Marked for Murder: The Father Koesler Mysteries:

been accused of the ritual mutilation-murder of two prostitutes was news almost anywhere. And so almost every news agency carried it.

Meehan of course followed the story anxiously. After all, he and Father Kramer had lived and worked together in the same parish years ago and since then the Monsignor had always considered Kramer a friend. But the coverage, no matter how thorough, could never be as comprehensive as a firsthand report. This is why Meehan was paying such close attention to Father Koesler’s words. Koesler had been there.

Ordinarily, during his visits with Monsignor Meehan, Koesler aimed to keep his side of the conversation brief. Meehan’s attention span was not all that it had been. Some time back, Koesler had noticed that when he was telling a particularly long story or making a lengthy explanation, Meehan’s eyes would begin wandering as his attention waned.

None of that today, however.

Yesterday, as part of a packed courtroom, Koesler, accompanied once again by Inspector Koznicki, had attended the preliminary examination of Father Kramer. Now he was recounting that event to Monsignor Meehan. And he had the monsignor’s attention.

“How’d he look to you?” Clearly Meehan was concerned and worried about Kramer.

“Okay, I guess. But I had visited with him a few days ago. And I saw him at the arraignment a day before that. So maybe I’ve come to expect that sort of bewildered expression he’s wearing. It’s as if Dick suddenly found himself on a different planet where everything is strange and foreign. Fortunately, they don’t allow any cameras in the courtroom. But there are these artists sitting in the area normally reserved for the jury. And they’re sketching away furiously.

“The courtroom was packed. There were sheriff’s deputies and police officers. In the middle of all this hubbub, Dick was just there in a sort of passive way . . . like an inert piece somebody placed on a chessboard.”

Meehan slowly shook his head. “Poor man. The poor man.”

Koesler thought about that for a moment. “Yeah, I guess he is a poor man, in one sense of the word. But in another sense he’s rich. His Church is backing him up. There were quite a few priests in the courtroom. Most of them, even the younger guys, were in clericals. Several nuns, too . . . although not all of them were in even a modified habit. But they were there, and you could tell.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s good. How about the Cardinal?”

“He’s behind the scenes, as usual. You probably read the statement he released: that Father Kramer enjoys the presumption of innocence, as would each of us in a court of law. And that he’s sure that when all the facts are in, Father will be vindicated. And, finally, that he requests the prayers of all Catholics in the archdiocese to support Father Kramer in his hour of need.”

“Yes, I read it, Bobby. Cardinal Boyle certainly has a knack for taking the hysteria out of an event and replacing it with sheer logic.”

“But I think that’s mostly for popular consumption. I’m sure he feels this whole messy episode very deeply. The word is that he’s the one who got Johnson to defend Dick.”

“Is that so? I wondered how that happened. If I recall correctly, Johnson doesn’t try that many cases anymore. He’s more a corporate lawyer now, isn’t he. Where all the money is?”

Koesler nodded.

“But,” Meehan continued, “he’s one of the best.”

“The best. Actually, it was sort of fifty-fifty  . . . or maybe even sixty-forty. After he was approached by Sister Therese, he was reportedly sort of interested in the novelty of the case. Then—or so the story goes—came an invitation to dine with the Cardinal. And that did it.”

“I should think so. You ever get an invite to sup with the Cardinal?”

“Never.”

“Nor I. But it was good of him to go out of his way like that for Dick.

“Well, then, go on with it: How was the—what do you call it?— the preliminary examination?”

“Uh . . . well, you must have read about it.”

“Yes, certainly. But you were there. I want to hear it from you.”

“Well, it was much more brief than I had expected. Inspector Koznicki said the lawyers call it a ‘minitrial.’”

“What happened?”

“It’s very simple, really. The whole idea is to establish—or not, depending on whether you’re the prosecution or the defense—that a crime has been committed. And then, whether or not there’s probable cause that the crime was committed by the accused. So that’s what they argued.

“The prosecution’s case seems to center on the fact that Dick wears the same kind of clothing we do—and which the murderer is supposed to have worn. And that Dick drives the same make and color of car the murderer did. And that Dick carries a knife. And that he fell into the trap they set for the murderer.

“Oh, and there’s something about his belt . . . but they didn’t bring that up. Inspector Koznicki said that the prosecution doesn’t usually play all its cards at a preliminary examination. They present just enough to have the judge agree that there is ‘probable cause’ to hold the defendant over for trial.

“Which is just what happened.”

“Well, I know I wasn’t there . . .but to me their case seems pretty flimsy.”

“I’ve got to say that the prosecution did better than I portrayed it’s doing. That prosecuting attorney is really good. I suppose to someone who could be objective about this, it could be and probably is one of the more fascinating trials in memory. But you and I don’t fit into that objective category.”

“Most certainly not.”

“On top of it all, the prosecution didn’t bring in those eyewitnesses who identified Dick. And the inspector says their testimony may prove to be the most damaging evidence of all. But even without them, the ruling was that Dick was to be held over for trial in circuit court.”

“That’s the one that puzzles me. How could they do that? How could they possibly identify Dick—I mean, when the man certainly wasn’t there?”

“Dick’s attorney told him it does happen. Even when the police don’t influence them, sometimes witnesses so expect to see a particular person in a lineup that they find somebody to identify even if the guilty party isn’t there.

“Anyway, Dick said his attorney was quite sure he would be able to break their testimony in cross- examination.”

“I fervently hope and pray so.”

“Interesting, though; through the inspector, I met a young detective named Mangiapane.”

“A good Italian Catholic lad?”

“Absolutely. He was at the lineup. He told me all about the proceedings and—off the record, unfortunately— that he thought it was possible, just possible, that the women could have made a mistake. I think he’s on our side.”

“We can use all the help we can get.”

“You said it. Especially with that Lieutenant Tully. He is so dead sure that Dick is guilty that it’s frightening. And the inspector claims that Tully is the best homicide detective on the force.”

“Everybody’s entitled to one major mistake. And this is Lieutenant Tully’s. So . . .” Meehan tapped his cane against the floor. “. . . what happens now? How do we get poor Dick out of that godforsaken jail?”

“Well, he has to go to trial first.”

“Before that. Isn’t there a bail?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact there is . . . although the prosecution argued strenuously against it.”

“They want their pound of flesh, do they?”

“They argued that Dick is charged with a most serious crime and that he poses a danger to the community.”

“Horsefeathers!” Which was about as vulgar as Monsignor Meehan ever became.

“That’s what the defense said: that Dick has an unblemished record and is an upstanding and, in fact, leading member of the community.

“So then the judge said that while the prosecution had met its burden to prove probable cause, he didn’t