“Gay! No, nothing like that.”
“A woman?” Turner persisted.
“A woman …?” That was one of the leads Tully had uncovered. Quirt couldn’t recall her name … but there was something about some broad who might have had it in for Diego.
Tully would know all the details, of course. But one of the last things Quirt wanted was for anyone else-especially not Tully-to get in on this. “A woman … yeah, there was something about a broad who might’ve been a suspect before we nailed Carleson.”
“A suspect? No. No,” Turner said. “We don’t want to confuse the issue. We’ll have the woman as a love interest. We can get explicit there. The bishop in mufti, sneaking up to her apartment. Climbing into bed among the shadows.”
Quirt’s mouth was open. “You guys don’t get real worked up about reality, do you?”
Walberg disregarded this. “I think we can get this show on the road. Do you have an agent, Lieutenant?”
“Me? An agent? You kidding?”
“Then we’ll have our lawyer get in touch. About compensation. We’ll be telling this story through the eyes of the detective … through your eyes.”
“No shit! Who you gonna have … who you gonna get to play me?”
“We’ve been negotiating with a bit player you wouldn’t recognize. But now that Mr. Kleimer has changed our direction, we’re thinking of Chris Noth … you know, one of the detectives on ‘Law and Order.’”
“No kidding!” Quirt was delighted. “Hey, he’s a good-lookin’ guy!” He paused. “Chris Noth as me! Oh, yeah; I forgot about you guys and reality.”
Quirt was being paged. He left the room to take a phone call.
“Just wanted to check: How’re things going?” Brad Kleimer asked.
“Great, just great. This could be a lot of fun,” Quirt said.
“Fun?”
“Guess who they got playing me in this movie? Forget it, you’d never guess. Chris Noth!”
“Chris Who?”
“The guy who plays one of the detectives on ‘Law and Order.’ And guess what else? I’m gonna get paid! This is movie money. Big bucks! They wanna tell this story through my eyes. I’ll probably have my name up there in the whatchamacallits-the credits. This is a gas. I gotta thank you, Brad. Wait’ll I tell the wife.”
“Slow down, George-”
“Say, Brad, do you remember anything about that dame Tully came up with? The one who might’ve had a motive for offing Diego?”
“No. Forget her, George. What about all that follow-up on Carleson I asked for? You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”
“Don’t worry, Brad; I’ll get someone on it.”
“Dammit, I don’t want ‘someone’; I want the best you’ve got!”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get you somebody good. Listen, Brad, I gotta get back to the movie guys. I’ll talk to you later.”
Slowly, thoughtfully, Kleimer lowered the receiver until it rested on the base.
Christ! He hoped he hadn’t outsmarted himself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was disastrous. the only excuse Brad Kleimer could dredge up for his blunder in introducing George Quirt to the movie people was that he’d been caught off guard. Chalk it up to shortsightedness.
Kleimer had not foreseen in any way the advent of Hollywood. Once he had determined that his involvement in a movie would be counterproductive, he should simply have washed his hands of the matter and left Walberg and Turner to their own devices. Instead, he had to be too clever by half and bring Quirt into it.
He shouldn’t have done that. He now realized that if an airtight case was to be built against Carleson, he himself would have to personally take care of the nitty-gritty.
Kleimer was miserable.
News from the Thirty-sixth District Court, where Carleson had been arraigned a short time ago, didn’t help. Oh, the priest had been indicted on a charge of first-degree murder all right. But the judge had set bail at only $25,000. It could have been-should have been-much higher.
The special problem was that the archdiocese of Detroit had gotten into the act.
They-Cardinal Boyle actually-had put up $2,500, the 10 percent bond needed for Carleson to be freed on bail. On top of that, Boyle had retained Avery Cone, one of the area’s top trial attorneys, to defend Carleson.
Thus, with Carleson free to come and go, Kleimer was deprived of the luxury of checking into the priest’s past while he was confined. Now Kleimer would have to get more deeply involved and take care of the pavement work that he’d expected to delegate to Quirt.
In addition, no matter how capable Kleimer was, Cone was a most worthy opponent. This was no walk in the park to begin with. It was becoming more of a challenge by the minute.
Kleimer was about to consider his next move when the phone rang. This might still be the long-awaited national news media. Masking his beleaguered mood, he greeted the caller in as upbeat a manner as he could muster. “Brad Kleimer. How can I help you?”
There was a silence, as if the caller had gotten the wrong number. Then a decidedly female voice said, “My, aren’t we being sweet today. I didn’t expect that.”
“What? Who is this?”
“How soon they forget.”
It was Kleimer’s turn to pause. “Audrey? Is that you?”
“The ex-Mrs. Kleimer herself.”
It had been almost a year since he’d heard from her. Now it all came tumbling back. He was not handling surprises well this morning.
When Audrey remarried about a year ago, he had been released from the obligation of alimony. This as the result of a clever little clause he had worked into their divorce papers. When he stopped paying for her, he also stopped thinking of her. Which is why he hadn’t immediately identified her voice. “Well, Audrey, what brings the pleasure of this call?”
“What makes you think it’s going to be a pleasure?”
“Because I’m no longer paying for you. You know: Alimony payments can break my bones, but names will never hurt me. So what gives?”
“I’ve been inundated with you this morning. The newspaper, the radio and TV, the phone interview with J. P. McCarthy! Everywhere I turn, there you are with the upcoming trial of the murdered bishop. Up to your old tricks, honey? Digging into a celebrity case while the homicide dicks are still investigating it?”
“Don’t bad-mouth it, kid. Those old tricks are what paid for your clothes and jewels-not to mention those unlamented alimony payments.
“But, all that aside, this isn’t the first time since we said good-bye that I’ve been in the news. What brings you out of the mothballs now?”
“Just a coincidence, that’s all. Just a coincidence.”
“Audrey, this is fun, and I’d like to play twenty questions with you some more. But, as you can probably guess, I’m up to my earlobes. Is there a point to all this?”
“Uh-huh. The coincidence is that you are going to prosecute the priest who married me.”
That stopped him cold. As he tried to absorb this unexpected statement, he didn’t stop to envision the delighted smile on his former wife’s face.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“Audrey, what in hell are you talking about? You married a priest?”
“No.” She chuckled. “No, he witnessed my marriage. Father Carleson witnessed my marriage. He married Lou and me.”
“Have you been drinking? You and Lou got married a year ago. What did you do, wander around South America until you ran into this priest?”
“It’s kind of complicated. Lunch?”
Kleimer checked his watch and shook his head. “I shouldn’t, but … okay, I’ve got to. It’ll have to be a quickie.”
“You were always so good at those.”
He ignored it. “Where?”
“Certainly not downtown Detroit.”
“Kingsley Inn?”
“Fine.”
“Let’s beat the crowd. Eleven-thirty?”
“See you.”
Brad Kleimer arrived at the Kingsley first. He was seated, and ordered a Bloody Mary.
He looked around the room. It was early, so there were only a few scattered diners. The crowd was yet to come.