William Kienzle - Bishop as Pawn

Finally, Tully managed to complete his explanation.

“One thing seems clear, gentlemen,” Koznicki said. “We have two disparate and distinct suspects in the murder of one man. They could not both have done it.”

“Look, George,” Tully said, “from the beginning of the case we’ve been torturing the flow of the investigation to try to come up with a priest suspect.”

This statement stung Quirt-because it was true. Kleimer wanted the scenario to read, Bishop killed by priest. That way lay global headlines. But Quirt would refuse to admit the truth even if now he was sincerely convinced they had the right man in Carleson.

Tully continued. “If we had let the evidence lead us, we would have seen it as a street crime. Someone who knew Diego kept a significant stash on hand just got in, killed the bishop, and stole the money. It was that simple. And the guy who did it is Julio Ramirez.”

“And where did that name come from?” Quirt immediately answered his own question. “From Tony Wayne-Mr. Crime of the Metropolitan area. What a fantastically reliable source! And that’s it: You got no eyewitness or confession. And if this guy croaks, you don’t even have a suspect.

“Where we got the killer priest. The kind of ink he’s been getting up to now makes him look like a male Mother Teresa. So he helps us by offing the poor old vegetable in Receiving. If there wasn’t anything else going down, Carleson certainly would be in Jacktown for the Demers killing. But now he’s gonna be sent up for Demers and Diego. Or,” he nodded at Tully, “do you have another explanation for the Demers murder?”

Tully wished to high heaven that he had some reasonable, credible explanation for the idiotic, self-destructive action taken by Father Carleson last night. But Tully could find nothing that would explain away the killing of Demners. So the lieutenant sat and steamed.

There was a short period of silence during which Quirt savored his victory.

“George, you had better inform the prosecuting attorney,” Koznicki said finally. “They will want to get a judge to revoke bail. And then prepare to take Father Carleson into custody and process him all over again. Make sure that this is done by the numbers.”

With a smile he couldn’t contain, Quirt nodded and left the office to continue the process he had already begun. He would do this by the numbers. But the numbers would be slightly shuffled.

Largely because there was nothing left to say, there was no further conversation in Koznicki’s office. In a matter of moments after Quirt had departed victorious, Tully and Mangiapane wordlessly left.

As they walked back to the squad room, Mangiapane suggested softly, “I think I smell an insanity plea coming up.”

“It’s about the only thing that might save him. But I don’t know if even that would work.”

But Tully had all but dismissed Carleson’s plight. The lieutenant’s thoughts were absorbed by Tony Wayne’s contribution to this case: one Julio Ramirez. With this latest development, it now seemed certain that Carleson had killed both Diego and Demers. Domers, as far as Kleimer was concerned, was frosting.

Tully could grasp the connection between Demers and Diego even better than Quirt.

If Carleson had been innocent of Diego’s murder, there would be no reason to act precipitately regarding Demers. But if Carleson knew himself guilty and was convinced that he would be convicted of killing Diego, the priest would know he would be imprisoned and thus unable to free Demers from pain and helpless misery.

Yeah, it all made sense. The killings went together. But what in hell was going on with Tony Wayne? Did he turn in Ramirez as a sacrificial lamb? And why?

As Tully and Mangiapane entered their squad room, which was now filling, Angie Moore called out. “Zoo, you got a call from the patrolman at Receiving who’s baby-sitting Ramirez. He says there’s a big guy who wants to see Ramirez-a really, really big guy. Says his name’s Albert, Albert Salveigh. The patrolman says it’s urgent.”

Albert. Big Al. Tiny. Wants to see Julio Ramirez. Now that is interesting.

Tully wanted to see Albert Salveigh see Julio Ramirez.

Tully was amused.

A young patrolman stood at parade rest in front of the door to Julio Ramirez’s hospital room, blocking entrance. Directly opposite him in the corridor was the entire body of Albert Salveigh. If Salveigh had decided to march forward, the officer could have testified to how it felt to be trampled by an elephant.

Tully nodded at the patrolman, who quickly relaxed, relieved that a superior officer was here to deal with Ursus across the way.

“I’ve got a problem with Mr. Wayne’s ‘gift,’” Tully said to Salveigh. “We’ve rearrested Father Carleson and he’s going to be charged with two murders … and one of them is Bishop Diego’s.”

The deferential look did not leave Salveigh’s face. “I don’t think Mr. Wayne is aware of that.”

“He will be. It just went down. The media have probably already got it.”

Salveigh digested this new development.

“Mr. Wayne would be the last one to claim infallibility,” he said finally. “But I was part of the effort that found Julio Ramirez. And I still think we have the right person. However, I need to speak to Ramirez. He’s been unconscious since before we found him. Perhaps I could communicate with him now.”

“Let me check.”

Tully consulted the floor nurse.

“She says he drifts in and out. We can see him for only a little while. What do you want to see him about anyway?”

Salveigh shrugged. “I just want to assure him that Mr. Wayne is responsible for his hospitalization and responsible for his arrest as well. We want to be sure that he is convinced that he should cooperate with your investigation.”

“Sounds okay. Let’s go.”

They entered the room. The light was soft. The single bed held an inert body.

Tully remained near the door while Salveigh went to the bed. Whatever he said to Ramirez was uttered just above a whisper. Yet Ramirez seemed to hear and understand. His head moved in what Tully took to be an affirmation. Then, after a slight nod to Tully, Salveigh left the room. He had delivered his message in less than two minutes.

Tully moved to the bed and identified himself. Ramirez’s eyes were glassy. He was nowhere near recovered.

“Julio, do you know where you are? Do you know what happened?”

Ramirez nodded, almost imperceptibly. He tried to speak, but his lips were caked. Tully took a handy cloth, dipped it in water, and moistened the young man’s lips.

“Am I gonna make it?”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty bad off. But you look like you might. Julio, I got to know: Did you kill that bishop-Diego?”

“I don’ wanna think, man.”

“Julio, you know who tipped us. You know who wants you to cooperate with us.”

Ramirez seemed to wince, but he nodded.

“Did you kill the bishop and take his money?”

Weakly, “Yeah.”

“How did it happen? You know the money was there?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you kill him?”

“A gun?”

“No.”

“Uh … a knife?”

“No.”

“Uh … I forget.”

“You killed him and you forgot how you did it?”

“My head hurts. My balls hurt. Ever ‘thin’ hurts.”

“Are you sure you killed the bishop?”

“I dunno. I musta. There was blood all over. I gotta sleep, m’n.…” Ramirez’s head rolled slightly toward the shuttered window. He appeared to lose consciousness.

A nurse quietly entered the room. “You’ll have to leave now.”

“What are his chances?”