“I never had the opportunity of telling you before now, but that’s why I was doubly delighted when you married Lou Schuyler. Not only was my financial responsibility for you ended, but you had to be married by a judge.”
They fell silent as the waitress brought their salads.
“You really are something else, Brad.” For the first time there was anger in her tone. “If you went hunting, you wouldn’t just shoot the deer, you’d torture it to death. But …” She softened. “… all’s well that ends well.”
“Yes,” Kleimer said, “that does bring us to what you mentioned earlier. You claim you were married by this priest—Carleson. I find that incredible. I would stake my considerable reputation in the law that you had no escape whatsoever from our marriage—as far as Church law is concerned. We could have gotten ten divorces in civil law and it wouldn’t have cut any ice with the Church.
“If there’d been any way out in canon law, you never would’ve had to be married by that judge. I’m sure you can see why I consider your statement incredible.”
She stabbed a portion of lettuce and inattentively dabbed it in the dressing. “I didn’t pay that much attention when we got married. I knew you seemed terribly interested in the impediments to a Catholic marriage and to the dispensation I needed to marry a non-Catholic. It was silly, but I thought you might actually be interested in the Catholic Church and that one day you might convert.”
He almost choked as he started to laugh and then abruptly stopped in favor of breathing.
“I know. I know. I said it was silly. But it wasn’t until Lou and I wanted to get married that I finally tumbled to what you’d been up to. We visited quite a few priests to see what we could do about our marriage—yours and mine, I mean. Some of those priests were pretty knowledgeable—we even saw a reasonably kindly priest in the Tribunal. But they all said pretty much the same thing: I didn’t stand a chance in hell of getting an annulment. The only possibility I had was if you were to cooperate unconditionally. Even then the Tribunal priest judged our chances as somewhere between slim and zero.
“That was when I swallowed a whole lot of pride and called you. Remember?”
“Absolutely!”
“Remember how you responded?”
He nodded vigorously. “It gave me the laugh of a lifetime.”
“That’s when it came through crystal clear. You’d contrived the whole thing at the time of our marriage. Your laugh slammed the door on any hope I might have had.”
Kleimer pushed aside his all-but-empty salad plate. “Which brings us, at last, to the bottom line. Mind explaining what you said earlier about Carleson?”
“Of course.” The waitress removed their dishes and took their order for two coffees.
“Lou and I continued going to Mass, but we never joined a parish because we couldn’t receive Communion. That was carefully explained to us before we got married out of the Church. We were ‘living in sin.’” She looked at him intently. “It just occurred to me: It didn’t bother you in any way, shape, or form that Lou and I had to live a sort of tortured life. Oh, we were very happy together. But it takes some of the enjoyment out of life when you can’t forget that you’re going to hell. Far from that disturbing you, you enjoyed our dilemma.”
He merely smiled.
“Well, anyway, one day a friend told me about this priest who, very quietly, handles cases like mine. Lou and I talked it over—we didn’t want to go through any more disappointing, doomed procedures. Finally, though, we agreed to give it a try.
“Enter Father Carleson and dear old Ste. Anne’s. We explained everything to him. We didn’t leave out any detail. And he took us through the whole process step by step.
“The basic condition was our consciences, he said. Lou hadn’t ever been married. So that wasn’t the problem. It was my marriage to you, as you well know.
“So, Father told us it was our decision—not his, not the Church’s. Did I—did we—consider my marriage to you a genuine, loving relationship in which we both grew and developed? Or did we honestly consider it a nice try but, unfortunately, a failure?
“He insisted that we be brutally honest with ourselves. We could fool him with no great trouble. But we certainly could not fool God or ourselves.
“If, finally, we were satisfied and at peace in our consciences about our marriage—Lou and me—he would witness our marriage. He said at best it would be a convalidation.
“So” —she smiled broadly—” a couple of months ago, we did it. And since then we’ve been ecstatically happy. And I’m sure” —her tone dripped sarcasm—” you’re happy for us.”
Kleimer sat agape. Only slowly did he close his mouth. “He can’t do that!”
“He did it. We did it.”
“It’s a direct violation of Church law.”
“We went over that. He showed us how little Church law had to do with the law of Christ. Canon law was by no means infallible. It’s constantly changing.”
Kleimer thought about what he might be able to do. “He violated his own Church’s law. I could report him.”
“We kept everything very quiet. There wasn’t any scandal because there wasn’t anyone around to be scandalized. Father said if anyone brought it up it would be of no importance to the media, particularly since the divorce happened so long ago. And, anyway, he said he was willing to take his chances with Cardinal Boyle. This was one of the reasons he had chosen to work in the archdiocese of Detroit.”
“I’ll—!” But he could think of no other threats.
“There’s something else, Brad, that hasn’t occurred to you. But it would after you gave this whole thing more thought.”
“Oh?”
“Actually, Lou thought of it—credit where credit is due. You won’t be able to try him.”
“What?! You’re crazy!”
“No. You see, Lou takes much more interest in law than I do. Picture it, Brad: You’re in the middle of the trial when the judge finds out that the defendant blessed the remarriage of your ex-wife. Supposing the defense attorney questions the defendant, and the jury discovers what I’ve just told you. You no longer are the disinterested seeker of justice: You’ve got a very serious personal stake in this. Your prosecution could be perceived as a vendetta—revenge. Wouldn’t that sort of cloud the jury’s judgment? Wouldn’t the judge have to ask you to remove yourself from the case?”
If it were possible for a brain to fry and the smoke to escape from one’s nostrils and ears, Brad Kleimer would be vaporizing. He’d had his dream case in hand. And now, like a bird set free, it was gone.
There sat Audrey, not gloating, not smirking. Passive and tranquil. Metaphorically, she had dislodged the weight of the world from her shoulders and dumped it on him. She had anticipated this moment as one of victory and triumph. She just was not cut from Kleimer’s cloth.
Kleimer threw his napkin on the table, and jumped to his feet. “We’ll see about this!”
It was a flaccid response, and he knew it. Under the circumstances, it was the best he could do. He stormed out, leaving Audrey to pay the bill. That too was neither classy nor effective. This was not Brad Kleimer’s finest moment, and he knew it.
Audrey glanced at the check, covered it with her American Express card, and waited for the waitress. Audrey would leave a generous tip. It was the least she could do.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
If Brad Kleimer were keeping score—and in a vague sort of way he was—this day was beating him badly.
The priest—Father Carleson—had been indicted for murder in the first degree. To date, that was Kleimer’s sole bright spot. The bail had been set too low and, with the totally unforeseen interference of the archdiocese of Detroit, the priest had been able to meet it. Acting again in a most unpredictable way, the archdiocese had engaged Avery Cone to defend Carleson. Cone was good, one of the best.
Next, there were those insane people from Hollywood who’d almost inveigled Kleimer into wa
sting his time helping them. In what he had believed to be a coup, he had steered the madmen to George Quirt, thus ridding himself of them and, at the same time, further ingratiating himself with Quirt.
Then that had backfired when Quirt became infatuated with moviemaking to the degree that Kleimer would not be able to depend on him to press the investigation into Carleson’s past.
The cherry on the top of this unpalatable sundae was his former wife’s revelation that Carleson had somehow convalidated her marriage to Lou Schuyler. Not only did that negate Kleimer’s painstakingly planned revenge, it also tainted his prosecution of Father Carleson.
The score, as Kleimer tallied it, was about six to two in favor of the opposition.
After serious and solitary consideration of the latest development, Kleimer decided to broach the matter of Carleson’s involvement in Audrey’s marriage with the chief of operations. Better this way than to launch into the trial all the while looking over his shoulder for the subject to surface, leading to a possible mistrial. After all, Kleimer had intended on using this trial as a springboard to fame, not as a catapult to infamy. Being a laughingstock was not in his plans.
And so, as if to treat the whole thing as if it were a ludicrous possibility, Kleimer told the chief, in a most sketchy way, of the cloud that cast a “slight” shadow over the coming trial of Father Carleson.
Unfortunately, the chief wasn’t buying the “slight” possibility that this coincidence could haunt Kleimer in his effort to convict. Kleimer argued the point until it became clear that the chief wasn’t going to budge on the one hand, and that he was about to lose his temper on the other.
Make that seven big ones to two.
And then, the tide turned.
“Don’t get me wrong, Brad.” It was the frustrated voice of Lieutenant Quirt on the phone. “I know you were only trying to do me a good turn, but those Hollywood guys are nuts!”
“What’s the matter?” A glimmer of hope in what had seemed an ocean of depression.
“These guys think the real world is named after Disney!”
Coming from Quirt, an imaginative metaphor.
“They don’t give a damn for any of the facts of this case,” Quirt fumed. “As of now, the Hollywood version of the story is that either Diego or Carleson was a fruit. Or maybe both of them were gay. Or maybe they weren’t gay; maybe they were both in love with the same broad. Take your pick. Any one of those or some combination of them will be their motive for the murder.
“I tried to convince those flakes that something really happened here—that there was a perfectly good murder that wasn’t committed for any of those reasons. But, you know, it’s like I wasn’t there.
“On top of that, they wanted me to arrange for the mayor to give them the key to the city, and to make sure the news media was there to cover the ceremony.
“And that’s not all! They wanted me to be with ’em like twenty-four hours a day!”
“So?”
“So, I told them to go to hell.”
Kleimer was smiling. But he managed to sound seriously concerned. “How about the money? Wasn’t the money good?”
“Hell, I couldn’t even pin ’em down to anywhere near a firm figure. They kept trying to tell me that stuff made for TV wasn’t in the same league as the big screen. After a while, I kept trying to tell them, Okay, I believe you. But they were still vague. They were ‘on a tight budget.…’” Quirt went into an exaggerated imitation of Walberg and Turner. “‘We don’t know how much we’re gonna have to pay the stars … or rental costs’ … or” —Quirt returned to his natural voice—” any of the rest of that shit! They like to sweat bricks when they found out they were gonna need a contingent of our guys to be with them every minute they were working. And that they were gonna have to pay the cops’ full salary, including overtime!”
“So you’re outta there completely?”
“Brad, I’m all yours. That is, when I’m not working on the constant supply of murders this city keeps coughing up.”
“George, I really appreciate that. It just comes a little late.”
“What? Whaddya mean ‘late’?”
Kleimer briefly explained the circumstances that had forced him out of the trial. “So that’s it, George,” he concluded. “I don’t mind telling you I’m feeling pretty damned embarrassed about the whole thing. I had some great—really great—publicity going there. Everybody expects me to be the prosecutor. I haven’t even figured out a PR way to soften the fact that I’ll be on the sidelines.”
“Geez, Brad, that’s rough. After all you already put into it. Sorry. I wish there was something I could do. But …”
“Wait a minute.” Kleimer searched for an elusive thought. “Now that you’re not tied up with the movie guys anymore, maybe there is something we can do … if you’re willing.”
“Sure, Brad, anything—within reason, that is.”
“This is well within reason, George. You’re still tight with the mayor’s press secretary, aren’t you?”
“Yeah …” Quirt slowly acknowledged.
“Suppose you were to go see him—I think this’ll work best face to face—suppose you go see him and tell him how I’ve been kicked off the case. You can even tell him why—only soft-pedal it … like the remarriage thing is no great shakes. Put in the fact that the accused has Cone for an attorney. Push the fact that I’m better prepared than any of the other guys. Pull out my track record and all. See if he won’t go to the mayor. Maybe a word from Cobb will do it.…” He tried to make his voice impelling. “How ’bout it, George?”
“I don’t know.…” Quirt hesitated. “Wouldn’t it work just as well if you did it?”
“No. It would sound too self-serving. Believe me, George, it’ll work better if it comes from you. We’ve been on cases lots of times before. We’ve worked good together. You make the arrests and I slap them behind bars. Cobb, above everybody, wants this mess cleaned up fast. I’m the one can do it.” Again the compelling tone. “How about it, George?”
“What the hell. Sure, Brad. I’ll do my best.”
“Right now! There’s not a moment to lose.”
“You got it!”
There was hope. Just a glimmer. But there was hope.
He was in a sort of limbo. There were other cases he could work on. But he had planned to focus on and devote most of his efforts to the Diego murder. Now, he didn’t know whether it was his or not.
A few moments ago he was down and out. He would have, once he worked through the distraction of self-pity, devoted full attention to other, nagging matters. But that was before he’d had that brainstorm of having Quirt intercede for him.
He wanted to stay busy; he just couldn’t decide what to do.
His thoughts returned to the abbreviated luncheon with Audrey. That had initiated this latest flurry of activity. Now that he had a leisure moment to consider what she had told him, he wondered again how Carleson had pulled off that validation. Damn! Kleimer had been so sure he had covered every possible exit from the Church wedding he and Audrey had gone through.
But how to handle this development? Surely somewhere he could find a commentary on the new code of canon law.
But that was the long way. No, his best bet for the brief time before Quirt would report on his success or failure was to ask someone who would be qualified and willing to walk him through it.
Who? He didn’t know any Catholic priests; at least none came to—Wait a minute: What about the guy he met yesterday at headquarters … that priest who had helped in previous investigations?
Kleimer had no idea how that priest had been drawn into police work. But the guy had to have a better-than-average knowledge of things Catholic—even for a priest. Plus he probably was of a cooperative nature. Just the two traits Kleimer was looking for.
The name, the parish, escaped Kleimer. A call to his secretary, several calls by her and he had it: Father Robert Koesler, St. Joseph’s parish: 393-8212. So close by Klei
mer didn’t even need the 313 area code.
His first impulse was to engage in a phone conversation with Koesler. However, that would leave both open to interruptions. No, better still, getting out of the office while Quirt was trying to work something out with the mayor might prove a diversion and ease Kleimer’s nervousness.
A quick call revealed first, that Koesler was at his rectory and, second, that he would be able to see Kleimer in the few minutes it would take to get there. Kleimer was happily aware that his luck was beginning to turn.
As he drove the few short blocks between the Frank Murphy Hall of Justice and St. Joseph’s, Kleimer debated with himself as to just how he would present his question. As a purely speculative problem? Hardly. He had to assume that Koesler was of above average intelligence; he would see through that device easily. The problem of some unspecified third person? Perhaps. But there was the same possible pitfall; undoubtedly Koesler would tumble to his deception.
No, Kleimer settled on the truth—but as little of the truth as he could get by with.
Koesler, as he awaited Kleimer’s arrival, began to rue his earlier eagerness to be involved in this case. It was one thing to try to assist a fellow priest in a troubled time; it was another to help the police charge that same priest with murder.
Of course, his aid had not actually contributed to Father Carleson’s arrest. That was the work of Lieutenant Quirt. To this point, at least Koesler’s involvement had not consumed too much of his time. But the prosecutor’s call might very well change that. Kleimer would explain nothing on the phone; rather, he had been politely insistent that they meet.
Fortunately, Koesler did have a break in his schedule now, so he was able to receive Kleimer. But this could get hairy if it escalated too much.
Koesler saw Kleimer in the rectory office. Not having much time, Kleimer immediately launched into the history of his marriage. He emphasized the marriage itself. At the time of their wedding, both parties were of age and neither had been previously married. They filled out and signed the necessary forms. He agreed to everything required of him. He promised he would not interfere in any way with Audrey’s practice of her Catholic faith. He declared himself open to the possibility of having children. He promised that if children came, he would cooperate at least passively in their being raised Catholic. There was only one obstacle to their marriage: He was not a Catholic. He had been baptized as a child in the Episcopal Church.
Bishop as Pawn Page 18
