Bishop as Pawn

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was disastrous. the only excuse Brad Kleimer could dredge up for his blunder in introducing George Quirt to the movie people was that he’d been caught off guard. Chalk it up to shortsightedness.

Kleimer had not foreseen in any way the advent of Hollywood. Once he had determined that his involvement in a movie would be counterproductive, he should simply have washed his hands of the matter and left Walberg and Turner to their own devices. Instead, he had to be too clever by half and bring Quirt into it.

He shouldn’t have done that. He now realized that if an airtight case was to be built against Carleson, he himself would have to personally take care of the nitty-gritty.

Kleimer was miserable.

News from the Thirty-sixth District Court, where Carleson had been arraigned a short time ago, didn’t help. Oh, the priest had been indicted on a charge of first-degree murder all right. But the judge had set bail at only $25,000. It could have been-should have been-much higher.

The special problem was that the archdiocese of Detroit had gotten into the act.

They-Cardinal Boyle actually-had put up $2,500, the 10 percent bond needed for Carleson to be freed on bail. On top of that, Boyle had retained Avery Cone, one of the area’s top trial attorneys, to defend Carleson.

Thus, with Carleson free to come and go, Kleimer was deprived of the luxury of checking into the priest’s past while he was confined. Now Kleimer would have to get more deeply involved and take care of the pavement work that he’d expected to delegate to Quirt.

In addition, no matter how capable Kleimer was, Cone was a most worthy opponent. This was no walk in the park to begin with. It was becoming more of a challenge by the minute.

Kleimer was about to consider his next move when the phone rang. This might still be the long-awaited national news media. Masking his beleaguered mood, he greeted the caller in as upbeat a manner as he could muster. “Brad Kleimer. How can I help you?”

There was a silence, as if the caller had gotten the wrong number. Then a decidedly female voice said, “My, aren’t we being sweet today. I didn’t expect that.”

“What? Who is this?”

“How soon they forget.”

It was Kleimer’s turn to pause. “Audrey? Is that you?”

“The ex-Mrs. Kleimer herself.”

It had been almost a year since he’d heard from her. Now it all came tumbling back. He was not handling surprises well this morning.

When Audrey remarried about a year ago, he had been released from the obligation of alimony. This as the result of a clever little clause he had worked into their divorce papers. When he stopped paying for her, he also stopped thinking of her. Which is why he hadn’t immediately identified her voice. “Well, Audrey, what brings the pleasure of this call?”

“What makes you think it’s going to be a pleasure?”

“Because I’m no longer paying for you. You know: Alimony payments can break my bones, but names will never hurt me. So what gives?”

“I’ve been inundated with you this morning. The newspaper, the radio and TV, the phone interview with J. P. McCarthy! Everywhere I turn, there you are with the upcoming trial of the murdered bishop. Up to your old tricks, honey? Digging into a celebrity case while the homicide dicks are still investigating it?”

“Don’t bad-mouth it, kid. Those old tricks are what paid for your clothes and jewels-not to mention those unlamented alimony payments.

“But, all that aside, this isn’t the first time since we said good-bye that I’ve been in the news. What brings you out of the mothballs now?”

“Just a coincidence, that’s all. Just a coincidence.”

“Audrey, this is fun, and I’d like to play twenty questions with you some more. But, as you can probably guess, I’m up to my earlobes. Is there a point to all this?”

“Uh-huh. The coincidence is that you are going to prosecute the priest who married me.”

That stopped him cold. As he tried to absorb this unexpected statement, he didn’t stop to envision the delighted smile on his former wife’s face.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Audrey, what in hell are you talking about? You married a priest?”

“No.” She chuckled. “No, he witnessed my marriage. Father Carleson witnessed my marriage. He married Lou and me.”

“Have you been drinking? You and Lou got married a year ago. What did you do, wander around South America until you ran into this priest?”

“It’s kind of complicated. Lunch?”

Kleimer checked his watch and shook his head. “I shouldn’t, but … okay, I’ve got to. It’ll have to be a quickie.”

“You were always so good at those.”

He ignored it. “Where?”

“Certainly not downtown Detroit.”

“Kingsley Inn?”

“Fine.”

“Let’s beat the crowd. Eleven-thirty?”

“See you.”

Brad Kleimer arrived at the Kingsley first. He was seated, and ordered a Bloody Mary.

He looked around the room. It was early, so there were only a few scattered diners. The crowd was yet to come.

Kleimer had formed a habit of looking for recognition. After all, he had been in the news often enough to expect people to draw the connection between all those photos of him and the real live celebrity. Every time he caught someone’s eye, he assumed the identification had been made.

He had just placed the napkin on his lap when Audrey arrived-Audrey Schuyler since her second marriage.

Either she had checked her coat, or she’d left it in her car and used the valet parking. In any case, he was happy she wasn’t wearing any sort of wrap. She had such a trim, attractive figure, it was a pleasure to watch her walk into a room like this. Both men and women regularly did a double take when they saw her. In addition to being beautiful, she exuded confidence and charm.

She came straight to his table. He neither stood nor attempted to; she expected no chivalrous gesture on his part. She merely slid into the chair opposite him.

“Well, Audrey, still looking smashing. How nice that Lou can keep you in the style to which I accustomed you.”

She ordered Perrier with a lemon twist. As she removed her black kid gloves, she said, “And you’re looking prosperous, especially for a humble prosecuting attorney.”

“There are some perks, speaking fees, things like that. And, of course, I’m not paying for you anymore.” He leaned toward her and spoke in a confidential tone. “Seriously, I didn’t look forward to seeing you again. But now that you’re here, it brings back a lot of pretty good memories.”

“Thanks, I wish I could say the same.”

“Hey, lunch was your idea, remember?”

“So it was. Sorry.”

Leaning still closer, he said, “I really haven’t got time this afternoon, but, by God, I’d be willing to make some. You know, this is an inn. We could get a room.…”

“The suggestion was for lunch.”