Deliver Us From Evil (11 page)

“Thank you.”

“How old are you, Mark?”

“I’m seventeen.”

“You had just the one brother,
Danny?
No other brothers or sisters?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“From what I’ve been told, you and Danny were very close.”

“That’s right, we were.”

“You were always
looking out
for your brother. You wanted to protect him.”

“Yes, sir. That is true.”

Berkoff paused as his eyes scanned the jury, momentarily. “My understanding is that your father and mother are divorced?”

Mark nodded. “Yes, sir. They are.”

“And when did this happen, Mark? How long ago?”

“Their divorce was final, almost five years ago.”

“And you were twelve-years-old then. Coincidentally the same age as Danny was, when he died.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Berkoff paused again. “Now, Mark, I’d like you to describe for the court, just what type of person, Father Reiniger is. I’m interested in your own personal opinion.”

“I liked Father, from the very first day I ever met him. He was different from the priest we had before.”

“And what was
his
name?”

“Father Malone.”

“How was he
different
from Father Malone, Mark?”

“Father Malone was very strict, uptight. He was very demanding, impatient. He wasn’t very popular with the guys.”

“And Father Reiniger
was?”

“Yes.”

“How so, Mark? In what way?”

Mark shrugged. “Oh, Father Reiniger was down-to-earth, he was cool. He was very sports-minded. He loved basketball, baseball. When Mr. Kramer wasn’t available, Father would often coach the team. Father was just like one of the guys. Like I said, he was cool.”

“Uh-huh. And
who
is Mr. Kramer?”

“Jack Kramer was our
real
coach.”

“How old is Jack Kramer?”

“Oh, about twenty-five, twenty-six.”

“What was your impression of
him?”

Mark smiled. “Jack Kramer was nice, friendly. All the guys really liked him, too.”

“I see.” Berkoff hesitated. “Tell me, Mark, was Father Reiniger ever in your house? Was he ever invited into your home?”

“Oh, yeah, many times. Mom used to like to have him over for dinner on Sundays.”

“Uh-huh. So, I take it your mother was particularly
fond
of Father Reiniger? She liked him?”

“Yes. She did.”

Berkoff moved toward the wooden podium. “Now, Mark, I’d like to talk about Camp Sierra for a few minutes. You’ve
been
there, of course?”

“Yeah. Two or three times, at least. I used to go there for summer camp.”

And what precisely went
on
at these summer camps? About how many boys were involved?”

“Twenty-five, thirty. We’d have guys from Corona, Chino, El Cajon. Some as far away as San Diego.” He paused. “You asked what went on? Of course, we’d all go swimming in the lake. They had a motorboat there. We loved to go out on rides in the motorboat.”

“Who
would drive the motorboat?”

“Sometimes, Father, sometimes Jack Kramer, sometimes, Willie Groda.”

“Willie Groda? And
who
is Willie Groda?”

“Oh, he was the caretaker. He took care of the camp. He lives there all-year-round.”

“How
old
is this, Willie Groda?”

“He’s an older dude. I’m not very good at judging people’s ages, especially older people. I’d guess he was close to seventy, somewhere around there.”

“Did you like him?”

Mark grinned. “Yeah. He was a little weird, off-the-wall, a little eccentric, but old Willie was always good for a laugh.”

“Uh-huh. What else did you boys do, besides swim in the lake? Ride in the motorboat?”

“They also had a couple of small rowboats. A lot of the guys liked to go out fishing.”

“Uh-huh. What else?”

“Well, the lake was right up there in the mountains. A lot of us would take off and go on hikes.”

“What else?”

“Every night we’d have a big bonfire on the beach. Roast hot-dogs, marshmallows, listen to ghost stories. Jack Kramer really knew how to tell ghost stories. He’d scare us half to death!”

“I see.” The prosecutor paused, as once again, he approached the jury. “Now, Mark, I’d like to talk about the Labor Day weekend. As I understand it, this was the weekend that was chosen to, what shall I say? Close up the camp for the winter? Isn’t that right, Mark?”

“Yes. That’s right. Father had asked for a few volunteers. He and Mr. Kramer wanted a few of the guys to help, as you just said, to close up the camp for the winter months. My brother, Danny, was one of the volunteers. Danny was always eager to help out in any way he could.”

Berkoff turned back to Mark. “Danny was an altar boy?”

“Yes. He was.”

“As were the other two boys?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Were
you
invited to go on this weekend trip, Mark?”

“Yes, I was. But I couldn’t go. I’d taken a job, working in a downtown drugstore. Father Reiniger
wanted
me to go, but I told him, I couldn’t.”

“So, he specifically
asked
you to go with them, on the trip?”

“Yes. He did.”

Berkoff studied Mark for a brief moment, then moved in very close. “How
long
has Father Reiniger been with St. Michael’s parish, do you know?”

“About two years, as I recall.”

“Where was he,
before
St. Michael’s parish? Do you know that?”

“I understand he was a church pastor in Palos Verdes.”

“Exactly. And two years before that?”

“He was assigned to Queen of Angels church, in East L.A.”

Berkoff paused. “Three different church parishes in six years. Did you, your mother, or any of your friends ever question this?”

“No, sir. We didn’t.”

“You
will
agree, three parish assignments in just six years, is somewhat unusual. Wouldn’t you say so, Mark?”

He shrugged. “I guess, we really didn’t give it that much thought.”

There was a long pause. “Mark, you testified earlier, that Father Reiniger was often invited to your home for dinner. That your mother was particularly fond of him. Would you agree with that statement?”

“Yes, sir. I would.”

“But, as I understand it, you and your mother had a falling-out. There were many fights and violent arguments between you and your mother. Is
that
a fair and accurate statement, Mark?”

“Yes. It is.”

“And many of these violent arguments were
because
of your relationship with Father Reiniger. Isn’t
that
true?”

“Yes sir, it is.”

“Would you please tell the court exactly what this relationship with Father Reiniger was all about?”

Mark was hesitant. “Well, I don’t know if you would call it a
relationship
as such. It was more like a predicament, I think. At least, it was a predicament, for me.”

“All right. We’ll call it a predicament, then. Tell us about it, Mark.”

Mark continued; once again in a hesitant manner. “Well, I guess it all started one night, after we’d finished playing basketball. Father told us he’d drop each one of us off at our home. I noticed that
I
was always the last one to be dropped off.”

“So, he dropped the other boys off. He took you home. You were in the car. What happened, then?”

“All of a sudden, Father reached over and grabbed my crotch. He started to fondle me.”

“Specifically, what was he fondling?”

“My genitals. He was fondling my testicles.”

“What was your reaction to
that?”

“I was shocked! I told him, ‘I don’t think this is right. What you’re doing to me!’”

“And what did
he
say?”

“He said, ‘This is the way you are gonna become a man.’ Then he said, ‘You have to keep quiet about this. If you tell anyone, God will punish you!’”

“I see.” Berkoff paused. “Approximately, how many times did this happen to you, Mark?”

“At least half a dozen times. Then it got worse.”

“How did it get worse, Mark? Tell us about it.”

“Well, like Danny, I was also an altar boy. Father liked me to serve the 7:00 o’clock Mass, the early Mass. I guess, because I served it alone.”

“Yes. And?”

“Every morning after Mass was over, we’d go back to the sacristy.”

“What and
where
is the sacristy?”

“It is the room right behind the church altar.”

“And, what would happen
there,
Mark?” He paused again. “I realize this is difficult for you, but I think the court should know exactly what happened.”

“Father started out by grabbing me from behind. He would press his body up against mine. I could tell he had an erection. He would be kissing me on the neck. His hands would drop into my pants and once again, he would fondle me. This led to him removing my pants and performing oral sex. The sacristy, the holiest place in the church, became a place I hated. It was a room filled with the pungent odor of incense, and a room where I felt helpless and ashamed, as Father repeatedly molested me. I wanted to tell somebody, I wanted someone to help me, listen to me. But Father warned me, he threatened me, he scared me. He warned me not to tell anyone!”

“And so, you told no one?”

“Because it got worse and worse, I finally told my mother.”

“And she refused to believe you?”

“She was shocked! I’d never seen her so mad, so angry. She said I was a liar! She said I’d betrayed the church! She couldn’t stand to even look at me. She warned me not to say anything about it.” He paused. “She told me to get out of the house. She didn’t want me there anymore.”

“And
did
you move out of the house?”

“I moved in with my aunt. She lived a few blocks away.”

“I see. Did you say
anything
about any of this, to Danny?”