Bishop as Pawn Page 0,54
few others who had treated them badly. Given a little more time, they would straighten things out.
Tully shook his head. “This is Quirt’s collar. It looks pretty good. Carleson had motive and opportunity. The blood in his car is hard to explain away.”
Koznicki nodded slowly. “I think with what we can bring the prosecutor’s office, they will issue a warrant.” He seemed saddened.
The sadness was not shared by a supremely self-satisfied Quirt. “And I broke the case in one day. Twenty-four hours. That’s gonna make a lot of people happy, up to and including the boss—Mayor Cobb.”
Koznicki turned to Tully. “You uncovered no suspects?”
“Suspects? Sure. There’s the guy who had it out with Diego yesterday afternoon. A Michael Shell who claims his already shaky marriage was further damaged by Diego. There’s his wife, Maria Shell, who could’ve reacted to Diego’s manipulating her. And we’ve got a feeling that something’s going down on the streets.”
“What!” Quirt was incredulous. “Listen, we’ve got the guy: It’s Carleson. It’d be silly to wait another ten to twenty years while we interview every punk on the street. Come on!”
“Anyway” Tully said evenly, “we’re gonna check out these leads and see where they go.”
“You can’t!” Quirt was angry. “We’re goin’ to court tomorrow morning. What’ll it look like if we bring in a suspect for arraignment and you’re still working the case?”
Tully regarded Quirt. “What’ll it look like if Carleson is acquitted and we’ve got no other leads? Look at it this way, Quirt: At worst we’re covering your ass. You ought to be grateful.”
Quirt’s sputtering response was unintelligible.
Koznicki gave every evidence that he was pleased at Tully’s decision to continue his investigation. “One final decision before we go home, gentlemen: Where is Father Carleson now, and what do we do with him Overnight?”
“He’s in a holding cell.” There was belligerence in Quirt’s tone. “And that’s where he should stay.”
“You put a priest in a holding cell!” Koznicki was not happy.
“He’s a murder suspect,” Quirt said defensively. Much would now depend on whether Tully would support his decision.
“Your opinion, Alonzo?” Koznicki asked.
“I’d have to agree with Quirt. I know how you feel about priests, Walt But we’ve got to consider that not only do we not know much about him, nobody around here—not even the other priests—knows much about him. Like Quirt said, he’s the prime suspect. And you know what would happen if we released him from custody and, say, he killed somebody else tonight.…”
Koznicki bowed his head in agreement. “I believe you are correct, Alonzo. Should that happen, I would be looking for another job tomorrow.”
With that prospect, Quirt felt a passing urge to recommend the release-to-appear of Carleson, just on the off chance the priest would kill again and Koznicki would be somewhat prematurely out of the way. Quirt kept this urge to himself.
“Very well,” Koznicki said. “Father Carleson stays in holding.”
The meeting was over. Now Tully would have to inform the waiting Father Koesler that his buddy would be kept at least overnight. One of those messages that was never easy to deliver.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
It had been long and tiring—but at last this demanding day was at an end. That was the good news. The bad news was that tomorrow would be just as taxing.
Ned Ferris, chief of operations for the Wayne County Prosecuting Attorney’s office, leaned back in his chair as far as he could and stretched tired muscles.
Wayne County comprised many Michigan cities, chief among them, by anyone’s measure, Detroit. Detroit with its long, interesting history. Detroit, the onetime “Arsenal of Democracy.” Where they built—or used to build—cars. Detroit with its pockets of wealth and its acres of poverty. With that glorious river linking the Great Lakes. With consistently looming violence and murder, this prosecuting attorney’s office was among the busiest in the country. With the responsibility for, among other things, determining what charges to bring against suspects, and selecting attorneys to try cases, the position of chief of operations would not soon be out of business.
One element of current crime that most troubled Ned Ferris was child murder—children being murdered, children being murderers. This very day was a case in point.
A fifth-grader walking to school was gunned down when a driveby shooter missed a house in which his enemy lived. Talk about not being able to hit the broad side of a barn!
That was this morning. This afternoon, an eighth-grader had demanded an expensive jacket from a classmate. The jacketed youngster ran and was shot four times, twice to the head,