Carleson did look drained. Koesler could think of nothing else to say. He put one hand on Carleson’s shoulder. The gesture was intended to be supportive.
At that moment there was a commotion near the door. Without knowing for certain, Koesler felt that the first “verdict” in this case was in. His grip on Carleson’s shoulder tightened.
The detectives, like the parting of the waters, peeled back to let Lieutenant Quirt through.
The lieutenant seemed barely able to control his pleasure. He squared off dramatically in front of Father Carleson. “Father Donald Carleson, I’m arresting you for the murder of Bishop Ramon Diego.” Without turning, he said, “Charlie, read him his rights, and book him.”
For Carleson as well as for Koesler time seemed to stand still. It was as if everything were happening in slow motion. Neither priest was able to focus on the words of the Miranda warning. Each of them had heard at least the beginning of the cautionary statement on TV and in the movies.
“You have the right to …” There was something about a lawyer and something about what you said could be held against you.
But none of this was truly sinking in.
Next, Charlie Whoever-he-was was taking Carleson away. And Koesler stood numb, unable to make sense of what had happened.
There was a sense of elation in the room. An arrest had been made in a complex murder case. By anyone’s standard, this was high profile. The media had concentrated its considerable attention on this case. And now it looked to have been solved in record time. Almost twenty-four hours to the minute.
Of course, not everyone was an instant convert to the validity of this arrest. But when they heard Detective Williams read aloud the finding of the crime lab-that the substance found in Carleson’s automobile was not only blood, but the same rare type as Bishop Diego’s-almost everyone was swept away with the sense of accomplishment.
Father Koesler, overwhelmed and confused, sought out Lieutenant Tully. In the emptying room, it wasn’t difficult to locate him. He was near the door, talking with several people. Koesler recognized Sergeants Mangiapane and Moore. The others he assumed were members of Tully’s squad.
As Koesler approached the group, he could hear Tully’s quietly earnest tones. While Koesler couldn’t make out every word, he gathered that Tully was ordering some of his people to thoroughly check out both Mr. and Mrs. Shell. Talk to friends and business associates and see what they had to say about the Shells’ relationship with each other and especially with the late bishop. Others were to return to the streets and see if they could break through the silence that had met their earlier attempts.
Koesler stopped short of the group and waited until Tully’s squad members had left. He was buoyed by the impression that Tully’s group, at least, was continuing the investigation. Tully’s expression invited Koesler forward.
“I couldn’t help overhear,” Koesler said. “I’m really pleased you haven’t given up the investigation.”
“This?” Tully motioned toward the departing detectives. “A precaution. From what I’ve heard, we’ve got a pretty good case against Carleson. But, you never know. There were other leads, some of them pretty good. If, by any chance, the case against Carleson doesn’t go down, that’s a bad time to have to go back to square one.”
In the moment it took for Tully to explain his continuing with the case, Koesler’s budding hopefulness deflated like a leaking tire. “Just finding that blood?” Koesler protested. “Father Carleson has an explanation of how it got on his dashboard.”
“So does Quirt,” Tully replied. “According to his scenario, this thing started sometime yesterday between when Carleson and Diego left the Carson residence and when they got back to Ste. Anne’s. Probably when they arrived at Ste. Anne’s. That part is incidental. Anyway, Carleson’s animosity toward Diego has already been established. Yesterday it exploded. Carleson struck Diego either with his fist or some hard object. Diego was hit flush on the nose, causing the blood flow, some of which got on the dashboard.
“Diego was unconscious. Probably Carleson then checked inside the rectory and discovered, as he’d anticipated, that the other priests were all in their rooms. He dragged the unconscious bishop into his office and propped him up in his chair. Then he got whatever weapon he used-a bat, a piece of pipe, a thick bottle-and struck the lethal blow. One very powerful blow and it was all over. We know that Diego sustained a nose injury and that there was blood. In the beginning, we thought the blow from behind had knocked Diego forward so he had hit his face against the desk top. But knocking him out in the car makes just as much, if not better, sense.
“Then Carleson took the money that he knew Diego kept in his office. He could have done anything with the dough. It didn’t matter-stash it, throw it away. The money wasn’t important. Killing Diego was. But taking the money could make it look like robbery/murder.
“Carleson, of course, knew the combination to the alarm system. So he was able to shut it down for the front of the rectory to make it look as if Diego had admitted his assailant.
“And there” — Tully spread his hands wide-” you have it Our crime lab established that the sample taken from Carleson’s car was the same blood type as Diego’s. In a few days they’ll be able to complete the DNA to determine that the two samples not only match-they’re identical. We’re pretty confident that’ll be the outcome.”
Koesler was glum. “There’s no chance that Father Carleson’s explanation is what really happened?”
Tully shrugged. “That possibility, along with the possibility that something may fall apart during the trial, is why I’m going ahead with the investigation. But-” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.” — I wouldn’t count on any miracles at the trial. Kleimer doesn’t fumble very often.”
“Kleimer’ll prosecute?”
“I would guess he’s on his way to the chief of operations right now. I’d say Brad Kleimer is a happy man. This case just could be his ticket to making his name a household word. I wouldn’t bet against it.”
There was a pause. Tully had things to do. But Koesler had been so cooperative, Tully was determined to leave the priest a satisfied customer.
“What’s going to happen now?” Koesler asked.
“You mean with Carleson?”
“Yes. All I know is right about now, Joe Friday says something like, ‘Book him on a 420 and turn him over to the psychiatrist.’”
Tully smiled briefly. “You mean, What do we really do now?”
Koesler nodded.
“Right now,” Tully said, “he’s going through the PCR-the preliminary complaint report. Charlie, the detective who took Carleson into custody, is probably typing the report. It just includes technical information: the date, time, location, and why he was arrested-for murder, in this case. They’ll write up an arrest ticket.
“Then they’ll make fingerprint cards-four of them. One for the feds, one for the state, and two for the city. Then he’ll have to wait for the fingerprint search, to find out if he’s wanted anywhere. And that, by the way, will tell him how he’s gonna be treated.”
“How he’s going to be treated?”
“The fingerprint search will take between two and three hours. The question is where’s he gonna wait and what’s he gonna do.
“A decision’ll be made whether to let him relax someplace like the Complaint Room, where he can watch TV if he wants to. Or whether he’ll be taken to a holding cell.
“If he doesn’t spend those two or three hours in a cell, eventually he’ll be released to appear-sorry, that’s sort of police shorthand. Whatever else happens, he’ll be going to court tomorrow. If we feel confident he’ll show up for court on his own, he’ll probably be watching TV during the fingerprint search. And he’ll probably be released to go home and return for his court appearance. If we decide that’s a bad risk, we’ll keep him in a holding cell on the ninth floor until court time.”
“Who makes this decision?”
“In a case like this, lots of people are in on the decision. This is going to be a media-crazy case. So everybody up the line is being informed, from Inspector Koznicki to Mayor Cobb.”
“What happens in court tomorrow?”
“Well, the prosecutor either will or will not recommend the issuance of a warrant. And a judge either will or won’t sign it. Put your bottom dollar on the warrant and the signing. Then, if everything goes according to Hoyle, we’ll arrest him again. He’ll be arraigned and the judge’ll set bail. Then, within twelve days-counting Saturday and
