William Kienzle - Bishop as Pawn

But Koesler prayed. He asked for God’s presence with him. Of course he believed that God was present always and everywhere. But this was an intensified moment. He was convinced this would be his one and only chance to uncover the truth and, in so doing, free an innocent man from prison.

So Koesler prayed for enlightenment. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for. He didn’t know what clue to be listening for.

What this came down to was that the police were forbidden by law to invade an individual’s castle merely in hopes of coming up with incriminating evidence. They had to have a good reason to believe they would find something specific in order to be permitted entree to look for it. The police were not allowed to engage in such a “fishing expedition.”

But the law did not forbid a private citizen who had been invited into the castle from keeping the fish that jumped into his boat.

The looming problem was that Koesler had no pole or line. He had no special skill in this sort of venture. He did not know what sort of fish he was looking for. He did not even know whether there even were any fish in this pond.

He needed help.

And that’s why Father Koesler was praying fervently even as he lifted the knocker to rap on the door.

Why did he have this sense of deja vu? Then he remembered: It was another time, some years back, when he had been trying to help another priest who had been accused of murder. He, Koesler, had accepted an invitation to dinner at the apartment of a man involved in the case, and, that night, had noticed something in the man’s apartment that had led to the solving of the case.

Koesler fervently hoped that the same thing would happen tonight-that somehow, history would repeat itself, and that he would again come across something-anything-that would prove that Father Carleson was indeed innocent of the killings he was accused of committing.

But hope was not enough. Father Koesler went beyond hope: He continued to pray, even as the door was opened by a smiling Brad Kleimer.

“Well! Come in, come in! Good to see you. Glad you could come.” As the two men shook hands, Koesler wondered at his host’s effusiveness; even Koesler’s own friends rarely welcomed him so heartily.

“Here, let me take your hat and coat.…” Koesler, feeling curiously as if he were divesting himself of armor, handed those garments to Kleimer, who stood waiting in front of the hall closet. Kleimer put the hat on a shelf, hung the coat on a hanger, closed the closet door, and turned back to Koesler with a smile.

“Kind of you to see me on such short notice,” Koesler said.

“Your call was a bit of a surprise,” Kleimer admitted, as he motioned Koesler into the living room. “But heck, I invited you to visit anytime … it was after I consulted with you about Carleson witnessing my wife’s marriage, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, that was it. I just had some spare time tonight, and took the chance.…”

“Fine, great! Can I get you something to drink? The bar is wellstocked.” He gestured toward an army of bottles. “What’ll you have?”

Koesler did not really want anything to drink. But balancing a cocktail of some kind might extend the visit. “How about a gin and tonic … heavy on the tonic.”

“Sure thing! Uh … by the way, what do I call you?”

“At the risk of seeming old fashioned, I’d prefer the title.”

Kleimer grinned and inclined his head. “Sure thing,” he said again. “I’m Brad.” He busied himself at the wet bar, his back to Koesler. “By the way, Father, I gotta remind you that I’ve got a date later this evening. So I gotta leave in about an hour. But now you know where I live you should come again sometime.”

Great! thought Koesler, not only do I desperately need God, He’s got a time limit.

Regardless, Koesler was using the formula he had so often recommended to others: Pray as if everything depended on God, but act as if everything depended on you. He was trying to use every precious second to look for something-he didn’t know what. Whatever he was supposed to find.

Kleimer’s apartment was on the fourth floor of the Riverfront high rise. From the vantage point this low in the building, the view needed a lot to be breathtaking. But the apartment was comfortably furnished … though there did seem to be a preponderance of end tables.

Hmmm … out of the ordinary for him to notice such an insignificant detail. Was that what God wanted him to investigate?

God simply had to make Himself more clear!

Koesler walked about the living room, examining each table as carefully as possible. Magazines; newspapers; folders-brought from work, presumably; some ashtrays; a few pieces of personal memorabilia.

Nothing noteworthy or signal, unless there was something incriminating in one of those folders. But for Koesler to have a go at checking those, Kleimer would have to be out of the room for an extended period. Maybe if he took a shower …

Koesler shook his head; his host looked and smelled as if he was ready for his date.

Kleimer returned with two drinks. The tall fizzing one was Koesler’s. Kleimer appeared to have made himself a martini … either that or he had put ice and a large olive in water.

They sat on facing sofas. Koesler was within reaching distance of an end table-one that held several of the mysterious folders. He was sorely tempted.

“So, Father … you’re pastor of St. Joe’s.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And unofficial chaplain of the Detroit Police Department.” Kleimer smiled at his blatant overstatement.

“No, I wouldn’t say that. As I told you, it’s only an occasional involvement.”

“But I’ve been asking around. Your ‘involvement’ is always on behalf of the Homicide detectives and thus the prosecution. The operative word is prosecution. So I figured that somewhere down the line I might use you.”

The operative word , thought Koesler, is use. As he had already concluded, Kleimer was a user, a manipulator.

“As a matter of fact,” Kleimer said, “you’ve already been helpful.”

“I have?”

“You witnessed Father Carleson leaving Ste. Anne’s rectory about 11:30 the night he killed Demers. Now he won’t be able to back out of that one.”

Koesler was shocked. “But I only told Lieutenant Tully-!”

It took Kleimer a moment to comprehend Koesler’s distress. “And you thought … Look, Father, I know Zoo Tully doesn’t go along with the way this case is proceeding-he even has his own pet theory and suspect. But Tully works for the department, not for himself. He couldn’t be the honest cop he is and hold back that information.

“But don’t feel bad: Your information was just icing on the cake. This case was wrapped up the minute Lieutenant Quirt was diligent enough to order an autopsy for Demers. Pretty shrewd police work, I’d say.”

“I guess that’s so,” Koesler said. “But if Lieutenant Quirt hadn’t thought of it, you would have.”

“What’s that?” It was Kleimer’s turn to be surprised.

“I mean, you’re too efficient a prosecutor not to know that Father Carleson had almost adopted Mr. Demers. That Father was concerned about Demers’s vegetative state … and that Father had even discussed euthanasia. All of that was common knowledge around the hospital. I’d be very surprised if you didn’t know all about it.”

Kleimer considered this a moment. “Well, yes, of course I knew it.”

“So even if Lieutenant Quirt hadn’t been suspicious, you surely would have.”

Kleimer thought again, then chuckled. “Sure I would’ve. Of course I would’ve. But don’t tell anybody; I want Quirt to feel good about this. He deserves it. It was a good catch.”