Brad Kleimer’s desk looked as if a flamingo had been shot while flying over it. Pink slips were scattered about profusely. Undoubtedly the result of his having received lots of calls while he was out, plus his secretary’s abandoning any effort to keep them in a neat pile.
It didn’t matter. This put him pretty much in the driver’s seat. He would be busy on the phone, but he would be able to discard the inconsequential calls while taking the others in the order of his choice.
He fingered through the messages, casually dropping many in the wastebasket. He was disappointed that there was no call from any of the national media or networks.
That would come. All he had to do was get reinstated as the designated trial attorney. And the slip he was now fondling just might open that door. That call was from Ned Ferris.
It had to be a green light. The chief had no reason to call him now unless it would be about the Carleson case. If Quirt had failed, the call would’ve been from him.
With some satisfaction, Kleimer dialed the number. “Chief?”
“Brad. Listen, there’s been a reevaluation on the Carleson trial.”
“Oh?” Kleimer tried to mask his smug triumph. He wanted to give the impression of surprise followed by gratitude.
“Yes. The boss wants you to try the case.”
“That’s great news, Ned. I had pretty well figured I was out of it. I’m really grateful. The boss does know about that marriage business, doesn’t he?”
“He’s aware, yes. And he wants you to get it out of the way as quickly as you can. It’s manageable, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely, Chief. Right off the bat, I can tackle the issue. After all, it makes no difference to me what my ex-wife does. My responsibility ended when she remarried a year ago. The final bond was dissolved then. When she married her present husband, the alimony-which was all that was left of our marriage-ceased. After that, she could’ve had her marriage blessed by a rabbi or a priest, or an ayatollah for that matter. Obviously, it made no difference to me. It’s no more than a coincidence that the priest who killed his bishop also blessed her marriage. If anything, that’s
There was an extended pause before Ferris said, “Sounds good. Just get it out of the way early on.”
“Absolutely. The only thing is that I wish I could get into it. Witnessing her marriage, it turns out, was a damn good example of how impulsive and spontaneous the priest is.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“Just that the guy apparently didn’t touch all the bases in his Church law. It seems he just up and did it. It’d be a good example of how the guy functions. If he feels something needs doing, he does it. If a bishop needs to be disposed of, he eliminates him.”
“Hmm … not bad …” Pause. “But don’t touch it! The boss was very clear he wanted this marriage of your former wife taken out of the picture early, once and for all. He doesn’t want a single juror to think you’ve got any kind of vendetta going. No confusion. Not a doubt. I can’t emphasize that too strongly.”
“I read you loud and clear, Ned. I’ve got some people looking into Carleson’s past. I’m sure we’ll find all we need and more to show what kind of guy we’re dealing with.”
“Stay in touch.”
“Will do.”
As he replaced the receiver, Kleimer felt good-very, very good.
Leafing through the remaining pink slips, he found none that needed urgent attention. Still, he ought to get through them as quickly as possible and clear the decks for a really intensive investigation into Carleson’s past-and present.
The phone rang. You never knew; it might be a network.
It was George Quirt.
Kleimer felt magnanimous. Quirt it was, after all, who’d done the leg work to get Kleimer back on the case. “I owe you, George.”
“Yeah you do. But I gotta tell you, it was downhill all the way. I didn’t even have to go through all our reasons. I was about to tell him how you’ve been on this case from day one. Remind him of your track record, about the fact they’ve got Cone on their team.
“But I didn’t have a chance to get them on the table. The mayor’s man like to hit the ceiling as soon as I told him the chief took you outta the trial. That’s it! That’s all I had to say. He went right off to see the mayor. And, I found out from some other guys that the mayor is having one of those days. He ain’t seeing anybody. But to brass tacks: Did you get the call? Was it from Ferris?”
“Yup. Obviously, the mayor had an offer my boss could not refuse. Pretty tricky with the mayor in city government and us in the county. Anyway, however he worked it, it happened in a hurry.
“But listen, George, you can free yourself up now, can’t you? I mean, you haven’t been shanghaied by that movie bunch, have you?”
“I’m keeping my distance. It’s getting so I can smell them.”
“And you can clear some of your people to sniff around Carleson’s doings?”
“We’re kinda loaded as usual. But I think I can cut a couple of the guys loose for it.”
“Can you spare Williams and his partner?”
“I guess … that what you want?”
“For now, yeah.”
“You got it.”
“Stay in touch.”
“You bet. How else am I gonna be close enough to you to collect on all these IOUs you been handing me?”
“That’s the boy, George.”
They laughed and hung up.
Kleimer was only too aware of Quirt’s extensive limitations. He knew that Quirt had risen to his present position through a combination of luck, elbow grease, and, mostly, having excellent personnel on his squad.
It was not all that difficult to wring deals from Quirt by dangling rewards; his cravings were near insatiable. After that, it was important to ease George out of the nitty-gritty and get him to sic one or more of his excellent staff onto the investigation. This is what Kleimer had just accomplished. He was content.
The phone rang. One of these calls simply had to be a network.
Not this time. “This is Father Koesler. We met just a little while ago.…”
“Yeah, right. What’s on your mind, Father?”
“I haven’t been able to think of anything but your visit since you left.”
“Yeah, you were a lot of help. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Mr. Kleimer. I’m afraid that you have a wrong opinion of Father Carleson. He really is a very fine priest. From what he’s told me of his work in the missions, he’s a dedicated Christian. That he might take a human life is … well, it’s just beyond imagination.”
Kleimer was chuckling to himself. “Don’t worry, Father. That’ll be the argument of the defense attorney. The thing is, I’m not going to be a part of the defense. I’ll be prosecuting.”
“I understand that. But you seem to have the notion that Father Carleson is the type who would justify the means by the end. And I want to assure you that even if he might handle a marriage problem with more charity than a strict interpretation of law, that has nothing to do with his deep and abiding respect for life.”
Koesler could almost hear Kleimer’s head shake.
“Father,” Kleimer said, “you didn’t do anything. So stop feeling guilty. I got this idea all by myself just in talking to you about Carleson and my former wife. But you should remember that you are not going to convert me into a Carleson believer. Even if I wanted to-and I don’t-my job is to prosecute him. So, first chance I get, I’m gonna check out the books at Ste. Anne’s and the parish where Audrey was baptized. I don’t expect I’ll find any notation that would indicate that this wedding is recognized by the Church.
“But that’s okay, Father. If this works out the way I think it will, this’ll be one more indication that I’ve got the right guy. I’ll be prosecuting the right man.”
Kleimer could almost hear Koesler’s shrug. “There’s nothing I can say that will influence you or change your
