Bell’s brow furrowed. He appeared to be trying to connect two remembered incidents separated by a vacant space. There were the meetings yesterday afternoon. He remembered them in some detail. Then there was that super tired feeling that had been recurring more frequently of late. He could remember pouring himself a drink-a martini. Was there another one? Three? That component had gone hazy.
Then there was the dinner with all the priests gathered. The food gradually sopping up the alcohol. Things got clearer then. Toward the end of the evening everything was crystal clear. Except … he had talked too much. Expressed his contempt for, fear of, and anger with Diego far more openly than he ought.
But the middle part. It was gone. And that was scary. Especially now with two detectives who demanded chapter and verse for everything he had done yesterday.
And slowly emerging from this daze was the importance of remembering what seemed utterly lost to memory.
He was in trouble. That he knew.
“So, Father Bell,” Quirt said, “there’s some time missing from what you told us you did yesterday. How about it?”
“I … I can’t recall right now. But … I … I think I should call a lawyer.”
“You can if you want, Father,” Quirt said, “but, by the time he gets here, we will be long gone.”
“Wait: There’s one thing I want to get straight: Are you accusing me of murder? Are you accusing me, a priest, of actually killing a bishop?”
Quirt and Williams stood and slipped into their coats. “No, we’re not doing that,” Quirt said. “We’re just gathering information. But it is interesting, isn’t it? Bishop Diego allegedly is upset-maybe threatened-by your intention to, as you say, blow the whistle on him. In retaliation, he threatens not only to have you moved from your parish, but to close the whole place down.
“Then, the bishop is murdered sometime between 4:00 and 6:00 yesterday afternoon … a time when you are unable-you say-to remember where you were or what you did.
“However, the upshot of all this is that your problem is solved: The bishop can’t do anything to you now.”
The two detectives, fully garbed now for the outdoors, made no move to leave.
“If I was you, Father Bell,” Quirt said, “I’d try real, real hard to remember what went on during that time of your mental lapse. And I would hope-maybe pray-that somebody was with you and can testify that you didn’t even see Bishop Diego yesterday. Yes, sir, I certainly would do that.”
A serious Williams and a smiling Quirt departed.
Once in the car and headed back to Beaubien, Quirt rubbed his hands together in near glee. “It’s moving along like clockwork. We should have this on a platter by tonight … tomorrow at the outside.” He turned toward Williams. “Just one thing: The part I don’t see as real. That plant, St. What’s-its-name …”
“St. Gabriel.”
“Yeah, St. Gabriel. It seems to be going full speed. I mean, that school building isn’t going to seed like so many institutions in this city. And, say that Bell has all these programs going … seems to me that the threat to close it down was pretty thin. How would Diego have handled all those kids, all those programs?”
Williams, driving east on Vernor, had just come to the complex that was Holy Redeemer. “This is how.” As they cruised slowly, Williams pointed out first the gymnasium, then the auditorium, followed by the elongated rectory embracing the corner of Vernor and Junction.
He turned south where, after the rectory, the huge church stood. Then an extended parking area where the teaching brothers’ home once stood. Then the school, which continued around the corner of Junction and Eldred. More school. A huge and largely unused convent. Then through an alleyway to more school and north on Calvary back to Vernor. “That’s how,” Williams repeated.
Quirt’s mouth hung open. “For Chrissake! I had no idea …”
“Just a mile down the road. He could have shipped the kids, the programs, the church services to Redeemer.
“Okay, then, that wraps it up. And we got not one but two first-class suspects: Carleson and Bell. Both of ‘em have a credible reason to want the bishop out of the way. Carleson is forced to become an indentured slave-”
“A bit strong?”
“Sure. Okay. Carleson comes to Detroit expecting to have his own parish to run. Instead, he’s talked into apprenticing under the guidance of Bishop Diego-for what is promised to be a short time. But Diego keeps pulling strings to keep Carleson around to run errands, be a chauffeur and the like. And besides keeping Carleson on a tight leash, Diego is no sweetheart.
“Carleson was with Diego all the early hours of yesterday afternoon. He could have rattled the bishop’s brains before he joined the other priests on their way to the meeting. Before they leave, Carleson shuts down the alarm system for the front door. He takes the money Diego keeps in the office to make it look like robbery/murder.
“Then he comes back about midnight, fortuitously ‘finds’ the body, and calls us.
“Not a bad plan …
“Or … Bell is really as worried as he seems to be that Diego will close down his parish to keep Bell from broadcasting that Diego doesn’t give a crap for the spics.
“So how’s this for a scenario: Bell’s got a drinking problem. He even had a shot just to face us. He’s got this nagging grudge against Diego. There’s a priests’ meeting that’ll include just about all the priests in this neck of the woods.
“So he does just what he told us he did. He has some meetings. We can check that out. But I’m pretty sure we’ll find it’s so. No reason to lie about that.
“Then, he does what he says: He makes himself a drink-or two or three or more … whatever amount it takes to put him in a blackout. He said it himself: He doesn’t know what he did from the time he had his drinks until well after he finally got to the dinner, where he sobered up.
“We know he didn’t drink himself into complete unconsciousness and flop on a bed until the stuff wore off. He was still blacked out until after he got to the dinner. He musta actually driven there without consciously knowing that he did it.
“So, supposing that instead of driving directly to the meeting. Bell drives to Ste. Anne’s. If he rang the doorbell, Diego would certainly let him in. To do that, Diego would have to kill the alarm for the front door. Bell comes in. They go to Diego’s office. Bell is quite obviously drunk-and abusive. They argue. Bell clobbers Diego, leaves and goes to the meeting, where he sobers up. But before he leaves the rectory, he takes the considerable stash of petty cash.
“He knew it was there, okay. Did you hear him just now: He said that Diego kept a considerable amount around to quiet the natives-”
“Isn’t that an awful lot for a guy who’s dead drunk to do?”
“I’ll bet you I can find a hundred shrinks who can testify that it’s not only possible but not all that uncommon.
“Yessirree, this case is ready to bust wide open. We just need one more break. And I got a hunch we’re gonna get it. It’s right around the corner.”
“You forgetting about Zoo?”
“What about him?”
“He’s got some of the guys following other leads.”
“Tough luck. We got the goods.”
“But …”
“It’ll work out. Man, this is terrific! A bishop murdered and two priests the prime suspects.”
“What’s so good about that? I think it’s kinda sad.”
“You won’t feel so bad when you read about it in the papers. On the front page, yet!”
On that level, he was forced to agree with Quirt: It was a story right out of the Middle Ages. As far as Williams was concerned, and prescinding from the publicity this virtually insured, the case against either priest was
