complete surprise. A police officer such as the inspector had to rely on his vast experience, together with all available evidence. In the end, no one could understand a priest like another priest could. In this case, Koesler was willing to wager his knowledge and experience in the priesthood against even the vastly superior experience in criminal behavior and homicide of his friend, Inspector Koznicki.
Then there was Dr. Moellmann, a most provocative man. Due to his patient explanation, Koesler now knew exactly what had happened to those poor women. The necessary restraint of the news media couldn’t do justice to the violence of those deaths. The word “mutilation” was inadequate to describe the obscenity of that horrible evisceration, not to mention the branding. And what could those marks mean?
What irritated Koesler most was that those branding marks did mean something to him. But what? There was some clue buried just outside his conscious mind that promised to open a door to this mystery. But he couldn’t find the key. And there was the further discouragement stemming from Dr. Moellmann’s implicit confidence in the certitude of Lieutenant Tully. Koesler had to admit that any disinterested third party would consider it foolhardy for him to continue to stand in opposition to the combined expertise of Koznicki and Tully. But there Koesler stood. With his faith in Father Kramer, he could do no less.
Finally, this morning, there was Arnold Bush.
In retrospect, their meeting had been sheerly ludicrous. Koesler knew that he would forevermore smile at the memory of Agnes Blondell’s leading him around the mortuary. And yet, there was something vaguely unsettling about Arnold Bush and . . . Koesler could not quite put his finger on it. Something Bush had said. What was it? At the time, it had slipped by Koesler and it was still evading him.
Then there was the disquieting thought that somewhere, somehow he and Bush had met previously. There was just something familiar about the man. But Koesler had been assigned to so many parishes over the years, been on so many committees, done business with so many people, that it was not uncommon for him to meet someone for the first time who would remind him of someone else he knew.
Koesler was tempted to dismiss the entire Bush episode. But something prevented him. After this business of clearing the good name of Father Kramer was over and finished, Arnold Bush merited another look.
But, for the moment, Koesler was running late. And two witnesses who had identified Father Kramer as the killer were waiting for an interview that had been set up by Inspector Koznicki.
God bless Inspector Koznicki.
36
Father Koesler was somewhat shocked and slightly surprised at the appearance of Sister Therese Hercher.
She was not disheveled. Her IHM blue suit was as clean and neatly pressed as ever. No, the difference was in her face, especially her eyes. If eyes were indeed the mirror of the soul, then her soul was hurt and in deep pain.
“Are you getting enough sleep Sister?”
“Yes. No. Not really. This thing has been a living nightmare. And it’s getting worse. It seems that everytime I get close to sleep I think of Dick locked up like a common criminal and I can’t make it. I can’t relax enough to sleep, at least not often.”
Koesler had offered her coffee, which she refused. Was it that she did not want to put any block in the way of sleep? Or was it his coffee?
It was a little after ten o’clock Monday night. Earlier in the evening, Sister had phoned Koesler, who, detecting the mental turmoil in her voice, invited her to visit him at St. Anselm’s rectory.
“Maybe you should see a doctor, Sister. Maybe he could give you something to relax you . . . help you get to sleep”
She waved away the suggestion. “I want to experience what he must be going through. That way I won’t let up in trying to get him out of there.”
She looked intently at Koesler. She was squinting. He attributed that to her underlying need for rest. “How did it go with you today? Any progress?”
He bowed his head looking at the floor between them. “Not much. All in all, it was pretty discouraging. According to three rather well informed people, we—you and I—are about the only ones still convinced that Father Kramer is innocent.”
“Oh?” Her tone was combative. “Who?”
“Inspector Koznicki, Lieutenant Tully, and Dr. Moellmann, the medical examiner.”
“We’re not the only ones.” She seemed to take resolution from the one-sided odds. “All his parishioners are praying for him. It’s even greater than that. I get a sense from the whole community, the city, the archdiocese, that the people—the vast majority—don’t believe for an instant that he’s guilty.”
Koesler suspected she was right, though his grounds likely were different from hers. Those who actually knew Dick Kramer knew that he could not have committed these crimes. As for the others in that “vast majority” cited by Sister, Koesler guessed that even without knowing Kramer most people simply found it impossible to believe that a priest could be capable of such depravity.
“Though I’ve got to admit,” she reflected, “that you’re right: The police seem convinced that he is guilty. And they’re working overtime to stack up evidence against him. Do you know what they did today? They searched the rectory, and even the church!”
“You were there?”
“They served the search warrant on me!”
While normally Koesler’s prime sympathies lay with the police and the legal system protected by the Constitution, this, he thought, was going a bit far. Not only had they arrested a priest and charged him with unspeakable crimes, now they were serving search warrants on nuns. What next?
“Do you know what they were looking for?” Koesler was quite sure they were after the branding iron. But since he had been informed of the details of these murders in confidentiality, he was not about to reveal what he knew.
“Specifically? I haven’t the slightest idea. I suppose they were on— what do they call it?—a fishing expedition. Anything that might implicate Dick.”
“Did they appear to find anything? I mean, anything that you noticed?”
“I couldn’t be everywhere. One bunch was searching the rectory, the other went to the church. I went with the ones in the church. They never would have found their way around that place without a guide.”
“And?”
“I don’t know. They paid the most attention to Dick’s workshop. That’s the place they asked specifically to see. They went over it with a fine-toothed comb. I tried to listen to what they were saying. But obviously they didn’t want me to learn anything. At one point I know they were looking for some sort of knife. I don’t know why; they’ve got Dick’s knife. They took it from him last week when they arrested him the first time. And they’re holding it as evidence now, aren’t they?”
“That’s right. But there’s a knife missing. The one that was used yesterday on that poor woman . . . Mae Dixon. Naturally, if they think Dick Kramer committed the crime, then he had to have the knife that cut her open. It’s true they have his knife. But as far as they’re concerned there’s no reason he couldn’t have another one. Or he could have replaced it. Of course we know they’ll never find another knife because he didn’t do it. But it won’t stop them from looking.
“But that was it—the knife? They weren’t looking for anything else?”
“I couldn’t say. They weren’t exactly confiding in me. I did hear mention of some kind of brand. I took it to mean the kind or brand of knife they were looking for.”
“But they didn’t find anything.”
“Not that I could tell. They looked pretty glum when they left.
“But how about you? Didn’t you tell me you were going to have a chance to talk to those women who identified Dick as the killer?”
Koesler nodded. “I talked with both of them.”
“And?”
“They’re nice people. At least they were very open with me. I think that was because Lieutenant Tully asked them to cooperate with me.”
“But you couldn’t shake them—their stories?”
