“Apples and oranges, honey. But this ain’t gonna take all night. I’ll be back in a while. Maybe I’ll still have a chance to cash in that rain check.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“We got him, Al.” Tully opened the front door and paused a moment before leaving. “Iron or no iron, this is the final nail in the coffin.”
He fairly levitated as he left the house.
33
Father Koesler could not help feeling uncomfortable. He was not the type to impose on anyone. Yet here he was waiting to see Inspector Koznicki on a busy Monday morning.
Koesler would not have dreamed of calling for an appointment had it not been for last night’s jolting news. For the third Sunday this month, the top story on radio and television had been the brutal murder of a Detroit prostitute. And for the second consecutive Sunday, Father Richard Kramer was accused of the crime.
Koesler had reached Koznicki rather late last night. The inspector had been his usual courtly self and graciously agreed to meet with Koesler at headquarters at ten o’clock the next morning.
After setting up the appointment with Koznicki, Koesler had phoned Sister Therese. As he had anticipated, she was devastated. She had seen Kramer only briefly after his release on bond. She had wanted him to go into seclusion somewhere to regain his energy and to avoid any further notoriety.
But he wouldn’t hear of it. Over her strenuous objections he had returned to Mother of Sorrows, even though the chancery had sent another priest to perform the weekend liturgies. Kramer had gone into his own form of seclusion, unfortunately right into the heart of the maelstrom. Even though he put himself in the exact spot where anyone who wanted to could find him, he wanted to be alone. So she had complied and hadn’t heard from or about him again until Sunday night when all hell had broken loose.
Koesler had talked to her at length, reassuring her and, finally, convincing her to stay at least temporarily with her parents, who lived in the far suburban community of Waterford Township. With Sister Therese safely tucked away, Koesler could turn full attention to the considerable mess in which Dick Kramer was mired.
As he waited for Inspector Koznicki—he was early for his appointment—he wondered again at the relatively small office space allotted to the head of a division as vital as homicide. Koznicki’s bulk made the office seem even smaller than it was. On the other hand, Walt Koznicki was not the type to stand on ceremony, demand perks, or expect obeisance. He was an extremely hard worker, who, if not in love with his work, respected its significance.
The door to Koznicki’s office opened and a detective Koesler had never met stepped into the hall. Noticing the priest, he greeted him with a smile that hadn’t been there previously. Koesler was used to the automatic deference frequently accorded the clergy.
“Father . . .” Koznicki created the impression he had nothing more important to do this busy Monday morning than give valuable time to the priest. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“I’m early.” He knew Koznicki knew he was always early.
“Well, come in.” Koznicki stood aside so the priest could enter. They were both large men, though Koznicki outweighed Koesler by forty or fifty pounds.
Koesler took a chair near the desk. It was warm. Must have been used by the detective who had just exited. When Koznicki crossed behind the desk and was seated, the room seemed so crowded Koesler thought a disinterested third party might find the scene ludicrous. He decided from here on in he would have greater empathy with sardines.
“Tragic, tragic.” Koznicki folded his ham hands on the desktop and studied Koesler with great evident concern.
“According to this morning’s paper, Father Kramer is back in jail . . . is that true, Inspector?”
“Yes, sad to say, it is. We had to ask the judge to revoke bond. He really had no alternative.”
“I didn’t even know he was out of jail.”
“Understandable. It was approximately two days after bond was set that the bail was made. In a situation such as that, usually there is little publicity. Notoriety generally is attached to extremely public events like an arraignment or a preliminary examination, as happened in the case of Father Kramer. But unless Father Kramer, or someone else who happened to know, told you, more than likely, as happened here, you would have no way of knowing.
“By the way, Father, something that has been puzzling us is the intervention of Mr. Murphy in posting the bond for Father Kramer. None of us can make the connection. And Murphy is saying nothing, particularly after yesterday’s events. Do you have any notion as to why?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Jim Murphy is a friend of Monsignor Meehan’s.”
Koznicki’s raised eyebrows asked about that connection.
“You see,” Koesler explained, “Monsignor Meehan was once Father Kramer’s pastor and, at another time, he was mine. For the past few years, Monsignor’s been in nursing care at the Little Sisters of the Poor. I visit him pretty regularly. We’ve talked about Father Kramer, especially lately with all the trouble. Monsignor wanted Father out of jail very, very much. And the Monsignor has been a priest for more than fifty years. He knows so many people, from the very wealthy to the poorest of the poor. I know he is a friend of Jim Murphy’s. Without even calling Monsignor, I’m positive that’s how the bail was made. But if it’s important, I could easily check.”
Koznicki waved a hand. “It was only a matter of interest.”
It happened with great infrequency these days, but just now Koesler wanted a cigarette. “How bad is it, Inspector?”
“It could scarcely be worse. Everything was exactly the same as in the previous two homicides. But we have not recovered the knife that was used. Since the original has been retained as evidence, the supposition is that the weapon used yesterday was discarded afterwards.”
“How can they be sure Father Kramer did it?” It was a foolish desperate question.
“Because they are sure Father committed the first two murders. Because the judge found probable cause to hold him over for trial for the first two murders. And because the modus operandi yesterday was identical to the others. If only the murder had been committed while he was still in custody. But . . .” Koznicki turned palms up in a gesture of hopelessness.
“But couldn’t someone else . . .?”
“No one knows all of the details of the other murders. We have held back many of the particulars from the media so that only we and the killer would know the whole story, as it were. Thus, should someone other than the real murderer attempt what we call a copycat crime we would recognize the difference. But yesterday, every detail of the previous two was observed.” Koznicki paused. “Do you intend to continue your . . . special interest in this case?”
“He didn’t do it. Of that I am certain.”
“Not too long ago, I would have tended to agree with you.”
“But now you don’t?”
Koznicki shook his head. “However, I would not attempt to deter you.”
“Will you help me?”
“In whatever way I can. But I can offer you no hope.”
“I need a lot of help. At this point I don’t even know where to begin.”
Koznicki considered several possible suggestions. “I think it might be good for you to talk with our medical examiner, Dr. Moellmann. Have you ever met him?”
Koesler shook his head. “No, but I certainly have read about him. Extremely interesting person, as far as I can tell.”
“After you speak with him, you may change your mind about pursuing this case. And it is possible that would not be undesirable. Supposing I send Officer Mangiapane over with you, and while you are on your way, I will call and prepare Dr. Moellmann to talk with you. He would not feel free to discuss the details of this case with you unless he has authorization from me.