from the Church wedding he and Audrey had gone through.
But how to handle this development? Surely somewhere he could find a commentary on the new code of canon law.
But that was the long way. No, his best bet for the brief time before Quirt would report on his success or failure was to ask someone who would be qualified and willing to walk him through it.
Who? He didn’t know any Catholic priests; at least none came to-Wait a minute: What about the guy he met yesterday at headquarters … that priest who had helped in previous investigations?
Kleimer had no idea how that priest had been drawn into police work. But the guy had to have a better- than-average knowledge of things Catholic-even for a priest. Plus he probably was of a cooperative nature. Just the two traits Kleimer was looking for.
The name, the parish, escaped Kleimer. A call to his secretary, several calls by her and he had it: Father Robert Koesler, St. Joseph’s parish: 393-8212. So close by Kleimer didn’t even need the 313 area code.
His first impulse was to engage in a phone conversation with Koesler. However, that would leave both open to interruptions. No, better still, getting out of the office while Quirt was trying to work something out with the mayor might prove a diversion and ease Kleimer’s nervousness.
A quick call revealed first, that Koesler was at his rectory and, second, that he would be able to see Kleimer in the few minutes it would take to get there. Kleimer was happily aware that his luck was beginning to turn.
As he drove the few short blocks between the Frank Murphy Hall of Justice and St. Joseph’s, Kleimer debated with himself as to just how he would present his question. As a purely speculative problem? Hardly. He had to assume that Koesler was of above average intelligence; he would see through that device easily. The problem of some unspecified third person? Perhaps. But there was the same possible pitfall; undoubtedly Koesler would tumble to his deception.
No, Kleimer settled on the truth-but as little of the truth as he could get by with.
Koesler, as he awaited Kleimer’s arrival, began to rue his earlier eagerness to be involved in this case. It was one thing to try to assist a fellow priest in a troubled time; it was another to help the police charge that same priest with murder.
Of course, his aid had not actually contributed to Father Carleson’s arrest. That was the work of Lieutenant Quirt. To this point, at least Koesler’s involvement had not consumed too much of his time. But the prosecutor’s call might very well change that. Kleimer would explain nothing on the phone; rather, he had been politely insistent that they meet.
Fortunately, Koesler did have a break in his schedule now, so he was able to receive Kleimer. But this could get hairy if it escalated too much.
Koesler saw Kleimer in the rectory office. Not having much time, Kleimer immediately launched into the history of his marriage. He emphasized the marriage itself. At the time of their wedding, both parties were of age and neither had been previously married. They filled out and signed the necessary forms. He agreed to everything required of him. He promised he would not interfere in any way with Audrey’s practice of her Catholic faith. He declared himself open to the possibility of having children. He promised that if children came, he would cooperate at least passively in their being raised Catholic. There was only one obstacle to their marriage: He was not a Catholic. He had been baptized as a child in the Episcopal Church.
None of this surprised Koesler. He had led uncounted couples through that procedure.
What did startle him was Kleimer’s account of how he’d made sure that Audrey both understood and agreed to her part of the bargain. As part of the Catholic ritual, she also had some promises to make. Namely, that she would be open to having children, that she would raise them as Catholics, and that she would live her faith in a way that might lead her husband to convert.
In no other instance that Koesler could recall-in his own experience or that of any other priest he knew-had the non-Catholic partner in a mixed religious marriage gone to such trouble and detail to make certain sure that the validity of the marriage could never be challenged.
Kleimer concluded his narration. “As far as I was able to guarantee, the only sticking point was that impediment of my not being Catholic. But the priest requested a dispensation. And it was granted. I know; I studied the dispensation when it arrived from the chancery.…”
Koesler had to wonder why Kleimer had been so meticulous about his marriage’s validity. It was, he thought again, in his experience, unique.
“… I mean,” Kleimer said, “isn’t that something like Henry VIII?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Henry VIII, king of England.”
“Was someone executed, and I haven’t heard about it?”
Kleimer thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, she was one of four of Henry’s wives who wasn’t executed.”
“Where are we going with this?”
“Oh. The point is that Henry’s first wife, Catherine of Aragon, had been married to Henry’s brother, Arthur. Arthur died a year after the wedding. Then she married Henry. But before they could be married, they had to get a dispensation because she was too closely related to Henry by affinity-the marriage to his brother.
“The Pope dispensed them. Then, when Henry wanted to divorce Catherine and marry Anne Boleyn, he claimed that his marriage to Catherine was invalid because she had been his brother’s wife. In effect, he wanted the same Pope who had dispensed them from the impediment to invalidate their marriage because of the impediment he dispensed them from.”
“I’m familiar with that story. But what’s it got to do with you?”
“Just this: When Audrey told me that her marriage to Schneider had been validated, I blew my cork. But later, when I got to thinking about it, I figured she must be confused. A priest couldn’t do that … he couldn’t just run roughshod over all those laws. I mean, they’re
“When she married Schneider, they couldn’t get around her previous marriage to me. I made sure all the
“Why, indeed?”
Koesler noted repeatedly during this narration how inordinately pleased Kleimer was that he had been able to foil his former wife’s every attempt at happiness. And how disgruntled, how angry he was, that somehow, despite his best efforts, she had somehow achieved that happiness.
Kleimer by no means was the only person Koesler had ever known who was so filled with hatred. Oddly, this sort of venom was frequently found between people who had once been the best of friends or even lovers.
When a marriage went sour, it was most rare that the process of dismantling the relationship was accomplished amicably. From time to time, Koesler would reflect on a couple who at one time had sat in his office planning their wedding. They could not be more in love. They looked at each other with adoration and hunger.
Then, sometimes, years later, the same couple would be back for marriage counseling. Now, they refused to look at one another. The animosity was palpable.
What had happened? The chemistry was so precarious.
While, in Koesler’s experience, there were many contenders for the title of “meanest former spouse,” at this point Kleimer was the leading candidate.
One of Koesler’s weaknesses-at least he considered the trait less than Christ-like-was his dislike for persons such as this. No, he did not much care for Bradley Kleimer. But the priest tried not to betray his feelings. There was always the possibility, no matter how slight, that such a person might turn about and learn to forget rather than harbor vindictiveness. To love rather than to hate. To rejoice in the good fortune of a former friend or spouse rather than seeking vengeance.
But, to be perfectly honest, he did not hold out much hope for Kleimer.
“Anyway,” Kleimer was saying, “after I had a chance to reflect on what Audrey told me, I had to think there was something else going on. But what? Then I thought maybe Carleson was able to find something wrong with that dispensation we got from the impediment of mixed religion. But what in hell could’ve gone wrong?
