Bishop as Pawn Page 0,48
this is Manj.”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“You better get down here.”
“What happened?”
“They found something in Father Carleson’s car. They think it’s dried blood. They took it down to the lab. Quirt is all over it, he’s so sure it’s Diego’s blood. Anyway, you better get down here.”
“Manj, just where the hell is ‘here’?”
“Oh, sorry, Zoo. We’re at headquarters and just about everybody’s here, including Carleson and that prosecutor, Kleimer. This comes about as close to a lynching as I’ve seen; If that sample they took doesn’t turn out to be Diego’s, I think Quirt will have a heart attack.”
We should be so lucky. “I’ll be right down, Manj. Hold the fort and check to make sure we’re legal on all the procedures.”
He hung up and returned to the dining room. Father Koesler was not going to be happy with this news.
CHAPTER
TEN
As often as Koesler had visited the Homicide Division of the Detroit Police Department—which was not all that frequently—his overwhelming impression was that it was a busy place. Very, very busy. The present activity did nothing to mitigate that impression.
People shuffling papers, walking purposefully from room to room carrying files, talking to others as paths crossed; people intently talking on the phone, or just as intently listening.
Quirt’s task force had occupied Squad One’s large but now crowded rectangular room. Mangiapane, evidently on the lookout for Tully, stood in the hallway just outside the door. When the sergeant spotted Tully approaching with Father Koesler, his face lit up. “We’re still waiting for the lab results, Zoo.”
“They lifted the substance from Carleson’s car? Where?”
“The dashboard, passenger side.”
“Warrant or consent?”
“Consent.”
“Did he sign?”
“Yeah, Zoo.”
Tully partially turned to Koesler to explain. “From the top, it doesn’t help Carleson that the substance was on the passenger side. We know that Carleson drove Diego. So, whatever it is, presumably it came from Diego.
“Ordinarily, we’d have to get a warrant to search a car. That is, unless the owner gives us permission, which Father Carleson did. But in Detroit we devised this document that, in effect, attests to the granted permission. That way, if we get into court and the defendant denies giving permission, we’ve got the document that he signed giving permission. They sent the sample to the Police Crime Laboratory.” He turned back to Mangiapane. “When’d they do that, Manj?”
“Couple hours or so.”
Tully turned back to Koesler. “It shouldn’t be long now. With a priority like this, they usually come up with an answer in two or three hours. They probably want to be extra precise on this one, so it may be more like three.
“You probably remember some of these people.…” Tully’s gesture indicated those in the squad room.
Koesler, a bit taller than Tully, had no trouble seeing everyone in the room.
“The guy sitting on the desk just in front of us, chewing on the unlit cigar, is Lieutenant Quirt. Like I told you, he’s heading this task force.”
Noted, thought Koesler. He studied Quirt for a few moments, then looked around at some of the others. As Tully had said, there were a few familiar faces. One of the unknowns, a heavyset man, stood out in that he was carefully, expensively groomed; his three-piece suit was definitely not off the rack. “Who is that gentleman?”
“Which one?” Tully followed the line of Koesler’s gaze, at first unsuccessfully.
“The three-piece suit.”
Tully spotted him. “That is Bradley Jefferson Kleimer, an assistant prosecuting attorney for Wayne County. And he shouldn’t be here.”
“Shouldn’t be here?”
“You ever see that TV series, ‘Law and Order’?”
Koesler nodded. “I’ve always thought it was well done. Though I must admit, I don’t know how it stacks up against real life.”
“Pretty good. The prosecuting attorneys for a big city usually number lots more than two. And there are some other mistakes they make. But one thing they do well is to separate police and legal work. Cops carry through the initial investigation and maybe make the arrest—on that program, they always make an arrest. They turn over all they’ve found to the prosecuting attorney, who takes over. Somebody in his office will determine what the charge will be—or if there will even be a charge. That office decides it all: whether there’ll be plea bargaining, how much bail to request, and the rest.”
“What you’re saying” —Koesler was paying close attention—“is that police work is still going on. No arrest has been made. So—what did you say his name is?—Kleimer is here a bit prematurely.” He looked puzzled. “So, I give up. Why is he here now?”
“He wants this