Deliver Us From Evil (21 page)

“Yes, sir. I would.”

“That being said, in your experience, Detective Farrell, have you ever known of an inmate released from prison, because of faulty DNA?”

“Yes. I have.”

“Have you ever known a prosecutor to
lie,
to perjure himself regarding DNA findings?”

Berkoff was on his feet. “YOUR HONOR!”

Ramsey smirked. “I withdraw the question, Your Honor.”

Judge Baylor’s eyes narrowed. He was not amused. “Will the jury please disregard Counselor’s last question.”

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Ramsey said.

“Mr. Berkoff? Redirect?”

“No questions, Your Honor.”

“You may step down, Detective Farrell. Next witness, Mr. Ramsey?”

“Thank you, Your Honor. We would like to call Father Reiniger to the stand.”

Father Reiniger left his place at the defense counsel’s table and crossed to the court clerk. “Will you please raise your right hand, Father?” she said. “Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?”

“I do.”

“You may be seated.”

Father Reiniger took his place on the witness stand. Ramsey rose, and slowly approached the bench. “Father Reiniger, for the record, will you please state your full name?”

“Frederick Helmut Reiniger.”

“And where were you born?”

“I was born in Munich, Germany, in November, 1954.”

“1954. Mathematics was never one of my strong subjects. That would make you, forty-five-years old?”

“That is correct.”

“Your family emigrated to the United States in 1970?”

“Yes, sir. That is correct.”

“You left St. John’s Seminary in Camarillo in April of 1987?”

“Yes, sir. That is true.”

“And you are presently assigned to St. Michael’s parish, in Alta Vista?”

“Yes, that is correct,” Reiniger said, nodding.

“Uh-huh.” Ramsey paused slightly. “I’d like to talk about the trip you made to Santa Barbara. That would be in July of 1989. Do you recall that trip you made, Father Reiniger?”

“Yes. Of course. After the conversation I had with Robert Stiles, the trip has become very clear in my mind now. You will have to admit, ten years is a long time.” He smiled thinly. “And at my age, the mind gets a little hazy.”

“Who accompanied you on this trip to Santa Barbara, Father Reiniger?”

“Well, there was Robert Stiles, of course, and two other boys, their names I don’t recall, just off-hand.”

“Do you agree with Mr. Stiles’ testimony that the four of you spent the night in a motel?”

“Yes. It had become quite late and we decided to stay over.”

“Was that
your
suggestion, Father? Or was it one of the boy’s?”

“No. It was
my
idea.”

“Do you admit that you shared a bed with Robert Stiles?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Do you admit giving Mr. Stiles a massage with an electric vibrator?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Father Reiniger, do you admit sexually molesting Robert Stiles that night?”

“Yes. I do. But, as Mr. Stiles has testified earlier, when we met at St. Michael’s two weeks ago, I told him I was sorry. I told him I was very sorry for any pain or harm that I had caused him. I also want to apologize to Mark Novak.”

“Then, you
also
admit to sexually abusing Mark Novak?”

“Yes. I do. And for that, I am sorry.”

Ramsey approached the witness stand and leaned in very close to Father Reiniger. “You also heard testimony from Detective Farrell, which stated conclusively that sperm samples of your blood-type were found on Danny Novak’s body.
Did
you sexually abuse the boy that night, Father Reiniger?”

Reiniger’s voice was low, hardly audible. “Yes, I did.”

“So you readily admit in this courtroom today, that you indeed sexually molested the Novak boy?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Did you in fact,
kill
Danny Novak that night, Father Reiniger?”

“No. I did not.”

“You are asking this jury to believe that you had nothing to do with the Novak boy’s murder?”

“Yes, sir. That is true.”

At that moment, Willie Groda suddenly leaped up from his seat in the gallery. He rushed toward the wooden guard-railing, his arms flailing wildly in the air. His face was hot with rage. When he spoke, his voice was loud, intense.
“Goddamn you,
Father Reiniger! Why don’t you tell the truth! Why don’t you tell the
truth!
You son of a bitch! You
murdered
that boy, and you know it!”

Astounded by this sudden outburst, Judge Baylor hit his bench gavel repeatedly, with a loud clatter. “Order! Order!
Order
in this courtroom! Mr. Groda, you are completely out of order! I will not tolerate any such disturbance in my courtroom! Mr Groda, will you please?”

Groda cut him off, ugly. “Judge Baylor, this whole trial is a goddamned farce! It’s a joke!”

“Mr. Groda! Will you please, SIT DOWN!”

Groda was unrelenting. “Everybody in this town
knows
Father Reiniger killed that boy! Why doesn’t the bastard own up to it? Why doesn’t he tell the truth! Why doesn’t the son of a bitch, tell the
truth?!”

The Judge was angry now. Livid. “Bailiff! I want that man removed! I want that man removed from my courtroom! I want you to get him out of here! NOW!”

Everyone watched in stunned silence, as the bailiff and Officer Delgado quickly moved toward Willie Groda. As they reached to grab him, Groda angrily brushed them aside. His voice was hot, dripping with contempt. “Keep your fuckin’ hands off of me! I’ll walk outta here on my
own
steam! I don’t need any help from you, assholes!”

The air was electric. Groda hesitated and shot the Judge a long, sneering glance.
“Screw you,
Judge Baylor!” he said, almost a whisper. Then, Groda turned and walked slowly out of the courtroom. The two men followed closely behind. Immediately after Groda’s exit, a wave of shocked pandemonium swept over the courtroom. Still angry over this unruly and unforeseen incident, Judge Baylor began to repeatedly bang his gavel. His eyes flashed. “Order! Order! I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my courtroom! If it persists, I warn you, I shall clear the courtroom!”

The noise slowly subsided; Baylor gazed out over the gallery. His face reflected a look of distain, disgust. “We will take a thirty-minute recess. Court is adjourned!”

--17--

Thirty minutes later, Judge Baylor was still angry. Complete control of his courtroom, was Baylor’s Number One priority, and he’d lost it. And, ironically enough, he’d lost it to Willie Groda of all people; a backwoods, mountain hillbilly whom Baylor secretly despised. The Judge was trying valiantly to regain his composure. He glanced at Richard Ramsey. “You may continue, Counselor.”

“I have just a few more questions, Your Honor.” He glanced at Reiniger. “Father Reiniger, my information is that you were arraigned on Friday, September 10
^th
, 1999, and released on bail set at $300,000. Bail, incidentally provided by the archdiocese. Is that a fair and accurate statement, Father?”

“Yes, sir. That is true.”

Ramsey was eyeing him momentarily. “And on Tuesday, September 14
^th
, four days later, you drove to a remote section of Valencia Park in Alta Vista, where you parked your car, and as I understand it, fastened one end of a long piece of rubber hose to the exhaust pipe. The other end was found inside the car. You were found slumped over the steering wheel, the motor was on; you were minutes away from death. The bottom line here, Father, you tried to kill yourself by asphyxiation. All of this is true, Father Reiniger?”

Reiniger’s voice was low. “Yes. It is.”

“Fortunately, a couple of landscape gardeners spotted you inside the car and saved your life.” He paused. “I am not a Catholic, but it has always been my understanding that suicide has never been accepted by the church. True, Father Reiniger?”

“Yes. That is true. Prior to my driving out to the park that day, I had been doing a lot of thinking. I knew that whatever happened, I’d be facing jail time.” His tone was low, ominous. “I
also
happen to know how juvenile sex offenders, fare behind bars.”

“Uh-huh. I see.”

“But, more important than that, I felt my life was falling apart. My life was a shambles. If there is any such thing as reaching rock-bottom, I was there. I had reached a point, when I felt I just couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted out. This, seemed like the only solution.”

“Thank you, Father. That is all the questions I have at this time, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Berkoff? Do you wish to cross-examine?”

“Yes. I do. Your Honor.”

Ramsey returned to his seat at the counsel table. The prosecutor rose and with folded arms, moved slowly toward the witness stand. Eyeing Father Reiniger closely, he threw him a cold, speculative look. “Father Reiniger, I want to talk about Sunday, September 5
^th
, 1999. I want a step-by-step account of exactly what happened that day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to know precisely the events which led up to the death of Danny Novak.”

“Jack Kramer and Mr. Groda have testified what went on that day. I would think you would be satisfied with that information.”

“Yes, I know. I
know
all that,” Berkoff said, “but I’m interested in
your
version. I want you to tell the court, to the best of your recollection, the exact chain of events which led up to Danny’s disappearance.”

“Starting with?”

“Starting with the fact, or so I’ve been told, that you and Jack Kramer got into a heated argument on the veranda of the main house. True, Father Reiniger?”

“Yes. That is correct.”

Berkoff’s voice turned cold. “Tell me, Father, is it
customary
for you to be drinking hard liquor at these summer camps?”

“Uh, no, not as a rule.”

“Were you or were you not, drinking hard liquor on this particular Sunday?”

“Yes. I was.”

“In what capacity?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, was it a pint, a fifth, a quart, or
what?”
he asked, testily.

“I had bought a pint of bourbon at a convenience store, on the way up to the lake.”

“Was Jack Kramer drinking as well?”

“Yes. He was.”

“So, you do admit that you and Mr. Kramer got into an argument?”

“Yes, sir. We did.”

“What was this argument about?”