William Kienzle - Bishop as Pawn

“The judges they saw had pretty much the same reaction: ‘The Maryknoll order has every right to keep confidential the activities of its members.’ And the judges weren’t about to tamper with that secrecy just on the ‘intuition’ of some out-of-state cop. That’s the word they used, Brad: ‘intuition.’”

“Intuition, my ass!” Kleimer’s fist hit the desk. “Williams is no dame. He’s a damn good cop! We don’t get jerked around by some hick cop department!”

“Yeah, Williams said the term ‘hotshot Detroit Homicide dick’ did get thrown around a lot.

“Look, Brad, I know you’re pissed off. So am I. But the bottom line is Williams is gonna have to stay in Ossining another day. And there’s no guarantee that he’s gonna get a peek at that record anyhow. The department okayed just enough for an in-and-out. We’re just about at the end of that chit. Me, I’d tell him to get his ass back here. But you were pretty strong on sending him there … if I remember right, you said something about financing this trip yourself. Well, now we gotta fish or cut bait. What’ll it be?”

It didn’t take Kleimer long to decide. “Hell, reel him in. Things were getting kind of thin on that first count of murder. But now that we’ve got Carleson for the Demers killing, we can’t miss. I still think Williams was on to something, but we’ve got a while before we go to trial. Hell, if those people in Ossining want to play hardball, we’ll just be better prepared next time we go for those records.”

“Lucky we caught that Demers killing,” Quirt said.

There was something about Quirt’s tone. It took Kleimer a moment to realize that Quirt was fishing for a compliment. “No luck about it! That was just good police work on your part. It would’ve slipped right by if you hadn’t been on your toes, George. Good going! That put a few more nails in Carleson’s coffin.”

“All in a day’s work, Brad. But not bad if I do say so myself. Of course, you won’t forget this when things open up here in Homicide, eh?”

“Bet your bottom dollar on it, George. I won’t forget.”

Quirt broke the connection. Everything was working out well. He felt very good.

“What’s up?” Tully asked.

“There’s no problem with Julio,” Sergeant Angie Moore said. “Even if we turned him loose, he couldn’t make it down the hospital corridor. We’ve got him under guard. Same with Vicki Sanchez. She’s lots better than Julio, but still needs care. She’s under guard too. Estella either has better tolerance or she didn’t snort as much as the other two. We’ve got her in holding upstairs.”

“What’re we charging?”

“For now, we’ve got her on possession with intent to deliver. I suppose it could be true. There was such a collection of dope in that apartment they’d be dead before they could use half of it. So maybe they’d turn it up and sell it.”

“Good.”

Moore shook her head. “This is kind of weird, Zoo. I’ve never been on anything like this before.”

Tully looked up, near expressionless.

“I mean … we’ve got a guy locked up for a murder while we’re holding somebody for the same murder. The second guy-Julio-isn’t even charged and hasn’t been arrested. He’s just trying to hold onto life. This is a whodunit! A real-life whodunit!”

Tully smiled. “I got my chips on Mad Anthony. I haven’t seen him since the other day. But he knows we got Carleson back in jail. And he knows that Carleson’s charged with two murders-and the second puts the seal on the first. But Wayne hasn’t blinked. I think if he had any doubts about Julio, he’d get in touch. But: nothin’.”

“Did you get anything at all from Julio?” Moore asked.

“Only that he ‘did it’!”

“That sounds pretty convincing to me.”

“Yeah … except he’s not too sure whether he used a gun or a knife or a voodoo doll.”

“Not exactly the kind of defendant you’d want to put on the witness chair. I can’t think of too many judges who’d accept multiple-choice weapons.

“But, Zoo: What about this? What if Julio comes out of this completely and remembers everything? Suppose he says he did it and identifies the weapon-the correct weapon? Then what? What happens with the prosecutor who keeps on insisting that he’s got the perp? And that he’s got motive, opportunity, and means? He’s got a half ton of circumstantial evidence.… And the priest claims he’s innocent, while Julio claims he ’s guilty. What happens then?”

Tully seemed to be considering these contradictions for the first time. As he returned his attention to the file he’d been studying, he said, “Angie, we live in interesting times.”

Father Koesler was getting through this day in a more or less mechanical manner.

The high point of Father Koesler’s day always was his celebration of Mass. Each day he tried to prepare well for this sacred ritual-the essence of his life. But this morning Mass had been filled with distractions.As was the rest of this day.

Mary O’Connor, the parish secretary, had sorted the mail, pointing out that the separate pile needed his immediate attention.

He tried to give it undivided concentration but found himself rereading paragraph after paragraph. Somehow he got through it all. But it took up to three times what it normally would have.

It was the same with his appointments. He conscientiously tried to focus on what his visitors said, the problems they brought to him. But if their presentation was at all on the dull side, they would lose him. He could not count the number of times he had punctuated the conversation with, “Sorry, could you repeat that?” or “I beg your pardon …” or “What was that you were saying?” As he saw each of these visitors to the door, he felt the need to apologize.

Mary O’Connor left for home about 4:00 P.M. She was worried about him. There had been distractions before, but not a whole day full. She had tried to make things as easy as possible for him, but nothing seemed to help. She could only hope that a good night’s sleep might set things straight for him.

After Mary left, Koesler donned his sweats and went into the basement for the series of exercises that had been suggested by a physical therapist. Requiring attention was a shoulder that had lost its rotator cuff to a stray bullet, as well as a creeping arthritic condition.

Mercifully, the exercises helped clear his mind. He returned to his second-floor suite perspiring, but much more organized and put together.

It was in the shower that the puzzle began to unravel. Why, he wondered, did this sort of thing so frequently occur while he showered? Possibly because during showers he almost always was thinking of nothing. And in that vacuum that nature despised, fresh ideas were born.

He’d been trying to recall a simple statement Lieutenant Tully had made when last they’d talked. About Father Carleson’s apparent involvement in the death of Herbert Demers. Tully had said something to the effect that it was too bad that he-Father Carleson-had done it.

The gist of the remark was that it was the second murder that gave crediblity to the first.

The immediate and growing reaction to Father Carleson’s arrest for the murder of Bishop Diego had been disbelief. The media accurately reported what they discovered. Which was that everyone who knew Father Carleson knew him to be dedicated, generous, peaceful, kind, thoughtful, gentle-and very long-suffering-the very antithesis of a murderer.

What circumstantial evidence the prosecution was gathering had begun to pale in the face of the spotless reputation that continued to emerge.

Then came the death of Demers. Carleson’s image took a sharp downturn. It wasn’t so much that people and the media suddenly pictured him as a ruthless criminal and murderer. The figure that now emerged was of a priest gone mad.