a white guy and looks like he’s wearing black. Seems like it, anyway.”
Tully almost prayed, he wanted this guy so badly. He yearned to take the wheel so there wouldn’t be any mistakes. But he would place his trust in Mangiapane. He had decided that at the outset when he’d told him to drive.
“He looks like he’s lookin’ for someplace, Zoo. He’s drivin’ real slow, practically stops at every street sign.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what we’re doin’ too. Right now, we’re lookin’ for some way to get on the Fisher Freeway from here. So cut east when we get to the Fisher and go parallel with it for a few blocks, then cut back in.”
“Okay, Zoo. I think he turned in. Yeah, goin’ east on either Elizabeth or Columbia ... I can’t tell from here.”
“If I’m right, he’s only gonna go a block or two. Make it four blocks east, then go south. We oughta be able to spot his car from there.”
Tully had to admit he couldn’t have done it better himself. Mangiapane paced the maneuver perfectly.
Now they were headed south. On any one of these streets, any moment now, they should see—“There it is, Mangiapane, the black Escort. Let’s go!”
No one was in the car. And there was only one building he could have entered—an old rundown apartment house converted from a stately ancient residence.
Mangiapane crossed to the wrong side of the street and pulled up directly in front of and facing the Escort. As the two officers sprang from their car, each drew his .38 service revolver. Mangiapane, exiting from the driver’s side, was closer to the building. He paused a moment so Tully could precede him.
Just inside the door, Tully hesitated. He cocked an ear to pick up some sound that would give him a key to the next direction.
He heard it. It was muffled, but he heard it. He nodded toward the stairs, then, followed by Mangiapane, raced up them. Now it was clearer. From inside the apartment at the head of the stairs— second floor, apartment 2A—came the sound of shouting. A male and a female.
“Open up! Police!” Tully yelled. He didn’t wait for a response. A well-placed kick more shattered than simply opened the door. Tully bolted in, followed, after the proper precautionary interval, by Mangiapane.
Standing at the far side of the room was a woman—white, of indeterminate age, but well worn and badly used. She was holding a knife, a large kitchen knife. She appeared to be terrified.
Just inside the door stood a white man dressed in black. Black shoes, trousers, hat, winter coat with collar turned up. He too held a knife. It appeared to be a switchblade.
“Police!” barked Tully. “Drop the knife! Both of you! Now! NOW!”
The woman dropped her knife. The man hesitated.
Tully pointed his gun directly at the man. “You got just about one more second to drop that knife.”
It clattered to the floor.
“That’s better.”
“What the hell’s goin’ on here?” the woman shouted. If she seemed frightened by the first man with a knife, she was clearly terrified by the addition of two more strangers with guns.
Not taking his eyes off the man in black, Tully displayed his badge. “I’m Lieutenant Tully. This is Police Officer Mangiapane. What’s going on here?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” the woman said. “I was here, mindin’ my own business, when this guy walks in on me, wavin’ a knife around. Well, he don’t know who he’s takin’ on. I grabbed my knife too. Next thing I know, you two come in, wavin’ guns. So that brings me back to where we started: What the hell’s goin’ on here?”
“Okay.” Tully had not looked away from the man. “Turn around,” he ordered. “Face the wall, feet apart. Then lean against the wall.” The man started to speak. “Now!” Tully insisted.
The man shrugged and obeyed. Tully nodded to Mangiapane, who holstered his weapon and patted the man down. “He’s clean.”
“Okay,” Tully said. “Turn around. Now: Who are you?”
The man reached for his wallet. He had some difficulty since his hands were shaking markedly. As he opened his coat, his roman collar was revealed.
Mangiapane gasped. “Holy shit, he’s a priest!”
“That’s right; I’m a priest.” He sounded as if his throat and mouth were dry.
Mangiapane read from the man’s driver’s license. “Richard Kramer—
“Yes.”
“What parish?”
“Mother of Sorrows.”
“Out Grand River.”
“Yes.”
“Holy God!”
Tully holstered his gun and approached the priest. “Mind telling us what you’re doing here?”
“Sure.” Kramer licked his lips. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to restore normal moistness to his mouth. “I . . . I was called here.”
“Who called you?”
“I don’t know. A man. He didn’t identify himself. He said it was an emergency. That a woman was here. That she was in trouble. That she had to see a priest. That it was an emergency—oh, I said that.”
“Why
“I asked him. He said he’d tried other parishes, that I was the only one he’d been able to reach.”
“That made sense to you? I mean, there are hundreds of parishes in this city. You the only priest home?”
“It . . . it’s possible. Sunday afternoon, most priests are out of the rectory. Besides, he . . . he didn’t have to call every parish in the city before he got me. We’re not that far from downtown.”
“So, all the other priests go out Sunday afternoon—except you?”
“I didn’t . . . I didn’t say that. I said m-most priests.” Kramer had never in his life stammered. Then again, he’d never been in such a situation before.
“So, you were home this afternoon ...at the rectory?” Tully kept up the interrogation as if no one else were in the room.
“Yes.”
“Anyone with you?”
“No.”
“Were you also home the past two Sunday afternoons?”
Kramer pondered for several moments. “Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Convenient.”
“What . . . what’s that supposed to mean?”
Tully picked up the knife the priest had dropped. “Tell me, Father . . .” there was a mocking tone when he pronounced the priest’s title, “is it your usual practice to enter a room where there’s somebody sick or somebody who wants to see a priest with a drawn knife?”
“I ain’t sick and I didn’ wanna see no goddam priest,” the woman said.
The other three seemed to have forgotten her. They continued to do so.
“The knife was in my pocket when I came in here.”
“That’s not what the lady says.”
“She . . . she’s lying.”
“Like hell I am!”
“Guess it’s her word against yours.”
“But I’m a priest!”
Tully shrugged.
Kramer found it hard to believe the officer would not honor a priest’s word. Nothing more was said for a
