers within the church. ‘The Light’ is Jesus.

John Wayne grabbed the trespasser’s arm and literally dragged him all the way back to his cruiser. The trespasser offered no resistance. When they arrived at the police cars, the trespasser was handcuffed and placed in the cruiser’s back seat per General Order 119-b.c.ii.

With the trespasser securely detained. I.E., double-locked, handcuffed behind his back, in the police car that cannot be opened from the inside, with non-operable closed windows, and behind a metal grate barrier behind the front seat, C-10, and John Wayne turned to discuss the situation with the representatives of The Black Pope. Finally, John Wayne took down the three Jesuits’ names and asked that one of them meet him at the station to complete the necessary information for the arrest record. All five men said the conversation only lasted a minute or two.

When John Wayne finished, he turned back towards his criminal, but there was no trespasser. ‘The Light’ was gone. The cruiser doors were locked, and the non-operable rear windows were still in place. The handcuffs were on the backseat, still cuffed and double locked.

C-10 summoned all 11 of his other on-duty men to the scene, excuse me, 10 men and 1 woman, and two on-duty K-9 units to search for the now missing trespasser. After four hours of “find that son-of-a-bitch now” search, the ‘The Light’ was still missing. Ha had disappeared and has never been seen again.

Several things came out of the missing ‘The Light.’ 

First, two Jesuits honestly believed that God was in the garden, with only Father Bushe, a Doubting Thomas, not believing what surely had to be.

Secondly, several weeks later, John Wayne, stressing over how he had handcuffed Jesus and almost started another religious happening, decided he needed to seek another path in life. He resigned from the Department and got religion, well, sort of. After he left the Department and gave up his career, he moved to California, grew his hair long, started smoking ‘Dope’ on a regular hourly basis, and joined a religious group headed by a guy named Jim Jones. Unfortunately, he missed the mass exit to “Jonestown” with fellow believers in the summer of ’77 when he got arrested for smoking Pot on a San Fran transit bus and telling the arresting officer to go ‘F’ himself as he kicked the officer in his “privates.” He spent the entire summer in the City lock-up. After his brief stay in the City lock-up, he moved to Pullman, Washington, married, and became a deacon in the Catholic Church.

And, as for T. P. Winstead, he retired several years later. Most of the Department didn’t mind his leaving. He moved to Ely, Minnesota, where he started his fishing guide business, making a ‘pot’ load of money. So much money, in fact, that his “screw of a wife” left him, making him the happiest man in the world, for places unknown, taking a little more than her fair share out of the Ely Bank & Trust on her way south to where ever. But he didn’t mind; she was gone, and he was happy and still prosperous beyond his wildest dreams.

The House, ancillary building, and vast grounds were sold to a development company several years after the incident. A couple weeks after purchasing the House, the developer brought his wife to see the property. Viewing the now overgrown garden, she saw a beautiful red flowering bush among the weeds. She instantly knew what it was. She made him promise he would not sell the garden portion of the property. For the next three years, until she succumbed to liver cancer, she tilled the garden, and the red flowering thorny bush returned in the spring.

As a result, the once-overgrown garden is now beautiful beyond description, full of Euphorbia milii. The Euphorbia milii comes back every year.  

Euphorbia milii is a red rose bush with thick thorns. Some call it The Crown of Thorns.