Deliver Us From Evil (23 page)

“Will you please instruct the jury to return to their seats.”

The bailiff moved to the nearby jury room door, opened it, and quickly gave instructions for the jury to return. Ben Marley, the jury foreman, fiftyish, tall, an imposing man, entered, followed by the remaining jury members. Without looking up, they quietly took their places in the jury box.

“Mr. Marley? Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“Yes. We have, Your Honor.”

“Is the verdict unanimous?”

“Yes. It is. Your Honor.”

“Will the foreman pass the verdict to my bailiff, please.”

The bailiff crossed to Marley, who handed him the verdict. He passed the verdict to Baylor. There was a long pause as Judge Baylor quietly read the folded sheet of paper. He then shot Father Reiniger a long, penetrating look. “Will
the defendant please rise?”

Father Reiniger and Richard Ramsey quickly rose from their seats at the counsel table, and stood facing the Judge. When Baylor spoke, his voice was cold, authoritative: “In the Supreme Court of the State of California, in and for the Country of San Bernardino, we the jury, find the defendant, Father Frederick Helmut Reiniger,
guilty
as charged, in the lewd and lascivious conduct involving a minor, under the age of fourteen.” Baylor paused slightly. “In addition, pursuant to the crime of murder in the First Degree of Daniel Jason Novak, on the night of Sunday, September 5
^th
, 1999, we find the defendant, Father Frederick Helmut Reiniger,
guilty,
as charged.”

There was an immediate outburst of surprise and shock that exploded in the courtroom. Judge Baylor banged his gavel. “
Quiet,
please! Father Reiniger? Do you have anything to say?”

“Only that I am innocent of the crime of murder, Your Honor. I did
not
kill Danny Novak. I am innocent. Once again, I am truthfully sorry if I brought any harm or pain or mental anguish to those who have testified here in this courtroom.” He paused. “I have nothing more to say, Your Honor.”

Baylor’s look was grim. “Sentence will be imposed at a later date. Bailiff! Will you and Officer Delgado please take Father Reiniger into custody!” He turned to the jury. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury for your service. You are dismissed.” Once again, he rapped his bench gavel. “This court is now adjourned!”

“ALL RISE!” the bailiff announced.

Everyone in the courtroom rose to their feet. Judge Baylor hesitated for a moment. He watched as the bailiff and Officer Delgado moved toward Father Reiniger. As Reiniger was taken into custody, Baylor exited into his chambers. The gallery spectators watched in hushed silence as Delgado handcuffed Father Reiniger’s hands behind his back.

David Berkoff smugly tried to conceal his pleasure as he deftly collected his material, folders,
et cetera
and placed them inside his leather briefcase. The TV reporters, Minicams in hand, rushed toward Berkoff. Shouts of “Great job!” “Congratulations!” filled the air. Photographs were being taken and the journalists, hungry for a statement, shoved microphones into his face. Berkoff, a man never suffering from ego deficiency, smiled broadly and basked exuberantly in his newly-found limelight. Then, like a band of famished scavenger dogs, the mob of reporters swooped down on Father Reiniger. Abruptly and insolently they shoved a barrage of microphones into the priest’s face, demanding a statement. They jostled and pushed each other to get near him. There was the sporadic flash of strobe lights; more photographs were being taken. For the unruly mob, Father Reiniger was a disappointment; he kept repeating: “I have nothing to say!” I have nothing to say!”

The scene was one of frenzy and excitement, and it was a scene that was being watched by a silent and stunned Richard Ramsey. An immense feeling of anxiety and dejection had filtered across Ramsey’s face. He remained seated at the counsel table and quietly watched as the bailiff and Officer Delgado, with Reiniger between them, began edging their way through the crowd and slowly escorted the prisoner out of the courtroom. Soon, the mob of reporters and spectators had left.

Ramsey was now sitting alone at the Defense counsel’s table. He relished the sudden quietness of the courtroom. He’d taken off his suit coat; he was now in shirt-sleeves. He was quietly smoking. His briefcase lay open on the table in front of him. His slow, haphazard movements belied the fact that he had lost the case. He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray and rose. Slowly, he circled the table; his look was one of anguish, bitter disappointment. Then, he reached for the pack of Marlboros on the table, slid another one out, placed it in his mouth, and lit it. Suddenly, through the eerie gauze of cigarette smoke, the figure of a down and defeated man. Ramsey sat down on the edge of the table, continuing to silently smoke his cigarette. He glanced out the huge, arched windows, facing west. The sky was ablaze with streaks of orange, pink and magenta. A huge jacaranda tree, near the courthouse steps, shivered in the slight, evening breeze.

Ramsey’s gaze returned to the interior of the courtroom. His eyes were fastened on the Judge’s bench, the witness stand, the jury box. A cacophony of dreamlike sounds, swirled around his head: the clatter of the Judge’s bench gavel, the gallery’s explosion of surprise when the verdict was given, the pandemonium of news reporters leaping on the trial’s principals, like hungry sharks, all looking for a lead-story. Suddenly, his mind was crowded with many thoughts; the many times he’d represented battered wives, victims of armed robbery, victims of hit-and-run, victims of drive-by shootings, victims of insurance scams. It was no wonder Ramsey had gained the reputation of a man dedicated to the down-and-out, the despondent, the disillusioned; society’s underdogs, as it were.

The fading crimson light had cast a soft red-violet glow inside the courtroom. All at once, from somewhere off in the dark reaches of the gallery, Ramsey heard a man’s voice: “Excuse me, Mr. Ramsey, may I speak to you for a few minutes? Or am I interrupting?”

Ramsey was a little shocked, taken aback. He peered into the shadowed gallery with some trepidation. “Well, I’m not sure who you are,” he said, “but, yes, of course. I’d like to talk to you.”

At first, the man appeared as a silhouette cast against the courtroom’s dusky light. Ramsey watched curiously as the intruder approached the bench. Looking as vital and handsome as ever, the man turned out to be, Jack Kramer.

Ramsey was doubly-shocked. “Well! Mr. Kramer!
This
is a surprise!” He gripped Kramer’s hand. “Nice to see you again.”

“Nice seeing you too, Mr. Ramsey.”

Ramsey pulled back a chair for him. “Please! Sit down! Sit down! Would you like a cigarette?”

Kramer slid into the chair. “Uh, no, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

“Lucky for you.” He indicated the cigarette. “Sometimes I think each one of these, is another nail in my coffin.” He paused, eyeing the young man curiously. “You know, Mr. Kramer, I’ve got to be honest with you. I’m very puzzled as to why you are here.”

“I just thought you and I should have a”

Ramsey interjected. “Before you answer that question,” he paused, smiled a little.
“Listen
to me! Sounds like I’m still interrogating you on the witness stand, doesn’t it?

Kramer shrugged. “That’s all right, Mr. Ramsey.”

Ramsey took a deep drag on his cigarette. “What I wanted to say, Jack, is that I think I owe you an apology.”

“An apology? For
what,
Mr. Ramsey?”

“Let’s face it. I really came down pretty hard on you during the trial. I was pretty tough on you.”

“That’s okay. Maybe, I had it coming.”

Ramsey paused. “I don’t want to belabor this, but when I questioned you on the stand, I chastised you, I berated you, for being such a poor loser. I’m talking about the basketball game with Moreno Valley High.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And ironically enough, for what it’s worth, you’re looking at a
loser
right now, Mr. Kramer.” He forced a smile. “I know how it feels. Boy, do I
know
how it feels.” He paused, once again drawing on his cigarette. “Let me ask you something, Mr. Kramer. I realize you want to follow the priesthood yourself and I commend you for that. But something bothers me. With all the negativism regarding the Church, that was brought out in the trial, and I’m talking about child sexual abuse, pedophile priests, cover-ups, et cetera”

“I found Robert Stiles’ testimony very interesting,” Kramer interjected.

“That the Church was very much aware of what was going on, but chose to ignore it. As Stiles said, ‘Just sweep it under the rug. Solve the problem by transferring the suspected priest from one parish to another’”

“That’s exactly my point, Mr. Kramer. With all of this subterfuge, this out-and-out deception, if you will, did you ever feel disillusioned? Did you ever feel reluctant about joining the priesthood?”

Kramer smile a little. “Funny, you should ask that question. Mr. Stiles’ testimony regarding his visit to Archbishop O’Connell, brought an incident to mind, that to this day, I have never shared with anyone. I’d like to share it with you, Mr. Ramsey.”

“I’m listening.”

“By the way, I think it was very courageous of Robert Stiles to confront the archbishop on the Reiniger issue.” He paused slightly. “Last summer, a year ago, Archbishop O’Donnell came on a three-day visit to Camp Sierra. This was unusual, and everybody, the boys and Father Reiniger included, were very impressed. The archbishop said Mass in the dining hall, that Sunday morning. I was his assistant in the service. Incidentally, I had never met the archbishop before. Stiles was correct when he said the man was pompous, at times, arrogant. But that Sunday, after Mass was over, he said he wanted to talk to me privately. This bothered Father Reiniger, by the way. The archbishop was surprisingly down-to-earth, almost humble, as we talked, over breakfast. He said he wanted to offer me a proposition: he was looking for a personal assistant and would I be interested? He was very flattering. He said he liked the way I handled the boys. He said he liked my attitude. Of course, I was flattered. For me, this was a great compliment. As his personal assistant, I would arrange his day-to-day schedule, make appointments, whatever; even down to chauffeuring his car.” Kramer chuckled. “He always insisted on the car being a white, stretch-limousine, just like in the movies.”

“Interesting, Mr. Kramer. And?”

“I decided to take the position. It meant giving up my apartment in Alta Vista and moving into the rectory at Christ, the King Cathedral. I would have my own private room, with bath. I will have to say I found the position interesting and very exciting. But then it came to a sudden and drastic end.”

“What happened?”

“A week after I’d started the position, I suddenly woke up one night. It was about 3:00 a.m. I knew someone was in the room. I turned on the light. I found Archbishop O’Donnell sitting at the edge of my bed. His hand was underneath the blankets, and he was fondling my genitals.” Kramer paused. “I left the next morning. To answer your question, Mr. Ramsey, the incident with the archbishop was certainly very disillusioning for me. But, I got over it. I decided to forget what had happened. To this day, I have never spoken about it.”

“I understand.” There was a brief pause. Ramsey gazed at Jack Kramer with a long, contemplative look. When he spoke again, his voice was low, restrained. “Mr. Kramer, forgive me, but I am still puzzled as to why you are here.”

“I’d like to answer that. There are a few things, I think you should know.”

Ramsey’s brow furrowed. “Like what?”

“I’m gonna lay it right on the line for you, Mr. Ramsey. I’m gonna be totally honest. They arrested the wrong man.”

A heavy tense silence followed for about ten seconds. “Exactly, what are you trying to say?”

“Father Reiniger may be a child molester, a sexual deviant, he may be a
lot
of things, Mr. Ramsey, but, he’s
not
a murderer.
He
didn’t kill Danny Novak!”