Free Bishop as Pawn by William X. Kienzle

satisfied Quirt would be complacent and not at all motivated to cue Kleimer into promising cases.
    So it was simply a matter of advanced planning for Kleimer to suggest that the number two spot in Homicide might be in Quirt’s future. Quirt’s ambition was renewed.
    The important thing, as Kleimer saw it, was to keep the carrot just beyond Quirt’s grasp. A hungry Quirt resulted in prime tips for Kleimer.
    If everything worked as planned, there would come a time when Kleimer would need no help from any police officer. He would be far above that. Once he had advanced beyond the prosecutor’s office, he would drop Quirt like a child’s outgrown toy. Nor would Kleimer care that he was responsible for having someone promoted way above that individual’s competence.
    Neither Kleimer nor Quirt cared for anything or anyone but themselves.

CHAPTER
    FIVE
    Father Don Carleson briefly considered visiting Father Koesler. Further thought convinced him that would not help.
    Carleson was deeply disturbed, nervous, anxious, and felt great stress. Any conversation with Koesler would necessarily concern Diego’s death. Definitely counterproductive.
    No, he would do what he’d told the police he was going to do: visit the sick at Receiving Hospital.
    He parked in the underground garage and took the elevator to ground level but headed for Emergency rather than the general reception area.
    Receiving’s Emergency Department was an exemplar of such facilities. In addition to the usual everyday outpatients, there were the medically uninsured who wandered in instead of consulting a private physician they couldn’t afford. Ambulances disgorged the injured of the inner city. The ER staff never knew from one day to the next what fate was about to hurl at them.
    In short, the perfect place to distract one from personal preoccupations.
    As Carleson entered the waiting and intake area, he heard a fast approaching commotion behind him. He hugged the wall as three occupied gurneys raced past, propelled by EMS personnel. From their faces, Carleson knew this was no ordinary emergency.
    The EMS teams peeled off into various trauma rooms. Organized turmoil became routine in each compartment.
    Carleson, careful to stay out of the way, listened just outside the doorway of the first room. With the arrival of the gurneys, an overpowering stench had pervaded the entire area. Carleson could not identify the odor. But if the entry doors had not been left open, everyone in the area could well have passed out.
    Work in this first unit was cursory. It was obvious this victim was dead on arrival. The staff knew they were just going through the motions. But they went through the motions anyway.
    One of the EMS drivers was standing next to Carleson. “Ain’t this somethin’, Father?”
    Carleson’s nose wrinkled. “What on earth is that?”
    “Oh …” Seemingly for the first time, the driver realized his clothing was tainted. “This stuff? It’s sewer slime.” He grimaced. “I’m gonna take a shower.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how in hell—oh, ‘scuse me, Father—I don’t know how we’re gonna get it out of our trucks.”
    “Those people were in a sewer?”
    He nodded. “They were supposed to clean it. The first guy barely got down the ladder before the fumes got to him and he keeled over. That sh—uh, stuff was about a foot-and-a-half thick. The second guy went down to rescue him. He keeled over. That’s the guy in here” —he gestured—” who was DOA. Then the third guy went down. Gutsy. He was just barely able to get the first guy up and out before he da—darn near passed out.”
    He moved on to the next trauma unit. Carleson followed.
    Things seemed less chaotic here. “This—if I remember right—this is the third guy,” the driver said. “The only one who got out safely.” He addressed one of the nurses. “How’s he doing?”
    “Pretty good. He’ll make it. He’ll probably be ready to be released after they