William Kienzle - Bishop as Pawn

Here was a priest who-with or without the best of intentions-could snuff an elderly person’s life simply because nature wasn’t doing its job fast enough.

If Carleson could deliberately kill a helpless old man-and he most assuredly had-then it was safe to believe he could and did kill a bothersome bishop. Demers’s reality gave credibility to Diego’s murder. Too bad Carleson had killed Demers. It proved he was capable of killing, and probably had killed Diego.

Not a bad argument, Koesler had to admit.

But …

But some of the things Koesler had experienced last night as he’d retraced Carleson’s steps had planted some doubts.

To reverse the current supposition: If Carleson indeed did not kill Demers, he probably hadn’t killed Diego either.

Who, then, did kill Diego? Lieutenant Tully seemed to have a likely prospect in a young man from the Ste. Anne neighborhood.

But if Carleson did not murder Demers, who did?

Somebody who looked like a priest and who resembled Carleson would have to be the murderer if Carleson were not.

What had Koesler learned last night?

The night before last, somebody-a man, presumably-was seen by a couple of attendants outside the Emergency entrance. The man was standing approximately thirty yards away from the attendants. He was standing still. Was he trying to decide whether to enter through Emergency or the main door? Or was he waiting to be seen by somebody-anybody-in Emergency?

What did the attendants see? They saw a man-a person-dressed in black. A black hat covered the man’s hair, except for the small tuft of white at his ears. They saw-or thought they saw-the narrow white tab that marked a clerical collar.

If anyone had happened to glance out the door last night, they would have seen a man standing in about the same spot where the man had been standing the night before. They would have seen Koesler all in black. Discernible at the sides of his black hat beneath the brim they would have seen gray instead of white hair.

But they would not have seen the white tab of his clerical collar because he had turned up the collar of his overcoat. It was bitter cold both nights. The most natural defense against the cold was to bundle up as much as possible.

The earlier figure was standing half facing the Emergency door making his clerical collar evident. Everybody had been talking about Father Carleson. Carleson had frequented the Emergency Room. They expected to see Father Carleson. They did see Father Carleson … or so they thought.

After visiting Emergency, Koesler had continued tracing Carleson’s path of the previous night. When Koesler arrived at the late Mr. Demers’s floor, the priest walked, just as he imagined Carleson had, to the room Tully said Demers had occupied. Just as he turned to enter the room, the floor nurse, Alice Cherny, looked up from her paperwork. As they talked, Alice admitted that for a moment she’d thought it was Carleson going into the room.

She admitted that it was difficult to see distinctly down the corridor due to the lighting. Then, too, she and Ann Bradley, who was going off duty, had been talking about Father Carleson.

And that’s exactly what had happened the night before. The light was uneven-quite bright in the nurses’ station, dim in the corridor. She and Ann had been talking earlier about Father Carleson. So he was on her mind.

Last night Alice Cherny thought she saw Father Carleson approaching Demers’s room. She was mistaken; it had been Father Koesler. The night before, she thought she had seen Father Carleson enter Demers’s room. Was she mistaken that night too?

All of this Father Koesler thought interesting. But that’s all: just interesting. It merely suggested that it was possible-just possible-that it had not been Father Carleson who, dressed as a priest, entered Herbert Demers’s room and suffocated him.

And Koesler was positive that’s what the police would say if he were to present this theory to them: “Very interesting.” But all it indicated was that someone else might be the killer. And the murderer still could be Father Carleson. And he was the one under arrest. He was the one who had been closest to Demers. Carleson was the one who claimed Demers had begged his help to die. Carleson had tried to give Demers permission to die. In all the world, neither the police nor the hospital personnel knew anyone more wishful for Demers’s death, more ready to help him die, than Father Donald Carleson.

If Carleson did not murder Demers, then who?

Koesler almost felt like taking another shower.

If Carleson didn’t do it, then whoever did do it, did it either out of mercy or-? A moment’s thought turned Koesler’s mind from a mercy killing. That would’ve been Carleson’s motive. But no other priest-at least none that Koesler was aware of-had such a motive. And if it had been one of the hospital personnel, it wasn’t likely such a person would masquerade as a priest. It would be far easier for a member of the hospital staff to walk around freely in his or her own uniform.

But suppose someone wanted to frame Carleson?

Why would anyone want to do that?

The obvious reason would be to cause precisely what had happened: a fresh start on the prosecution of the first case. The creation of a new image of the accused. Now, not a holy priest to whom any hint of violence was utterly foreign. Now, a not-quite-balanced individual who was capable of even murder in order to resolve a problem. If Herbert Demers was lingering too long-kill him. If Bishop Diego was manipulating good people-the murderer among them-and harming them-then kill him.

But who?

Gradually, an image took shape in Koesler’s mind. The more he thought about it-! Still, it was no better than a wild guess. And, in any case, he didn’t have a shred of evidence.

Ordinarily, Koesler would not have pressed on immediately-not in this unprepared, unorganized state. But he sensed that the longer he deferred action, the more difficult it would become to pursue this theory.

“… so,” he concluded, “what do you think?”

Koesler had phoned Lieutenant Tully. He had explained his theory as logically and chronologically as he could. Now he waited for the lieutenant’s response.

“Interesting.”

Damn , Koesler thought. Just what he had anticipated. “Is there anything you-I- we can do about it?”

“Nothing comes to mind.” Tully sounded calm, cool. Actually, Koesler’s hypothesis excited him.

“Can’t the police get into a suspect’s place and look around?” Koesler asked.

“Not legally. Not without a warrant.”

“Can’t you get a warrant?” he pressed.

“Not without a specific reason. And you don’t have a specific reason,” Tully reminded him. “When it comes right down to it, you’ve got nothing more than a hunch.”

“Is that what they call ‘a fishing expedition’?”

“That’s what they call a fishing expedition.”

Koesler thought for a moment. Tully was silent.

“Wait a minute,” Koesler said with some intensity. “What if I went in?”

“How would you get in?”

“He invited me.”

“He what?”

“A few days ago. He invited me to visit him.”

“The good guys just scored. But the ballgame is far from over.”

“But if-Lieutenant, if I were to find something I thought was incriminating … if that happened …?”

“Then you call me, no matter what time it is. You’ve got my all purpose number?”

“Yes.”

“Then give it a whirl.”

“Pray for me.”

“I’m tempted to.”

Wisely, Father Koesler did not rely on Lieutenant Tully’s inclination to pray.