The next process that would occur no more than twelve days later was handled by the Preliminary Examination Unit. They took charge of the preliminary hearing. This was a formal hearing before a judge to determine whether there was sufficient evidence to hold the defendant for trial.
Only after these procedures could Brad Kleimer take center stage and take responsibility for the trial he’d been promised.
So this was a nerve-wracking time for him. All the attorneys who handled the early prosecution maneuvers were veterans of the system. Especially given the importance of this case, only the most experienced prosecutors would move things forward. Nevertheless, Kleimer worried. He needed this trial. It could well be his ticket to the big time. Meanwhile, he was getting the word out that when everything was on the line, he would carry the ball.
He stopped pacing, thought a moment, then picked up the phone and dialed.
It was answered on the second ring. “Yeah.”
“Quirt, this is Kleimer.”
A guttural laugh. “You’re all over the place, ain’tcha? We can’t turn on the radio or TV without finding you.”
“Forget that. What’s going on at headquarters?”
“With the Diego case? I talked to Koznicki first thing … got him to dissolve the task force.”
“Good! Very good. No problems?”
“I don’t think Tully’s very happy about it. But I headed this investigation and I said it was over. That’s by the book … and Koznicki goes by the book.”
“Okay. Now, we don’t know what bail will be. And we don’t know whether Carleson can make it. But we’ve gotta be ready. If he stays locked up, that’s one thing. But if he makes bail, I want somebody from your squad to hang loose on him. Not a tail, not surveillance-just check on him from time to time.
“But whether he’s locked up or cut loose, I wanna know more about him. Who he’s close to, who he hangs with, what he does with his free time, stuff like that.”
Kleimer was, once more, out of line. He had no authority to commandeer any Homicide officer’s authority. But he was secure in the presumption that Quirt would prove cooperative. One hand washing the other once again.
“Okay, okay.” Quirt was stung by Kleimer’s brashness. “Only, don’t forget: You owe me for this one. You owe me big.”
“You got it.” Kleimer hung up without further nicety.
No sooner was the receiver down than the phone rang.
Kleimer was sick to death of the phone. But you couldn’t telclass="underline" Maybe the networks had sent their teams in by now. To this point, the national media were tapped in to their local affiliates. Pretty soon the big boys would be here. It was inevitable. Maybe now. “Yes?” he answered brightly.
It was his secretary. “There are a couple of gentlemen out here to see you.”
“Who, Marge?”
“A Mr. Walberg and a Mr. Turner. From Los Angeles.”
Kleimer’s eyebrows arched. He had expected the biggies to come from New York. “Send them in.”
Walberg and Turner were tanned to the degree of leather. Neither was dressed for northern winter. But both were outfitted stylishly. Tall and slender, they moved in a studied graceful manner that brought to mind synchronized Olympic swimmers. As he shook hands with each of them, Kleimer noted both had very soft hands.
“So, gentlemen” — Kleimer indicated chairs, which they took-” I’m a little pressed this morning. What can I do for you?” No cameras, from the wrong coast … could these guys be something other than representatives of the media?
“We’ll be brief,” Walberg said. “We represent Gold Coast Enterprises-an independent film studio … perhaps you’ve heard of us?”
Kleimer shook his head. The movies?
“It doesn’t matter,” Walberg dismissed that. “To be frank, this is some story you’ve got going here. Have any other studios contacted you?”
Again Kleimer shook his head.
“Super! Our project is in the form of a made-for-TV movie. The religious angle is irresistible. ‘Priest kills bishop.’ Out of the Middle Ages. Tell me, is there sex?”
“Sex?”
“You know-a woman. Someone they fought over. A broad plays one against the other. Or maybe there isn’t a woman. Maybe they’re gay lovers-the bishop and the priest. Maybe the bishop is unfaithful and his significant other offs him.… Any of that? It’d be perfect.”
Kleimer counted the change. He’d have to play his hand most carefully. This-a movie-had no place in his plans. Although, confronted with the reality, he should’ve figured on this. But … a movie. Did he want to get involved in this?
“Would you like some coffee?” His visitors accepted. He could have had his secretary bring it, but he went for it himself. He needed time to consider their overture.
A movie! It was attractive. That was indisputable. It might be fun. And everyone knew Hollywood is where the bucks are.
Of course money was a consideration, but in his priority system not the primary one. If money were high on his list, he’d be in private practice.
No; he had established his agenda and it was working very well. He had made a name and reputation for himself far faster and far more dependably than he might have as a moderately big fish in a gigantic pond.
Then too, movies were chancy. No matter what kind of offer these two slimeballs would make, once they got going, he would have little input, and no control whatever of the finished product. Their stupidity easily could rub off on him.
No; all things considered, getting in on their deal made no sense for him.
But he’d have to let them down easy. If they got their cockamamy idea off the ground, and if he left them with a bad taste, they could easily screw up his character in the movie.
So, how to let them down gently?
Quirt. Of course! Quirt would be thrilled to be part of moviemaking. To top that, he owed Quirt some sort of immediate favor. This was tailor-made.
Quirt would assume that Kleimer, having been offered this opportunity, desperately wanted it-who wouldn’t? — but had given up his opportunity for Quirt’s sake. That would have to be the way this scenario worked out.
Whether he took it on or not, Quirt would have to believe that Kleimer had sacrificed his own chances to pass on this golden opportunity.
The welcome reality would be that it cost Kleimer nothing. He was dumping what to him was garbage. And Quirt would see it as a gourmet offering.
Kleimer returned to his office with the coffee for his guests. He leaned back and sat on the edge of his desk. As he looked down at them, he smiled. “Gentlemen, I don’t think I can help you. I’d like to, but I don’t think I can.”
Walberg and Turner exchanged a smug smile.
“Don’t be so modest, Mr. Kleimer,” Walberg said. “You have an inside track on a terrific story. We want to tell this story through the eyes of the one who sees that justice is done.”
“You’re right on the money. But it’s not my eyes you want to look through.”
Walberg smiled. “Think Perry Mason.”
“Mason’s a defense attorney,” Turner interjected.
“It doesn’t matter.” Walberg had lost some of his ebullience. “There’s that series … ‘Law and Order.’ Yeah, that’s the one-the one where the prosecuting attorney wins.”
“He doesn’t always win,” Turner reminded.
“It doesn’t matter,” Walberg snapped. “That was just an illustration. Moviegoers are in the mood to see that justice is done. And, Mr. Kleimer, your job is to see that justice is done.”
“Let me return for just a moment to that program you were just talking about,” Kleimer said. “The one called ‘Law and Order.’ The first part of that show is how the police prepare the case for trial. Then the prosecutors take over.”
“Yes, but …”
“Hear me out, please. All I’m suggesting is that you consider filming your movie through the eyes of the police rather than the prosecutor.”