“That situation would come as no surprise to most of the priests here.” Koesler took a deep breath, held it for a few moments, then exhaled. How much should he tell Tully?
“Lieutenant,” he said at length, “when I say that something is common knowledge among priests, I don’t mean everybody knows about it. But we do get together almost as often as we can-and we talk. I don’t suppose it’s much different than with the police: You talk about your work and you talk about each other and you talk about your superiors.
“So, many, if not most of us, were aware, at least in a general way, of what was going on.
“The sort of treatment Bishop Diego dealt out to Father Carleson was not all that rare years ago. There were certain pastors-and, for the most part, we knew who they were-who treated priests assigned to them shamefully. And they got away with it. For one thing, it was a seller’s market and there was little recourse.
“Now the demeaning treatment of priests has all but completely disappeared. There aren’t that many priests around and it’s a buyer’s market. There are so few priests left that they become pastors far, far sooner than in the past. As a result, there just aren’t that many priests who are assistants. If a priest is a pastor and he’s lucky enough to have help in the person of an assistant priest, that assistant is likely to be treated very, very well. If not, the assistant may request a transfer. And he’ll probably get it-and the pastor will be all alone. As his reputation spreads, no one will go to work with him.
“So the relationship that grew up between Father Carleson and Bishop Diego was, I think, so rare as to be unique.
“From my conversation with Father Carleson last night, I would guess that he’s been sticking it out partly out of respect for Cardinal Boyle, who was the main reason Don chose Detroit for his diocese. And also partly because he was convinced it couldn’t go on much longer.”
“I gather you like your Cardinal,” Tully said.
“I do.”
“Then how come he didn’t do something about this problem? I presume he has the power to do it.”
Koesler shook his head. “Not everybody is a saint. Now, Cardinal Boyle doesn’t have many flaws that I know of. But one flaw might be his appreciation of his fellow bishops. It’s a large, select, exclusive, and inbred club. Cardinal Boyle is a member in very good standing. It would be most unusual for him to intervene in another bishop’s affairs. Most unusual … but not impossible.
“That’s why I think the Cardinal doesn’t realize how impossible the situation had become. He would be reluctant to step in, but if he knew …
“That’s the only sense I can make of it: He didn’t know.
“What made it worse for Don Carleson was that he’s no fledgling priest. He’s a mature man and he’s been very much in charge of everything wherever he has served. From what he told me, he is not the type to debate a course of action endlessly. Someplace in the Gospels, Jesus says, ‘Be ye not hearers of the word only, but doers.’ That’s Don Carleson: a doer.”
Tully nodded. “And now that the bishop is no longer humiliating him and cramping him, he’s his own man once again. Interesting. With the death of Diego, a man gets rid of the guy who he thinks is seducing his wife. A woman gets revenge for having been manipulated. A priest doesn’t have to worry about losing his parish. And another priest can go around singing, ‘Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last!’ And we haven’t even heard what our detectives have picked up on the street.” He shook his head. “It’s rare that one death clears the decks for so many people.”
The phone rang in the front offices, as it had several times during Tully’s visit. Either Mary O’Connor was handling the calls herself or she was taking messages for Koesler.
The click of Mary’s approaching footsteps said that this call was different. Either it had to be for Tully or it was an emergency for Koesler.
It was for Tully, and he could take it in the kitchen.
“Zoo” — unmistakably it was Mangiapane-” this is Manj.”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“You better get down here.”
“What happened?”
“They found something in Father Carleson’s car. They think it’s dried blood. They took it down to the lab. Quirt is all over it, he’s so sure it’s Diego’s blood. Anyway, you better get down here.”
“Manj, just where the hell is ‘here’?”
“Oh, sorry, Zoo. We’re at headquarters and just about everybody’s here, including Carleson and that prosecutor, Kleimer. This comes about as close to a lynching as I’ve seen; If that sample they took doesn’t turn out to be Diego’s, I think Quirt will have a heart attack.”
We should be so lucky. “I’ll be right down, Manj. Hold the fort and check to make sure we’re legal on all the procedures.”
He hung up and returned to the dining room. Father Koesler was not going to be happy with this news.
CHAPTER TEN
As often as Koesler had visited the Homicide Division of the Detroit Police Department-which was not all that frequently-his overwhelming impression was that it was a busy place. Very, very busy. The present activity did nothing to mitigate that impression.
People shuffling papers, walking purposefully from room to room carrying files, talking to others as paths crossed; people intently talking on the phone, or just as intently listening.
Quirt’s task force had occupied Squad One’s large but now crowded rectangular room. Mangiapane, evidently on the lookout for Tully, stood in the hallway just outside the door. When the sergeant spotted Tully approaching with Father Koesler, his face lit up. “We’re still waiting for the lab results, Zoo.”
“They lifted the substance from Carleson’s car? Where?”
“The dashboard, passenger side.”
“Warrant or consent?”
“Consent.”
“Did he sign?”
“Yeah, Zoo.”
Tully partially turned to Koesler to explain. “From the top, it doesn’t help Carleson that the substance was on the passenger side. We know that Carleson drove Diego. So, whatever it is, presumably it came from Diego.
“Ordinarily, we’d have to get a warrant to search a car. That is, unless the owner gives us permission, which Father Carleson did. But in Detroit we devised this document that, in effect, attests to the granted permission. That way, if we get into court and the defendant denies giving permission, we’ve got the document that he signed giving permission. They sent the sample to the Police Crime Laboratory.” He turned back to Mangiapane. “When’d they do that, Manj?”
“Couple hours or so.”
Tully turned back to Koesler. “It shouldn’t be long now. With a priority like this, they usually come up with an answer in two or three hours. They probably want to be extra precise on this one, so it may be more like three.
“You probably remember some of these people.…” Tully’s gesture indicated those in the squad room.
Koesler, a bit taller than Tully, had no trouble seeing everyone in the room.
“The guy sitting on the desk just in front of us, chewing on the unlit cigar, is Lieutenant Quirt. Like I told you, he’s heading this task force.”
Noted, thought Koesler. He studied Quirt for a few moments, then looked around at some of the others. As Tully had said, there were a few familiar faces. One of the unknowns, a heavyset man, stood out in that he was carefully, expensively groomed; his three-piece suit was definitely not off the rack. “Who is that gentleman?”
“Which one?” Tully followed the line of Koesler’s gaze, at first unsuccessfully.
“The three-piece suit.”
Tully spotted him. “That is Bradley Jefferson Kleimer, an assistant prosecuting attorney for Wayne County. And he shouldn’t be here.”
“Shouldn’t be here?”
“You ever see that TV series, ‘Law and Order’?”
Koesler nodded. “I’ve always thought it was well done. Though I must admit, I don’t know how it stacks up against real life.”