“She told me about the conversation the two of you had last Sunday night.” Kramer inhaled deeply; his words were punctuated by wisps of smoke.
“She’s a very persuasive lady.”
“I know. She’s been able to get me to do just about everything she wanted me to do. Except, maybe, to give up these.” Kramer held up the smoldering cigarette.
Koesler nodded. A former smoker, he had a firsthand appreciation of the addiction.
“Anyway,” Kramer said, “I want to thank you.”
“Just yet there’s no particular reason to; I haven’t done anything.”
“You were at the arraignment. You’re here. You’re with me. I appreciate it. I really do. Besides, I agree with Therese: Your contacts in the police department may prove helpful. I don’t exactly know how. But I’m willing to believe. One thing is for certain: I have to get out of here.”
Koesler looked concerned. “It must be pretty bad.”
“Very bad.”
“Good God, has there been any . . . abuse?”
“Oh, you mean from the other guys, the other . . . prisoners. Oh, no; nothing like that. Actually, they’ve treated me rather well. But I’ve got to get back to the parish. The longer I’m gone, the more likely it’s going to be that the chancery will take it away from me.”
Koesler thought it inappropriate to suggest that it was extremely unlikely that the chancery would remove Kramer as pastor of Mother of Sorrows. Nobody was standing in line waiting for the parish. Nobody else wanted it.
But Koesler was relieved that Kramer had suffered no abuse from the other prisoners. One could never be sure of what might happen within a prison.
“I really don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about as far as the chancery is concerned. I’m pretty sure Cardinal Boyle would not let that happen. But, as for getting out: How about bail?”
“Not yet. Our next chance is Thursday when I have my preliminary examination.”
“Not till then? Isn’t there a chance they will simply drop the charges?”
“I don’t think so. Not now. One of their witnesses identified me in the line-up this morning.”
“No!” Koesler was deeply shocked. “How could that be!”
“I don’t know.” Kramer lit a fresh cigarette from the one he was discarding. “I just don’t know. My attorney tells me it happens. The cops have to warn witnesses that the person they’re looking for may not be in the line-up. And the cops did that this morning, my lawyer said. But then he said most of the time the warning doesn’t do any good. The witnesses are psyched-up to pick out somebody. Mistakes happen. But for the guy they single out, it is one pretty damn big mistake.”
“Good grief! I can’t believe it! Somebody actually picked you out of a line-up. Incredible!”
“I really doubt my lawyer would kid about a thing like that.”
“Well, if I’m going to try to help, I’d better know what’s going on. Have they got anything else?”
“My knife.”
“Your knife. You mean the big one.”
“Yeah.”
“But you’ve had that for years. God, all the way back to the seminary. I could testify—any of the guys could testify—you’ve had that thing for ages. We used to sit around and watch you carve things. There’s nothing wrong about that knife.”
“They found some blood on it.”
“Blood!”
“Mine. About a week ago, I cut myself. It wasn’t a bad cut, but it bled pretty good. I thought I cleaned it up. I must’ve missed a drop or two up near the shaft.”
“But it would be your blood type.”
“It is. It’s also the blood type of one of the victims.”
“No! This is truly incredible.”
“And my cut was so minor, my wound is all healed. So they won’t believe the blood came from me.”
“It’s like some fiendish conspiracy. Obviously someone set you up last Sunday to be found by the police. Is it possible the same guy concocted all the rest of this so-called evidence?”
“I haven’t got it figured out. I don’t even know whether I
“Let’s try to put it together. I guess if I’m good at any of this, it’s assembling things in some sort of logical order. Game?”
Kramer nodded and coughed rackingly several times, eventually bringing up sputum. Koesler recalled his own years of addiction; each morning had begun with coughing up his insides.
Everything was better without tobacco. But everyone had to discover that for oneself.
Koesler waited for Kramer to finish clearing the blocked passages, then said, “Okay, let’s start with two days ago . . . Sunday.” With more than thirty years as a priest, and relating to another priest only a few years younger than himself, Koesler could visualize a typical Sunday as if it were happening to himself. “You finish with morning Masses. How many do you have?”
“Two. Ten and twelve noon.”
“Right. So you’re tired and unwinding. Then the phone rings. What time was that?”
“About 2:30, 3:00. I wouldn’t have fixed the time so easily except that I’ve gone over it with my lawyer.”
“Sorry to go over the same material. But maybe I can understand and appreciate it even better than your attorney.”
Kramer knew that was true.
“Was anyone with you when the call came?”
“No one.”
Koesler tilted his head to one side. “Too bad. It would have been a tremendous help if someone had been there to corroborate the call. It’s also too bad that so few people will appreciate how small the odds are that there would have been anyone else around, especially on a Sunday afternoon. That’s about the only time a priest has to himself, whether he wants to be alone or not.”
“Absolutely.”
“So the call comes. A sick call?”
“Yeah. The guy who called—”
“It was a man? You’re sure?”
“He didn’t seem to be disguising his voice at all.”
“You recognized the voice?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“He said there was this lady who was real sick and needed a priest. And he gave the address.”
“Which was way out of your parish. But it didn’t matter because it was pretty close to downtown and there wouldn’t be many priests around that area, especially on a Sunday afternoon.”
“Exactly.” Kramer was buoyed by the simple fact that Koesler seemed to understand so much more readily than the attorney. Both Johnson and Koesler were on his side. But Koesler understood completely and immediately.
“Then?”
“The rest of it is part of the record. I got there expecting to find a woman on her deathbed. I figured I’d have to call a doctor for her. I tried to get the guy who called to do that, but he hung up before I could do it. And I thought I had better at least take a look before I did it. So I went.
“When I knocked on the door I was surprised that she could invite me in with such a strong voice ... I mean for a dying woman. Then when I entered the apartment, she let out a scream and pulled this huge knife. I didn’t know what the hell was happening but I didn’t want to get all carved up for my trouble. So I got my knife out . . . to sort of establish a Mexican standoff, you know.
