Read Online Bishop as Pawn by William X. Kienzle - Free Book Online

generously.
    “Anyway, I thought you would find that unusual or out of the ordinary,” he concluded.
    Mangiapane was furious. “We didn’t know about it! We didn’t know anything about it. Where does he keep it?”
    McCauley, rocked by the vehemence of Mangiapane’s reaction, spoke almost apologetically. “Why, right here in the cabinet.”
    It was an ordinary metal cabinet, about five feet high and two feet wide. Its double doors swung open to reveal four shelves. McCauley reached toward a container about the size of a cigar box.
    “Don’t touch it!” Quirt shouted.
    McCauley nearly leaped back from the box. His nervous system could not stand shocks like these.
    After a moment, as everyone stood transfixed by the nondescript box, Mangiapane picked up a small stack of file folders from the desk, slid the stack under the box, and lifted it to the desk. Then, taking a letter opener, he flipped the catch lock and, with the opener, raised the lid.
    The box was empty.
    “How much did he keep in there?” Quirt asked, after a moment of silence.
    “Oh, $4,000, maybe $5,000,” McCauley said.
    “Could he—would he—have given it all away?” Tully asked.
    McCauley shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. I’ve never known him to let the supply dwindle down to nothing.”
    “Mangiapane,” Quirt said, “get the techs back here. I want the box dusted.”
    Mangiapane was dialing before Quirt finished the order.
    Tully’s mouth curled in a slight smile. “Well, well, possibly a robbery/murder.”
    “Or,” Kleimer said, “somebody wants it to look like a robbery,’ murder.”
    Tully looked quizzical. Quirt seemed puzzled, but recovered quickly. “What do you want to take, Zoo?”
    “I’ll take the quarrel at the party yesterday, and hit the streets.”
    “Check,” Quirt said.
    Tully and Mangiapane left without further comment.
    Kleimer’s eyes went from McCauley to Quirt, who got the hint. “You can leave now, Father.”
    That was all the word McCauley needed. He was gone.
    Quirt turned to Kleimer. “What’d you mean about somebody wanting this to look like a robbery/murder?”
    “Sit down for a minute,” Kleimer invited.
    The two sat facing each other, knees almost touching.
    “Picture this as a news story, George.” Kleimer’s gestures conjured up headlines. “‘Bishop Killed by Crackhead,’ or, ‘Bishop Killed by Wealthy Socialite’—or ‘Bishop Killed by Priest.’” He looked at Quirt fixedly. “You get it?”
    Quirt thought a minute. “That pretty well covers the possibles we got now.”
    “Yes, but more …” Kleimer edged his chair closer. “‘Bishop Killed by Crackhead’: How does the public react to that?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “It’s old hat. The big, important thing is the word ‘Bishop.’ But that he was offed by some nobody, some street kid with a head screwed up with crack or whatever—that’s run of the mill. Killings like that are in the news all the time. Everybody knows these punks will do anything for a fix. So he kills a bishop … too bad. But that’s life in the big city.
    “Now” —Kleimer’s tone grew emphatic—” take, ‘Bishop Killed by Wealthy Socialite.’ Better. Why would one of the movers want to take out a bishop? Would he do it himself? Or would he hire somebody? People would want to know. There’s a juicy story for you.”
    Quirt’s face was expressionless, but he was listening intently.
    “But …” A gleam appeared in Kleimer’s eyes. “… ‘Bishop Killed by Priest.’ Now we really got something! This is right out of the Middle Ages, Thomas a Becket and all that.”
    “Who?”
    “Never mind. Just remember this: ‘Bishop Killed by Priest’ is going to be written up forever. And that’s just how long our names are going to be in the public eye. It’ll be the biggest bust you ever had or ever could have. And,” he added with some satisfaction, “the biggest conviction I ever had.”
    Before the lieutenant