Sunday-there’ll be a preliminary exam … sort of a mini-trial. A few people will testify, the object being to establish that there is reasonable cause to believe that a crime-murder-was committed-that it wasn’t an accident. The bail probably will be continued and, eventually, there’ll be a trial.”
“So,” Koesler said, “if I’ve got this right, what happens to Father Carleson now-whether he’s kept in a cell or not-is pretty important.”
“To him, definitely. Overall, yeah, it has its importance. That’ll probably be decided by Quirt and Koznicki.”
A detective approached. “Pardon me, Zoo, but the boss wants to see you. Now.”
Tully fixed Koesler with a look. “By Quirt and Koznicki and me.”
“Would you let me know how this goes?” Koesler asked. “I’ll wait here if I may.”
Tully nodded as he left.
It was a brief distance from the Homicide squad rooms to Inspector Koznicki’s small office. Tully was surprised to find Kleimer seated just outside the door. “Well,” Tully said, “I thought you’d be over at the chief’s office.”
“All in good time. All in good time,” Kleimer said affably. “May I accompany you?”
Tully smiled wordlessly, knocked perfunctorily on the Inspector’s door and entered, leaving Kleimer to tag along in his wake.
Koznicki and Quirt were seated. Tully slipped into the only other chair.
At the sight of Kleimer, Koznicki tensed and leaned forward in his chair, giving the impression that he was about to vault over the desk and assault the lawyer. Neither Kleimer nor Tully wanted that to happen. Kleimer didn’t want to die. Tully didn’t want to witness his death.
“You are not involved in this case at this point.” Koznicki spoke through clenched teeth.
Perspiration appeared at Kleimer’s hairline. “I’m just following through, Inspector. It just so happened that I chanced on this case shortly after the investigation began.”
Koznicki glanced at Quirt. The inspector very well knew how Kleimer had “chanced” upon his case. “It just so happens,” Koznicki borrowed Kleimer’s phrase, “that you are not supposed to be here now.”
“But …” Kleimer began to protest.
Pushing with large powerful hands, Koznicki half rose.
Kleimer turned so abruptly that he tripped over his own feet. He would have fallen had he not grasped the doorknob.
It was not the most graceful of exits. As Kleimer hurried down the hallway, he vowed that one day he would make Koznicki pay dearly for this.
Tully, hiding his smile in his heart, closed the door and resumed his chair.
“Lieutenant Quirt has reported our progress in this investigation,” Koznicki said. “We seem to have built a rather strong case on circumstantial evidence. What is your opinion, Alonzo?”
Having Tully brought into the decision-making process did not please Quirt. On the one hand, he had to admit that both he and Tully were of equal rank and that each commanded his own squad. But, on the other hand, he, Quirt, had been hand-picked to head this task force. In fact, he was honored that the hand that picked him belonged to the mayor of Detroit.
Soon, Quirt was certain, he would be the inspector in charge of Homicide. Kleimer would come through for him. Both he and Kleimer now had scores to settle with Koznicki-and a few others who had treated them badly. Given a little more time, they would straighten things out.
Tully shook his head. “This is Quirt’s collar. It looks pretty good. Carleson had motive and opportunity. The blood in his car is hard to explain away.”
Koznicki nodded slowly. “I think with what we can bring the prosecutor’s office, they will issue a warrant.” He seemed saddened.
The sadness was not shared by a supremely self-satisfied Quirt. “And I broke the case in one day. Twenty- four hours. That’s gonna make a lot of people happy, up to and including the boss-Mayor Cobb.”
Koznicki turned to Tully. “You uncovered no suspects?”
“Suspects? Sure. There’s the guy who had it out with Diego yesterday afternoon. A Michael Shell who claims his already shaky marriage was further damaged by Diego. There’s his wife, Maria Shell, who could’ve reacted to Diego’s manipulating her. And we’ve got a feeling that something’s going down on the streets.”
“What!” Quirt was incredulous. “Listen, we’ve got the guy: It’s Carleson. It’d be silly to wait another ten to twenty years while we interview every punk on the street. Come on!”
“Anyway” Tully said evenly, “we’re gonna check out these leads and see where they go.”
“You can’t!” Quirt was angry. “We’re goin’ to court tomorrow morning. What’ll it look like if we bring in a suspect for arraignment and you’re still working the case?”
Tully regarded Quirt. “What’ll it look like if Carleson is acquitted and we’ve got no other leads? Look at it this way, Quirt: At worst we’re covering your ass. You ought to be grateful.”
Quirt’s sputtering response was unintelligible.
Koznicki gave every evidence that he was pleased at Tully’s decision to continue his investigation. “One final decision before we go home, gentlemen: Where is Father Carleson now, and what do we do with him Overnight?”
“He’s in a holding cell.” There was belligerence in Quirt’s tone. “And that’s where he should stay.”
“You put a priest in a holding cell!” Koznicki was not happy.
“He’s a murder suspect,” Quirt said defensively. Much would now depend on whether Tully would support his decision.
“Your opinion, Alonzo?” Koznicki asked.
“I’d have to agree with Quirt. I know how you feel about priests, Walt But we’ve got to consider that not only do we not know much about him, nobody around here-not even the other priests-knows much about him. Like Quirt said, he’s the prime suspect. And you know what would happen if we released him from custody and, say, he killed somebody else tonight.…”
Koznicki bowed his head in agreement. “I believe you are correct, Alonzo. Should that happen, I would be looking for another job tomorrow.”
With that prospect, Quirt felt a passing urge to recommend the release-to-appear of Carleson, just on the off chance the priest would kill again and Koznicki would be somewhat prematurely out of the way. Quirt kept this urge to himself.
“Very well,” Koznicki said. “Father Carleson stays in holding.”
The meeting was over. Now Tully would have to inform the waiting Father Koesler that his buddy would be kept at least overnight. One of those messages that was never easy to deliver.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It had been long and tiring-but at last this demanding day was at an end. That was the good news. The bad news was that tomorrow would be just as taxing.
Ned Ferris, chief of operations for the Wayne County Prosecuting Attorney’s office, leaned back in his chair as far as he could and stretched tired muscles.
Wayne County comprised many Michigan cities, chief among them, by anyone’s measure, Detroit. Detroit with its long, interesting history. Detroit, the onetime “Arsenal of Democracy.” Where they built-or used to build- cars. Detroit with its pockets of wealth and its acres of poverty. With that glorious river linking the Great Lakes. With consistently looming violence and murder, this prosecuting attorney’s office was among the busiest in the country. With the responsibility for, among other things, determining what charges to bring against suspects, and selecting attorneys to try cases, the position of chief of operations would not soon be out of business.
One element of current crime that most troubled Ned Ferris was child murder-children being murdered, children being murderers. This very day was a case in point.
A fifth-grader walking to school was gunned down when a driveby shooter missed a house in which his enemy lived. Talk about not being able to hit the broad side of a barn!
