George Quirt.
As far as Tully could judge, there was nothing specifically illegal in this maneuver. Ethically …?
“You’re just in time, Brad.” Quirt shook Kleimer’s hand in greeting. “We’re just gonna get it together. You remember Zoo Tully …”
“Of course.” Kleimer turned to Tully, who nodded perfunctorily.
“Come on in here, Brad. We sorta took over the dining room …”
Father McCauley, finding himself totally and completely ignored, hesitated, then walked away. He had work to do.
It was just 8:30. The task force members were filing into the large rectangular room. Dark mahogany constituted the decor. The large table, the chairs, and the cabinets were either ancient or appeared to be. The table was filling with notes, diagrams, and bits of what might become evidence.
The first group of officers into the room seated themselves at the table, with here and there a few chivalrous gestures.
“Okay.” Quirt took command, much to the resentment of Tully’s people. “What’ve we got? Mangiapane?”
Mangiapane, jaws tight, looked to Tully, who merely nodded.
“Okay,” Mangiapane began, “the time of death looks to be between 4:00 and 6:00 last night.” He looked up. “That’s subject to the M.E.’s report. The autopsy’s not completed yet. But, so far, it looks like a good guess.
“This place is wired for sound,” Mangiapane continued. “They got wires in every door and window. The alarm company’s central office reports the system was operating last night, but there was no single intrusion registered.”
“Which means the perp either was in here before the system was activated or he was admitted,” Quirt said needlessly. “Was there anybody else besides the deceased in here last night that we know about?”
Mangiapane shrugged. He didn’t have that information. Quirt looked around the room.
Sergeant Angie Moore, of Tully’s squad, raised her hand.
Quirt recognized her. He was not disturbed that, so far, none of his own squad had spoken. But, particularly since Brad Kleimer-an outsider-was present, Quirt was conscious that Tully’s people had taken the lead.
“There are four-no, five-other priests who live here,” Moore said. “Four of them have been working at this parish for from three to ten years. They belong to a religious organization called Basilians. There’s another priest who’s been here only about three months. He has some sort of special assignment to the victim. I wasn’t able to get that too clearly. He’s not here now-”
“Who?” Quirt was peremptory. “The guy with the special assignment?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s his name?”
“Uh … Carleson. Father Donald Carleson.”
“Where is he?”
“He said he had to go to the hospital. Some patients were expecting him this morning.”
“While an investigation was going on?” Quirt was growing truculent. “Which hospital?”
“Receiving.” Moore, in spite of herself, felt intimidated.
“Get him back here.”
“He answered all our-”
“I wanna know about this ‘special’ assignment with the bishop. Get him back here! For Chrissakes, this is a homicide investigation!”
Moore fumbled her papers together and left the room.
Tully would have intervened except that, fundamentally, Quirt was not only in charge, but correct: The priest shouldn’t have been allowed to leave while the investigation was going on. But after this briefing, Tully would have some strong words with Quirt. He had no business treating Moore like a rookie and publicly embarrassing her. She was a Catholic, and that, added to the normal respect most officers have for the clergy, had led her to make a mistake … a minor, nonirreparable one.
“Anybody got anything else on the priests here?” Quirt asked.
Williams, one of Quirt’s people, raised a hand. Quirt eagerly recognized him.
From Quirt’s change of expression, Tully saw where this was going-and he didn’t like it. Quirt was setting up a contest-his gang against Tully’s. If this task force was going to do its job, it would have to blend into a single investigative unit. Silently, he damned Cobb for meddling where he had no expertise whatever.
Williams consulted his notes. “I was working with Angie and we questioned all the priests.”
Williams’s mention of a name from the rival team did not endear him to Quirt.
“All five of them left to go to a meeting of a bunch of other priests at the Cathedral at 9844 Woodward.”
“They went together?” Tully asked.
“Yeah, one car.”
“What time?”
“They left about 5:30. The meeting was at 6:00 and they figured it wouldn’t take more than a half hour to get there, what with Sunday traffic and all.”
“What about the bishop?” Tully continued.
“He told them earlier in the day that he wasn’t going.” Williams lowered his notes momentarily. “For one thing, bishops aren’t exactly welcome at these meetings. The priests said most of the meetings they have eventually get down to griping sessions. And some if not most of the griping is about the bishops.”
The group laughed, recognizing that the priests were no different from a bunch of cops getting together for a similar session.
“What time’d the meeting end?” Quirt was not laughing.
Williams scratched his head. “No set time. There’s usually some sort of light dinner, then the gabfest. People leave whenever they want. They just drift out as the evening goes on.”
“When’d our five leave?”
“Four,” Williams corrected.
“Four?”
“Carleson wanted to stay. So the others left together sometime a little after 9:00. They came right back here.”
“But they didn’t find the body.” Tully’s statement implied the question.
“No.” Williams sensed he needed to amplify. “They came in by a side entrance. The alarm system they got here is top of the line. If you know the codes, you can program the thing to cover whatever areas you want. So when they deactivated the alarm for that area, they didn’t know the system that controlled the front door had already been deactivated. After they entered the house here, they reactivated the alarm for the rear area. They just assumed the front alarm system was on. There weren’t any lights on and everything seemed okay.”
“They didn’t check on the bishop?”
“Like I said, there weren’t any lights on. The door to his room was shut. He’s got-he had-a suite on the second floor-a bedroom and den. There’s three floors in this building, all occupied.
“Anyway, they didn’t see any light coming from under the door to his room. So they just figured that he’d gone to bed early.”
“So, when did Carleson get in?” Quirt asked.
“Uh …” Williams hesitated. “Angie’s got those details in her notes.”
Quirt was about to say something when Sergeant Moore appeared at the door of the dining room with a priest in tow.
“Father Carleson?” Tully asked.
“Yes,” the priest replied. “Sorry about this. I thought I was finished here, so I started making my rounds at the hospital. When Sergeant Moore told me you wanted me, I came right back.”
Quirt gestured toward one of the detectives who was seated at the table. “Sit down, Father.”
The designated officer scrambled to vacate his chair in favor of the priest.
Acutely aware that he had become the center of attention, Carleson was uneasy.
“The other priests here say you did not return with them last night,” Tully said.
“That’s right,” Carleson agreed. “Last night was my first chance to meet the other city priests. I wanted to
