“Diego was unconscious. Probably Carleson then checked inside the rectory and discovered, as he’d anticipated, that the other priests were all in their rooms. He dragged the unconscious bishop into his office and propped him up in his chair. Then he got whatever weapon he used-a bat, a piece of pipe, a thick bottle-and struck the lethal blow. One very powerful blow and it was all over. We know that Diego sustained a nose injury and that there was blood. In the beginning, we thought the blow from behind had knocked Diego forward so he had hit his face against the desk top. But knocking him out in the car makes just as much, if not better, sense.
“Then Carleson took the money that he knew Diego kept in his office. He could have done anything with the dough. It didn’t matter-stash it, throw it away. The money wasn’t important. Killing Diego was. But taking the money could make it look like robbery/murder.
“Carleson, of course, knew the combination to the alarm system. So he was able to shut it down for the front of the rectory to make it look as if Diego had admitted his assailant.
“And there” — Tully spread his hands wide-” you have it Our crime lab established that the sample taken from Carleson’s car was the same blood type as Diego’s. In a few days they’ll be able to complete the DNA to determine that the two samples not only match-they’re identical. We’re pretty confident that’ll be the outcome.”
Koesler was glum. “There’s no chance that Father Carleson’s explanation is what really happened?”
Tully shrugged. “That possibility, along with the possibility that something may fall apart during the trial, is why I’m going ahead with the investigation. But-” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.” — I wouldn’t count on any miracles at the trial. Kleimer doesn’t fumble very often.”
“Kleimer’ll prosecute?”
“I would guess he’s on his way to the chief of operations right now. I’d say Brad Kleimer is a happy man. This case just could be his ticket to making his name a household word. I wouldn’t bet against it.”
There was a pause. Tully had things to do. But Koesler had been so cooperative, Tully was determined to leave the priest a satisfied customer.
“What’s going to happen now?” Koesler asked.
“You mean with Carleson?”
“Yes. All I know is right about now, Joe Friday says something like, ‘Book him on a 420 and turn him over to the psychiatrist.’”
Tully smiled briefly. “You mean, What do we really do now?”
Koesler nodded.
“Right now,” Tully said, “he’s going through the PCR-the preliminary complaint report. Charlie, the detective who took Carleson into custody, is probably typing the report. It just includes technical information: the date, time, location, and why he was arrested-for murder, in this case. They’ll write up an arrest ticket.
“Then they’ll make fingerprint cards-four of them. One for the feds, one for the state, and two for the city. Then he’ll have to wait for the fingerprint search, to find out if he’s wanted anywhere. And that, by the way, will tell him how he’s gonna be treated.”
“How he’s going to be treated?”
“The fingerprint search will take between two and three hours. The question is where’s he gonna wait and what’s he gonna do.
“A decision’ll be made whether to let him relax someplace like the Complaint Room, where he can watch TV if he wants to. Or whether he’ll be taken to a holding cell.
“If he doesn’t spend those two or three hours in a cell, eventually he’ll be released to appear-sorry, that’s sort of police shorthand. Whatever else happens, he’ll be going to court tomorrow. If we feel confident he’ll show up for court on his own, he’ll probably be watching TV during the fingerprint search. And he’ll probably be released to go home and return for his court appearance. If we decide that’s a bad risk, we’ll keep him in a holding cell on the ninth floor until court time.”
“Who makes this decision?”
“In a case like this, lots of people are in on the decision. This is going to be a media-crazy case. So everybody up the line is being informed, from Inspector Koznicki to Mayor Cobb.”
“What happens in court tomorrow?”
“Well, the prosecutor either will or will not recommend the issuance of a warrant. And a judge either will or won’t sign it. Put your bottom dollar on the warrant and the signing. Then, if everything goes according to Hoyle, we’ll arrest him again. He’ll be arraigned and the judge’ll set bail. Then, within twelve days-counting Saturday and Sunday-there’ll be a preliminary exam … sort of a mini-trial. A few people will testify, the object being to establish that there is reasonable cause to believe that a crime-murder-was committed-that it wasn’t an accident. The bail probably will be continued and, eventually, there’ll be a trial.”
“So,” Koesler said, “if I’ve got this right, what happens to Father Carleson now-whether he’s kept in a cell or not-is pretty important.”
“To him, definitely. Overall, yeah, it has its importance. That’ll probably be decided by Quirt and Koznicki.”
A detective approached. “Pardon me, Zoo, but the boss wants to see you. Now.”
Tully fixed Koesler with a look. “By Quirt and Koznicki and me.”
“Would you let me know how this goes?” Koesler asked. “I’ll wait here if I may.”
Tully nodded as he left.
It was a brief distance from the Homicide squad rooms to Inspector Koznicki’s small office. Tully was surprised to find Kleimer seated just outside the door. “Well,” Tully said, “I thought you’d be over at the chief’s office.”
“All in good time. All in good time,” Kleimer said affably. “May I accompany you?”
Tully smiled wordlessly, knocked perfunctorily on the Inspector’s door and entered, leaving Kleimer to tag along in his wake.
Koznicki and Quirt were seated. Tully slipped into the only other chair.
At the sight of Kleimer, Koznicki tensed and leaned forward in his chair, giving the impression that he was about to vault over the desk and assault the lawyer. Neither Kleimer nor Tully wanted that to happen. Kleimer didn’t want to die. Tully didn’t want to witness his death.
“You are not involved in this case at this point.” Koznicki spoke through clenched teeth.
Perspiration appeared at Kleimer’s hairline. “I’m just following through, Inspector. It just so happened that I chanced on this case shortly after the investigation began.”
Koznicki glanced at Quirt. The inspector very well knew how Kleimer had “chanced” upon his case. “It just so happens,” Koznicki borrowed Kleimer’s phrase, “that you are not supposed to be here now.”
“But …” Kleimer began to protest.
Pushing with large powerful hands, Koznicki half rose.
Kleimer turned so abruptly that he tripped over his own feet. He would have fallen had he not grasped the doorknob.
It was not the most graceful of exits. As Kleimer hurried down the hallway, he vowed that one day he would make Koznicki pay dearly for this.
Tully, hiding his smile in his heart, closed the door and resumed his chair.
“Lieutenant Quirt has reported our progress in this investigation,” Koznicki said. “We seem to have built a rather strong case on circumstantial evidence. What is your opinion, Alonzo?”
Having Tully brought into the decision-making process did not please Quirt. On the one hand, he had to admit that both he and Tully were of equal rank and that each commanded his own squad. But, on the other hand, he, Quirt, had been hand-picked to head this task force. In fact, he was honored that the hand that picked him belonged to the mayor of Detroit.
Soon, Quirt was certain, he would be the inspector in charge of Homicide. Kleimer would come through for him. Both he and Kleimer now had scores to settle with Koznicki-and a few others who had treated them badly. Given a little more time, they would straighten things out.
Tully shook his head. “This is Quirt’s collar. It looks pretty good. Carleson had motive and opportunity. The blood in his car is hard to explain away.”