Bishop as Pawn (38 page)

CHAPTER

TWENTY - NINE

“I think I’ll take that coffee now,” Lieutenant Tully said.

“Now that you mention it, I will too, if it is not too much trouble,” Inspector Koznicki said.

Father Koesler was tempted to feel insulted, or at least slighted. Earlier, he had offered both officers coffee. Both had declined. Now Mary O’Connor had arrived. She offered to make coffee, and the two accepted readily enough.

From time to time, Koesler was almost convinced he was incapable of brewing coffee to anyone’s taste but his own. Then something would happen to restore his confidence. Why just a few evenings ago Father Carleson had welcomed not only Koesler coffee, but warmed-over Koesler coffee.

And of course it was Father Carleson who brought them together this frigid but clear and sunny February morning.

The priest and the police officers had gathered in St. Joe’s dining room to, in effect, celebrate the conclusion of the police investigation of the Diego and Demers murders. The court trials were yet to come.

“It was almost a miracle that led you to that receipt,” Koznicki said.

Koesler laughed. “If you could have seen me—if you could have read my mind while I was in Brad Kleimer’s apartment, you wouldn’t have a single doubt that it was a miracle. But, then, as someone once said, ‘More things are wrought by prayer than this world knows of.’ Did you pray, Lieutenant?”

Tully wore a bemused smile. He considered the question rhetorical. He could not argue that prayer mightn’t work if one believed in it; but prayer played an almost nonexistent role in his life.

“I literally didn’t know what I was looking for, and I was afraid I wouldn’t recognize it even if I found it. That’s how bad off I was,” Koesler said. He had already, at least in part, explained to Tully what had happened in Kleimer’s apartment. He would go over what had transpired for the benefit of both officers. It was a ritual they had gone through in the past and would repeat now.

“Things happened in that apartment that some might ascribe to chance, but I think it was Providence,” Koesler said. “Starting with Mr. Kleimer’s invitation to visit him sometime. I have no idea why he did that.”

“He would have found
some
use for you sometime,” Koznicki suggested.

“I suppose. Anyway, I had no idea then that I would be taking him up on that offer.”

“And he had no idea his invitation was going to backfire,” Tully added.

“That’s right,” Koesler agreed. “Anyway, just as he was about to usher me out, his phone rang. If that hadn’t happened, he would certainly have handed me the right black overcoat.”

“And if the call had been from almost anyone but his date for that evening, he would’ve ended the call seconds after he got it. ’Cause his prime concern was that he was almost late for that date. It was because he was trying to talk her out of breaking the date that he asked me to show myself out.

“That gave me the time and the notion to clean my glasses before going outside. After that, it was just a matter of how we—or most of us, anyway—have a habit of stuffing things in pockets—particularly overcoat pockets.

“I remember when I went to Receiving last Wednesday night, I had to take the card out of the parking machine before I could enter the garage. Then, after I parked, I put the card in my wallet. That way, I wouldn’t lose it or forget where I’d put it.

“When I drove to the exit ramp on my way out, I had already buckled the seat belt, which made it very awkward to put the parking receipt anywhere but in the vest pocket of my coat. Fortunately, Kleimer had the same experience.

“And it’s so easy to go unrecognized by a parking attendant. They don’t even bother looking up; all you have to do is stick your arm out the car window with the ticket and money in your hand. The attendant takes them and, in the case of Receiving, automatically gives you the receipt.”

Mary O’Connor brought the coffee, fresh and steaming. She also brought some sweet rolls. She was appreciated.

“So” —Koznicki anticipated the next point—“you reached into the pocket of what you thought was
your
coat to get a handkerchief, and instead pulled out the parking receipt.”

“Exactly. At first I thought it was
my
receipt. After all, it was
my
coat—or at least I thought it was. Then, as I glanced at the receipt, it was all wrong. It gave the wrong date and the wrong time. Instead of recording the entry as February 9,10:40
P
.
M
., and the exit as February 9, 11:30
P
.
M
., it read, ‘Entry February 8,11:32
P
.
M
.’ and ‘Exit, February 9, 12:12
A
.
M
.’

“This clearly indicated the wearer of this coat was at Receiving Hospital when Herbert Demers was murdered. It was the first solid evidence that Brad Kleimer was the one who’d killed Mr. Demers. Until then, it was just a theory I had that Father Carleson was not the killer, and that Kleimer was.

“Brad Kleimer’s plan was the soul of simplicity,” Koesler continued, warming to his story. “There are lots of people wandering around almost any hospital with no permission or identification. Chief among them are people wearing hospital greens or white hospital coats or black clerical clothes. Doctors, nurses, hospital personnel, and clergy generally don’t need permission—or any further identification.

“Kleimer is a bit shorter than Father Carleson. But he wears lifts. And that makes them about the same height. The two men are similarly built. Father’s hair is totally white, and although Kleimer’s hair is still turning, his sideburns are white. So, wearing a hat, the hair color appears the same.

“Then it occurred to me, when I visited the hospital Thursday night, that if it was Father Carleson, he’d certainly acted strangely. He stood outside in the cold with his coat collar turned down. He seemed to be making sure he would be seen and recognized as a priest. And, with everything else going on, Kleimer would be identified as Father Carleson, because that’s who he resembled.

“Before going into Demers’s room, he made sure the nurse got a look—just a brief glimpse—at him. He left it to her imagination to figure out who he was supposed to be. And it didn’t take much imagination.

“And
, Brad Kleimer has handled enough murder trials and been associated with enough autopsies to know that pressing down forcefully with a pillow to smother someone will leave evidence—evidence a brilliant medical examiner like Dr. Moellmann would never overlook.

“Finally, if Lieutenant Quirt were to miss the coincidence of one of Father Carleson’s parishioners dying—when Father so obviously wanted him to die—Kleimer was perfectly capable of demanding an autopsy.”

Koesler seemed finished with his summary.

“I wonder,” Koznicki said, “if we might have a bit more coffee?”

Koesler called the request to Mary O’Connor. She entered the room with a pot that she placed on an electric warmer.

“The trouble with Kleimer,” Tully said as he poured his coffee, “is that he’s an arrogant bastard.”

“Giving him his due,” Koznicki said, “he was pressed for time. There seemed to be a ground swell in support of Father Carleson. Kleimer was beginning to doubt he could get a conviction with no more than the circumstantial evidence he had. There were unexplained doubts. And a jury cannot convict when there is a shadow of doubt.”

“Williams’s hunch that Maryknoll headquarters was covering up something didn’t pan out,” Tully said.

“Williams is a good detective,” Koznicki said. “But, with one thing and another, his Maryknoll theory might very well have been proven groundless. For Kleimer, time was running out. The perfect ploy was to frame Father Carleson for a murder. No victim would be more tailormade than Herbert Demers. Demers was dying anyway. But his lifetime was growing very short. If Kleimer had not acted when he did, there might well have been no other opportunity to implicate Father in a murder.”

“I agree,” Tully said. “But once we got onto his trail, it was pretty easy to tie up the loose ends. Mary, the clerk at Fuchs religious goods store, picked Kleimer out of a bunch of photos as the guy who bought a clerical shirt the day of Demers’s murder.

“Then there was Michigan Bell. They found that a call had been placed from a neighborhood pay phone to Carleson’s number at 11:15 on the eighth of February. Which proved that Carleson really got the call he said he did. The healthy presumption is that Kleimer made that call. He called from a nearby pay phone so he could check and make certain that Carleson took the bait. If Kleimer had called from a private phone, Ma Bell would not have had the record. Chalk up a couple for the good guys.”

They chuckled.

“But Father” —Koznicki grew serious—” this all began with your suspicion that Brad Kleimer had killed Herbert Demers. I can understand why you were reluctant to believe Father Carleson was guilty of either murder. But what made you suspect Kleimer?”

Father Koesler, in turn, was serious. “I didn’t, at first. Of course I couldn’t bring myself to believe that Don had murdered the bishop. And nothing in the evidence that was found shook my belief. But I must admit that when Don was charged with the Demers killing I had my first serious doubts. It seemed so logical that if he had killed Demers—and that likelihood I had to admit was strong—why could he not have killed the bishop?

“Then, something that Lieutenant Tully said pricked my curiosity. You said, Lieutenant, something to the effect of, ‘If only he hadn’t done it.’ If only he hadn’t murdered Demers, there wouldn’t have been such renewed belief that he had committed the prior murder.

“So the only remaining supposition had to be: What if he, indeed, hadn’t? What if he hadn’t killed Demers? How could someone else do it while implicating Don?

“And, who would, or could, do such a thing?”

“Well, impersonating a priest was not all that difficult. No one in the hospital got a really good look at the ‘priest’ who was seen—from afar—entering the hospital, and then seen almost out of the corner of her eye by the floor nurse.

“Everybody—with good reason, I’m sure—assumed it was Father Carleson.

“Who might have done it? Several people came to mind. Father Bell—to remove himself from any suspicion in the bishop’s murder. He would have the added advantage of being a priest and not having to impersonate one. Honestly—and I’m a bit ashamed to admit it—he was my prime candidate.

“Then there was Michael Shell, another suspect and possible killer.”

“He had an alibi,” Koznicki interjected.

“See? I didn’t even know that,” Koesler said. “Then there was—almost for lack of any other suspects—Lieutenant Quirt. Or, perhaps, one of those crazy movie people trying to steer the story their way.

“Or, it could’ve been almost anybody. One of the hospital personnel intent on a mercy killing. A relative of Mr. Demers trying to hurry nature along. But none of those candidates seemed a logical choice.

“Then came Brad Kleimer. As I said a while ago, he fit the bill physically. Of course, a lot of people could qualify in that category—especially with the brief glimpse he gave the hospital personnel.

“The ultimate reason why I zeroed in on Brad Kleimer was his motive—or what I suspected his motive to be.

“You see, granting that Father Carleson did
not
do it, whoever killed Demers did it to reinforce the charge that Father Carleson killed Bishop Diego. So I thought, in this scenario, whoever killed Demers didn’t really care one way or the other about Demers’s death. Demers’s death only served to help convict Don of the bishop’s death.

“Something I heard in Ste. Anne’s rectory last Wednesday evening sort of came to mind. One of the priests was complaining about an opponent’s high-handed way of playing chess: He used his more precious pieces—knights, castles, and bishops—as pawns.

“That seemed to be it in a nutshell. Bishop Diego, Lord rest him, used others as pawns in a game for his own advancement. And now somebody was using the death of Bishop Diego as a pawn in a game for that somebody’s advancement.

“And that someone was Brad Kleimer.

“Kleimer saw the trial over the bishop’s murder as a grandstand opportunity. It was drawing national and international coverage. For the trial to work to Kleimer’s benefit, the killer should be a priest and Kleimer should convict the priest.

“For the bishop to be murdered by some drugged kid would be news. But not the sensation that would come from a priest who murders his bishop with premeditation and in cold blood. If he could make this charge against Father Carleson stick, Kleimer would become a household word.

“Still and all, I didn’t think that even this fantastic reward would be enough motivation to cause an otherwise sane prosecuting attorney to actually murder an old man whose life hung by a thread. I could understand how fame—celebrity stardom, if you will—could make Kleimer at least consider murder as a means to this goal. But I couldn’t envision his actually doing it.

“But you see, what impressed me most about Brad Kleimer in the brief time I’ve known him, is the degree of vengeance he has toward his former wife.

“I wish we had the time … and—” Koesler chuckled. “—I wish you were interested enough for me to explain how very complex and intricate are the marriage laws of the Catholic Church. Not to mention their number.

“Before being engaged to a Catholic girl, Brad Kleimer had been vaguely aware that the Roman Catholic Church had an enormous number of laws governing entering matrimony and another pile of laws regulating getting out of a marriage once entered.

“He actually made a painstaking study of these laws. I’ve never before experienced a similar case. Why, there are priests who aren’t as conversant with these laws as Kleimer was!

“And he did all that with one thought in mind: to hold his wife in—as far as the Church was concerned—an inescapable bond. He contrived to make sure that should their marriage fail, his wife could never get an annulment.

“I’ve known people, especially those in failed marriages, to be unhappy in direct proportion to their ex-partner’s current happiness. But Brad Kleimer took the cake. The whole purpose of all that study and those precautions was to lock his wife in marriage in the eyes of the Catholic Church—
her
Church.