Marked for Murder

by William Kienzle

  “Oh, you mean like the line-up they have in movies?”

  “Yes, a line-up. We call it the show-up. The case against Father Kramer will neither stand nor fall on the result of the show-up, but it will be very important nonetheless.”

  “And if the witnesses cannot identify Dick?”

  “That will be one bit of circumstantial evidence the prosecution will not have.”

  “And if they do?”

  “It will be a very important bit of circumstantial evidence favoring the prosecution. You see, Father, we have here neither a perpetrator caught in the act, nor an accused person who has pleaded guilty. All the evidence against Father Kramer is circumstantial. Which does not mean it is weak evidence; almost all evidence in such trials is circumstantial. The more such evidence mounts, the better it is for the prosecution. In this, you see, Father, quantity adds up into quality”

  “Then you feel it would be better if I delayed visiting Dick until after the, uh . . . show-up.”

  “We will know so much more then, Father. By that time, he may need your presence more. I sincerely hope not. But it is possible.”

  “Then tomorrow afternoon it is.”

  “Good. I shall arrange special visiting privileges for you tomorrow. Say, two o’clock?”

  “Two o’clock it is then.”

  28

  “The second day in a row we have a promise of temperature in the forties,” Inspector Koznicki said. “If this continues all the snow will be gone.”

  “Yeah,” Tully responded, “forty degrees. That’s Detroit’s plan for snow removal.”

  Koznicki sensed the pressure Tully was under. The two sipped coffee as they stood looking out a window in Tully’s squad room. There was nothing of great interest to see from that vantage. A brick wall and, if one craned far enough, a tiny slice of what Detroiters liked to call Bricktown.

  But they weren’t standing there to enjoy a breathtaking vista. Tully was marking time until the show-up. Koznicki was keeping him company.

  Without success, the inspector was trying to recall a time during their association when Tully had been this nervous. Nor was this anxiety easily explainable. This morning’s procedure, following yesterday’s arraignment, was one both officers had gone through at very frequent intervals over the years. To Tully, it should have been almost second nature. Yet for the past hour, he had restlessly checked the details over and over. “What time you got, Walt?”

  “Eight . . . 8:40.”

  “It’s getting late.”

  “You have twenty minutes until the show-up. Plenty of time. Who’s picking up the witnesses?”

  “Mangiapane.”

  “Good. And the subjects in the show-up?”

  “Salvia.”

  “Both reliable officers. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not—” The phone on Tully’s desk rang. He grabbed it. “He’s here already? Okay, stay with him. Get him some coffee.” He hung up and turned to Koznicki. “Johnson’s here . . . Kramer’s lawyer.”

  “Good.”

  “He’s early.”

  “He will be able to talk to his client before the show-up. Just about perfect.”

  “What if Mangiapane gets here late? Johnson could leave. Then we’d have to reschedule the goddam show-up—”

  “Alonzo, please. Johnson is one of the best, a true professional. He will want to get this over once and for all as badly as anyone else. But then you too are a professional. One of the best. It is unlike you to be so worked up.”

  Hearing it helped. Tully’s taut muscles seemed to relax. “You’re right, Walt. I don’t really know what it is. I don’t know why I want Kramer so bad. But I do. If this show-up works, it’ll be another nail in his coffin. God, I’m even beginning to care what happens to him in court. One thing for damn sure: He’s not gonna walk because of some screwup over here.”

  “Do you have anything more?”

  “The knife. Way down deep next to the handle the techs found a smidgen of blood. The rest of the thing was completely clean.”

  “The blood type?”

  “O positive.”

  Koznicki shrugged. “The most common type.”

  “It’s Kramer’s type.”

  “Oh?”

  “And Nancy Freel’s.”

  Although for all purposes Koznicki was trying to be supportive, had anyone probed he would have had to admit he was disquieted by Tully’s single-minded pursuit of Kramer.

  Koznicki was well aware that a policeman must have a restrictive attitude toward crime and criminals. An officer could not afford to be judgmental. The policeman’s lot was to make an arrest for good cause and to present a solid case supported by firm evidence to the prosecutor. While mindful of this, still Koznicki found himself at odds with Tully over this case.

  Quite beyond his conscious control, Koznicki found himself judging Father Kramer and finding him innocent. And the inspector was just as certain that Tully had judged the priest and found him guilty. “So,” Koznicki said, “both Father Kramer and the woman have the same blood type. That could mean the blood found on the knife was, indeed, Father Kramer’s.”

  “Maybe. But Kramer has no cut marks on his body. And for the blood to have clotted where it did, there should have been a rather serious cut . . . like, maybe, an incision all the way down a woman’s torso.”

  Koznicki could not deny that the circumstantial evidence was piling up. “One more nail?”

  “You got it.”

  “And the iron—the branding iron?”

  Tully shook his head. “Not yet. They’re still taking the car apart.”

  “They have not completed that operation yet?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, they’ll never get done as long as there’s one piece of metal attached to another. On top of that, one of the guys is getting a search warrant for the home—what do you call it?—the rectory . . . and the church too.”

  “That is the smoking gun, you know.”

  “Uh-huh. And it may be a little tough to convince a judge or a jury of what you and I both know: that it is not unusual for killers—even serial killers—to change their M.O.

  “That branding had to be a cumbersome thing to pull off. He’d have to get the thing red-hot over a hot plate or, failing that, with a lighter. And after he got done, he’d have to cool the thing before he could pack it away. After two tries, he could have figured it just wasn’t worth it. If he gutted the victim, maybe carved something on her body, we’d still know it was the same guy. It’s happened before . . . I mean a killer changing his M.O.”

  “That is true.”

  “But I sure as hell would like to find that thing.” Tully’s knuckle tapped the desk.

  “The smoking gun.”

  “Yeah.”

  The phone jingled. Tully had the receiver in his hand before the first ring was completed.

  After a few words exchanged, Tully hung up and turned to Koznicki with a sense of finality. “Mangiapane’s up on nine. He’s got the witnesses. Time to get started.”

  As he turned to leave, Koznicki patted him on the back. He could not force himself to wish good luck.

  At the door of the squadroom, Tully turned back, winked, and said, “One more nail.”

  29

  When Tully reached the ninth floor of headquarters, he first looked in on Adelle and Ruby, made sure they were as comfortable as possible, and introduced them to Johnson, who was, as usual, impeccably dressed.

  Next, Tully went backstage, as it were, to where Sergeant Dominic Salvia had assembled the required seven people who would participate in the show-up. As was the practice, Tully brought Johnson along. It was the attorney’s prerogative to suggest any minor changes he might want in the subjects presented or their positions in the show-up. Afterward, the attorney was to sign the show-up form acknowledging that everything had been conducted fairly.

  Johnson knew Salvia, so no introductions were necessary.

  “Who you got
?” Tully asked.

  Salvia enumerated the seven. Four were police officers, two were maintenance employees; the seventh, of course, was Father Kramer. Each man wore a black overcoat and black hat. Four were blond. The other three had gray hair that, under the hat, more or less appeared blond. All were roughly the same size, but were facially quite different, with the exception of one policeman named Harmon, whose features closely resembled Kramer’s.

  “How do you want them placed?” Salvia asked.

  “Oh,” Tully said, “how about we make Kramer fourth and Harmon fifth. Put the others anywhere you like.” Tully glanced inquiringly at Johnson, who nodded agreement.

  “Okay,” Tully said to Salvia, “I’ll get the witnesses ready and we’ll go.”

  “Hilly and Johnson returned to the lounge, where Tully explained the procedure to the two women. “You both know Mr. Johnson. He’s gonna be in the show-up room with us. He’s not gonna say anything. He’s just here to observe.

  “We’re gonna take you in the room one at a time. There’s gonna be seven men standing on an elevated platform. There’ll be one-way glass between you and the men, and there’ll be bright lights shining on them. So all they’ll be able to see is their own reflection. There’s no way they can see you. But they can hear you if you speak loudly. So speak softly only to me or Officer Mangiapane. We’ll want Mr. Johnson to hear what you say, too.

  “The seven men are all wearing black coats and hats like the guy you both saw a week ago Sunday. That guy didn’t say anything. So none of these guys will speak.

  “Now, I gotta tell you this because it’s very important: Just because we got seven guys in there for you to look at don’t necessarily mean that one of them is the guy you saw. Maybe he’s there and maybe he isn’t. You just go in there with an open mind. If you see the guy, you tell us. And one more thing: Take your time. There ain’t no hurry. Okay?”

  The two women nodded. Evidently, they were impressed, and not a little apprehensive.

  “Okay,” Tully said. “You first, Adelle.”

  Adelle, Johnson, Mangiapane, and Tully filed into the show-up room, leaving Ruby alone behind.

  It was a rather impressive sight, particularly for someone—such as Adelle—new to it. Seven men looking straight ahead, seeing nothing but a pane of glass only a few feet in front of them. The bright lights focused on them made it impossible for them to see beyond the glass. With the black coats and hats, they looked so very much alike it was almost comical. Almost—except that one of them might be an exceptionally vicious murderer.

  Adelle seemed overwhelmed by it all.

  “Take your time,” Tully cautioned.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Take your time.”

  “I just don’t know.”

  “They look too much alike,” Mangiapane complained.

  “That’s the idea,” Tully responded.

  “They look so much alike,” Adelle said.

  “That’s what I said,” said Mangiapane.

  “Easy,” Tully cautioned.

  From behind the glass, Salvia had the men turn full-circle, pausing at each quarter-turn.

  “That ain’t no help, Zoo,” Adelle said. “The guy I seen talkin’ to Nancy was sittin’ in the front seat of a car. And he turned to face her. So what I seen of him I seen head on.”

  “Leave ’em facin’ front, Salvia,” Tully called out.

  “Okay, Zoo.”

  Adelle studied the men for a few moments. Then she said, “Can I get up real close to them, Zoo?”

  “Close as you want, Adelle. They can’t see you.”

  Adelle walked up to the glass so close she was almost touching it. Then she walked slowly along the line, pausing before each man, some for a longer period of time than others. Finally, she backed away from the glass and stood by Tully. From that distance, she studied each of the seven men one more time.

  Finally, she shook her head and shrugged. “I don’t know, Zoo. I didn’t get that good a look at the guy. But from what I remember of him, I’d say there are three guys in that line-up who could be him.”

  “Which three, Adelle?” Tully moved aside to make sure that Johnson could hear her reply.

  “Well, there’s number one, and number four, and number five.”

  “Okay, Adelle. Can you get it down any closer than that?”

  Adelle looked over the three she had selected once again and shrugged. “One, four, and five. That’s the best I can do, Zoo. I didn’t get all that good a look at the guy. Maybe Ruby can do better.”

  “Okay, Adelle. Thanks.”

  Mangiapane escorted Adelle back to the lounge and returned with Ruby.

  Ruby waited until she adjusted to the room and its peculiar lighting. Then she approached the men and studied them, one after another. Unlike Adelle, Ruby had been through this routine before—from both sides of the glass. She knew what to expect.

  She asked Tully to have the men turn. He gave the order to Salvia, who transmitted it. Once again, the men turned in a complete circle, pausing at each quarter-turn. Ruby watched the process closely.

  “Zoo,” she said, “when I saw the guy, he was walkin’ up the stairs and he stopped for just a second when he saw me. So I saw him from the side and he had his head turned. So he was lookin’ sort of over his right shoulder. Could I see ’em like that?”

  “Sure, Ruby.” Tully spoke to Salvia, who had the men make a quarter-turn to the left and, from that position, face the glass. “That about it, Ruby?”

  “Yeah, that’s it, Zoo.” She returned to the glass and once more studied each man carefully. After the seventh man, she came back to number four and spent several moments before him, then moved on to number five. Several times she alternated between numbers four and five.

  Tully, Mangiapane, and Johnson barely breathed.

  “That’s it, Zoo. That’s the guy.”

  “Which one, Ruby?”

  “Number four.”

  “Are you certain sure?”

  “Oh, yeah, Zoo. That’s the guy. Ain’t no doubt about it. For a while, I couldn’t make up my mind between four and five. You did a good job on them, Zoo. They’s almost twins. But it’s number four.”

  “Okay, Ruby,” Tully said, “we got just a little bit of paperwork to do and you’ll be all done.”

  “Did I get the right one, Zoo?”

  “Yup.”

  “Praise the Lord.”

  As they left the show-up room, Johnson turned to Ruby. “If you don’t mind my asking, how were you able to make up your mind between four and five?”

  “The eyes.”

  “The eyes!” Johnson seemed surprised. “Vicious?”

  Ruby shook her head. “Gentle.”

  Mangiapane snorted. He could hardly wait to tell Police Officer Harmon he was lucky he didn’t have nice eyes. Otherwise he would have been fingered for murder.

  30

  At exactly 2:00 P.M., Father Koesler arrived at the Wayne County Jail, which was located across the street from Detroit Police Headquarters. He embarked on the red-tape procedures required for a visit with Father Richard Kramer. Due to the intervention of Inspector Koznicki, the two priests would be able to visit in the relative comfort of a private room rather than in the stark partitioned visitors’ room.

  A deputy sheriff ushered Koesler into the room. As the officer left to get Father Kramer, there was a sharp snap as the door locked automatically.

  This was not Koesler s first visit to the county jail, as well as some of the state’s other places of incarceration. Common to each and every one was this suffocating sense of locked doors. No door was ever unlocked before the prior door was locked.

  Never having been jailed himself, Koesler had to project what the experience must be like. Particularly with his slight tendency toward claustrophobia, he was sure the worst part of this bad situation would be the locked doors. So, as they traveled through the building, the unending series of doors clicking locked was particularly unn
erving to him.

  A key turned in the door and Father Dick Kramer entered.

  Koesler had assumed Kramer would be dressed as he had been yesterday at his arraignment. So it came as a surprise to see him wearing a prison uniform—though not a completely unpleasant surprise. For some reason, Kramer looked a bit more at ease in prison grays than he had in that rumpled, slept-in black suit. Yesterday, he had resembled a homeless bum fresh, and literally, off skid row. Now he looked as if he had been interrupted from work in his machine shop.

  They greeted each other rather awkwardly.

  “I brought you a carton of cigarettes,” Koesler said, “but the guard took them.”

  “I guess I’m not allowed to have the full carton.” Kramer smiled briefly. “I wouldn’t have anywhere to put it anyway. I guess they allow you a pack at a time—as long as the supply lasts. I’m not too conversant with all the rules and regulations.”

  “I hope you never get to be.”

  “Amen.”

  Koesler sat down and, as he did so, so did the other priest.

  “Dick,” Koesler said, “I’ve been trying to put myself in your place. And, as near as I can come to how you must feel, I suppose you’re wondering whether anything is going on out there. I just wanted to assure you that a lot of people, myself included, are doing all we can to help”

  Kramer nodded. “You’re right about one thing. I’ve been wondering if there is a real world out there. Mine seems to have toppled over. I . . . I don’t know what’s happened. It’s like a long nightmare I can’t wake up from.”

  In all the years Koesler had known Kramer, he’d never known him to be so open about his innermost feelings. Undoubtedly, this was an indication of how deeply and radically Kramer had been affected by this tragedy. It also seemed an added indication that Kramer had somehow become the innocent victim of a classic case of mistaken identity.

  “I talked to Therese,” Kramer said.

  “You did?” Koesler was not surprised.

  “I called her. I’m not allowed to receive any calls.”

  “I’m glad you talked to her.”

  “So am I.” Kramer plucked a cigarette from his shirt pocket. Before striking the kitchen match the guard had provided, Kramer looked inquiringly at Koesler. “Mind?”