Bishop as Pawn by William X. Kienzle

commitment.”
    “You didn’t want to do it,” Quirt said. “You didn’t think there was any point to it. But you did it anyway? Sounds kinda heroic!” The tone was laced with sarcasm.
    “Look, Lieutenant, I’m no hero, or martyr, or saint. The way this arrangement began, it was supposed to be a short introduction to this urban ministry, sort of a brief probationary period.”
    “What happened? You keep signing up?”
    Carleson snorted. “The deck was stacked. Diego loved the arrangement. Out of nowhere he got a slave. Each time I was due for an independent assignment, Diego would pull rank with the head of the Curia—the one who proposed assignments.”
    “Couldn’t you go over this … this guy’s head?”
    “I’m not a crybaby … at least I try not to be.”
    “Back to yesterday,” Quirt ordered.
    “Yes, well, there was no getting out of it. So we left here about 2:00. The party started at 1:00, but Diego always likes to make an ‘entrance.’ The party was at Harry Carson’s home. He’s an executive with Co-merica Bank. There must have been about fifty people there … at least while we were there.”
    “You attended the party?”
    Carleson smiled briefly. “I am a priest. I would never have been left alone to wait in the car. Actually, I would have preferred that; I just hang around on the fringes on these occasions. Anyhow, Diego had promised me we would leave by 5:00 so I could join the others here and go with them to the Cathedral.
    “But as the afternoon wore on, he showed no inclination to leave. That is, until this guy showed up at the party. It was about four o’clock, maybe a little later. He acted surprised to see Diego there. But the minute he spotted him, he headed for him like a guided missile. They had a few hot words before Carson steered them into another room.
    “After a while, Diego came out looking somewhat the worse for wear. He was obviously embarrassed. He came right over to me and said we were leaving right then and there. He didn’t even say good-bye to anybody. That was about 4:30. We got back here about 5:00. I went upstairs immediately to freshen up for the party. I don’t know where Diego went … I suppose to his office.”
    Tully was alert for almost the first time during this interrogation. “Who was the guy who created the scene with Diego?”
    “I don’t know. I never saw him before. But that doesn’t mean much: Lots of people at these affairs Diego dragged me to I would meet for the first, and often the last, time.”
    “Then,” Quirt said, “you were the last one to see Bishop Diego alive.”
    “Not quite, Lieutenant. I was at least second last. Whoever killed him would have been last.”
    “Now, see here, Lieutenant, this is becoming patently unfair!” McCauley said forcefully.
    Quirt was about to reply in kind, when experience and instinct told him to swallow it and see what happened next. So, rather than trump McCauley’s ace, Quirt put on an attentive and agreeable face, encouraging McCauley to complete his thought.
    “You seem determined to twist everything we tell you into some sort of statement of guilt. I’m speaking mostly on behalf of Father Carleson here. Aren’t you supposed to read us our rights or something?”
    “I’m not arresting anyone. Or even charging anyone with anything.” Quirt was downright benevolent.
    “We’ve tried to tell you,” McCauley forged on, “in the most tactful manner at our command that the late Bishop Diego was … a difficult man. And I say this cognizant of the maxim nil nisi bonum.” He slipped into the Latin aphorism.
    “What?” Quirt meant to halt any incursion of a foreign tongue, and especially Spanish.
    “Nil nisi bonum,” McCauley repeated, and then clarified, “Nil nisi bonum de mortuis … nothing but good of the dead. Say nothing about the dead except good things.”
    The explanation seemed to satisfy Quirt, so McCauley continued. “In spite of the nil nisi bonum disclaimer, we