Bishop as Pawn

He hung up and returned to the dining room. Father Koesler was not going to be happy with this news.

CHAPTER TEN

As often as Koesler had visited the Homicide Division of the Detroit Police Department-which was not all that frequently-his overwhelming impression was that it was a busy place. Very, very busy. The present activity did nothing to mitigate that impression.

People shuffling papers, walking purposefully from room to room carrying files, talking to others as paths crossed; people intently talking on the phone, or just as intently listening.

Quirt’s task force had occupied Squad One’s large but now crowded rectangular room. Mangiapane, evidently on the lookout for Tully, stood in the hallway just outside the door. When the sergeant spotted Tully approaching with Father Koesler, his face lit up. “We’re still waiting for the lab results, Zoo.”

“They lifted the substance from Carleson’s car? Where?”

“The dashboard, passenger side.”

“Warrant or consent?”

“Consent.”

“Did he sign?”

“Yeah, Zoo.”

Tully partially turned to Koesler to explain. “From the top, it doesn’t help Carleson that the substance was on the passenger side. We know that Carleson drove Diego. So, whatever it is, presumably it came from Diego.

“Ordinarily, we’d have to get a warrant to search a car. That is, unless the owner gives us permission, which Father Carleson did. But in Detroit we devised this document that, in effect, attests to the granted permission. That way, if we get into court and the defendant denies giving permission, we’ve got the document that he signed giving permission. They sent the sample to the Police Crime Laboratory.” He turned back to Mangiapane. “When’d they do that, Manj?”

“Couple hours or so.”

Tully turned back to Koesler. “It shouldn’t be long now. With a priority like this, they usually come up with an answer in two or three hours. They probably want to be extra precise on this one, so it may be more like three.

“You probably remember some of these people.…” Tully’s gesture indicated those in the squad room.

Koesler, a bit taller than Tully, had no trouble seeing everyone in the room.

“The guy sitting on the desk just in front of us, chewing on the unlit cigar, is Lieutenant Quirt. Like I told you, he’s heading this task force.”

Noted, thought Koesler. He studied Quirt for a few moments, then looked around at some of the others. As Tully had said, there were a few familiar faces. One of the unknowns, a heavyset man, stood out in that he was carefully, expensively groomed; his three-piece suit was definitely not off the rack. “Who is that gentleman?”

“Which one?” Tully followed the line of Koesler’s gaze, at first unsuccessfully.

“The three-piece suit.”

Tully spotted him. “That is Bradley Jefferson Kleimer, an assistant prosecuting attorney for Wayne County. And he shouldn’t be here.”

“Shouldn’t be here?”

“You ever see that TV series, ‘Law and Order’?”

Koesler nodded. “I’ve always thought it was well done. Though I must admit, I don’t know how it stacks up against real life.”

“Pretty good. The prosecuting attorneys for a big city usually number lots more than two. And there are some other mistakes they make. But one thing they do well is to separate police and legal work. Cops carry through the initial investigation and maybe make the arrest-on that program, they always make an arrest. They turn over all they’ve found to the prosecuting attorney, who takes over. Somebody in his office will determine what the charge will be-or if there will even be a charge. That office decides it all: whether there’ll be plea bargaining, how much bail to request, and the rest.”

“What you’re saying” — Koesler was paying close attention-“is that police work is still going on. No arrest has been made. So-what did you say his name is? — Kleimer is here a bit prematurely.” He looked puzzled. “So, I give up. Why is he here now?”

“He wants this case. He wants to prosecute it. It’s a celebrity trial. A bishop is murdered. That’s gonna get lots of ink locally-nationally-hell, probably internationally. This isn’t the first time he’s pulled this stunt.”

Koesler thought for a moment. “Yeah, I remember that name. I’ve read about cases he’s handled. I’ve seen him on TV and heard him interviewed on the radio. He always came on like the celebrity prosecutor. But, now that you mention it, it’s the defendant who’s usually the celebrity.…” Koesler hesitated. “But he does, doesn’t he … usually get convictions, I mean?”

Tully, his expression unfathomable, nodded. “That’s the only reason the police cooperate with him at all. Most of us don’t like him personally. He’s a headline-grabbing son-He’s a grandstander. But cops like to see bad guys put away. So, more often than not, they cooperate with Kleimer. Some cops go a bit further.” He paused. “Let’s say it’s no accident that he’s on this scene, laying claim to it, and that Quirt is leading the investigative task force.”

Koesler was appreciative of Tully’s ability to enlighten effectively as well as succinctly. Tully was grateful that Koesler was such an apt pupil.

Tully, with the easy familiarity of one in his own work space, continued to survey the room. “Back there in the corner” — Tully indicated the far reaches of the squad room-“there’s your man, looking like he hasn’t got a friend in the world-which may be damn near true right now.” Tully inclined his head in Carleson’s direction. “You might want to talk to him.”

Koesler brightened. “I would indeed. May I?”

“Sure, go ahead. Nothing significant’s gonna happen until we get the lab report.”

Koesler made his way through the swarm, conscious of the quizzical stares following him. Outside of Father Carleson, he was the only one in clerical garb.

He was halted halfway toward Carleson by a man who stepped directly in his path. “Excuse me,” the man said in a friendly manner, “I’m Brad Kleimer from the prosecutor’s office. And you are …?”

“Koesler, Father Koesler.”

“Is that K-e-s-s-1-e-r?”

“No, the German way: K-o-e-s-l-e-r.”

“May I ask what you’re doing here?”

Koesler was tempted to ask Kleimer the same question, and, utilizing what he’d gleaned from Lieutenant Tully, add that whatever Kleimer was doing here, he shouldn’t be here in the first place.

But, true to his innate courtesy, Koesler replied only, “I’m here with Lieutenant Tully.” That seemed inadequate, so he added, “A few times in the past I’ve supplied information to the police when questions regarding Catholicism or the Catholic Church were part of their investigation. I’m also a bit of a friend of Father Carleson. I was just on my way to visit with him, if you don’t mind.”

Kleimer made no move to get out of Koesler’s path. Rather, the attorney studied the priest for a few moments with an expression of dawning recognition. “Yeah,” he said finally, “I remember. I’ve read about you in the papers. But you haven’t been on TV, have you? I don’t remember seeing you.”

“No, I haven’t. You didn’t miss me. I’m surprised you remember me at all.” Koesler had the impression that according to Kleimer no one’s fifteen minutes of fame began until the TV cameras were there to film it.

“What was it you said you helped with?”

“When the police need some insights into things Catholic. There are times when, without an insider’s direction, the Catholic Church-its rules and regulations-can seem a bit of a maze.”

“I see,” Kleimer said. “As when a bishop is murdered?”

“Well, not on the surface, I suppose. But there can be complications like-oh-the role of an auxiliary bishop or