Approx. 2,472 words
Juliet Burns sipped sparingly at her white-wine cooler and tried to relax while the quiet atmosphere of The Advocate flowed around her. The trendy bar had been a popular watering-hole for attorneys of Burnham City more than four decades, irrespective of which side of the bar they stood. In fact, many a pretrial agreement had been reached within the mahogany paneled walls of The Advocate, over a cold beer or other beverage as opposing counsel each sought an advantage for himself, and occasionally his client.
Frank Heath, District Attorney for Peace County, slipped into the booth across from her. “I heard the judge had sequestered the jury for the night,” he said. “Have you got a handle on which way they might decide?”
“Not a clue, Frank,” Juliet told her boss. “With Father Patrick’s confession, the case should be a slam dunk, but Father McKinney, the Defense Attorney for the Church, was able to get Judge Lambert to toss out the confession. Lambert didn’t even cite legal precedent, he simply declared it inadmissible.”
“His Honor is a member of Father Patrick’s congregation, Juliet, and Father Patrick is well loved and respected by many in the church and the community.”
“Is that why you tossed this case in my lap, Frank? Were you hoping I’d louse up the prosecution case?”
“You would never drop the ball intentionally, Juliet.” The District Attorney paused to catch the eye of a passing waitress and order a vodka gimlet. “I felt it was time you stepped up to handle a capital case…”
“But we’re not seeking the death penalty, Frank. I even offered him voluntary manslaughter in exchange for a guilty plea, but his attorney wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Nevertheless, I felt the case would be a feather in your legal cap if you handled it well, win or lose.”
“And there’s an election in eight more months and you don’t want to be perceived as bashing the Catholic Church, do you Frank.”
“I’ll have to live with that anyway because you work for me. No, I’m simply a coward, Juliet. I’ve always tried to avoid cases with religious involvement because I can never subpoena the most critical witness.”
“Is that your way of admitting to atheism, Frank? It’s a wimpy copout if you ask me.”
“Not atheism, Juliet. I’m a card carrying agnostic. I simply hate having my hands tied by ‘ecclesiastical privilege.’”
“I’m sorry we had to take this to trial, Frank. My case was weak, even with the confession. Father Patrick has never owned a gun; the woman was not pregnant so we can’t claim he killed her to cover up an affair with her. The only solid evidence I had was her blood and DNA on his clothing which proves he was with her at the time of her death.”
“How did the defense explain that?”
“Father McKinney claimed his client was counseling Mrs. Wilkins and her husband regarding marital problems. McKinney asked the jury to postulate the woman might have been despondent over her problems and taken her own life. The gun, after all, belonged to her husband. Since the husband was reliably placed at work at the time of death, we know he could not have been involved.”
“Did the coroner report gun-shot residue on the victim’s hands to support that theory? Was a test run on the priest?”
“Both GSR tests were made, but turned up inconclusive.”
“You also investigated the nine-year-old son, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t miss a bet, Frank. Father Patrick has never had an allegation of sexual abuse made against him, and the boy swears there had never been inappropriate conduct on the part of the priest.”
“So you’re back to square one, eh? No confession, no probable cause, only weapon and opportunity. Christ, we wouldn’t be here if the coroner’s inquest had ruled suicide, we could have dropped the case. On the other hand, with the confession, I was required to seek an indictment against Father Patrick and send him to trial. I had no other choice, Juliet.”
“I know, Frank,” the woman said despondently. “And I got stuck carrying the ball with this one. I just wish I had more players on my team to run interference for me.”
“Win or lose, Juliet, you’re still a top notch attorney in my office and this will not work against your career. I realize the limitations you’ve been under.”
She glanced at her watch and noted it was just before 7 p.m. “I’m finished here, Frank. Gonna run home, take a bath and have another wine cooler before I get up in the morning to report to court. Hopefully the jury will have come back in by that time.”
“G’night, Juliet,” he said raising his glass to her. “Hope you have a good night’s rest.”
As she collected her purse and soft-sided valise she glanced at him, “You can bet I will, Frank.” She gave him an impish smile. “I still say you wimped out on the prosecution of this one.”
The District Attorney raised his right hand. “’Nolo contender,’ your honor. I hope you’ll take my past service to the court into consideration before you pronounce sentence,” he said with his best collie-dog expression on his face.
“Wimp!” she said again as she left the bar. Juliet caught a taxi and arrived home thirty minutes later. She kicked off her shoes half-way down the entry hall and set her purse and valise on the credenza. With her hands empty, she began unbuttoning her jacket and blouse as she headed for the kitchen to mix another wine-cooler. Her jacket landed on the kitchen table as she carried her drink into the bedroom. Her blouse, skirt and slip landed in disarray at the foot of her bed as she headed for the bath room. Setting down her glass, she turned on the faucets and let the water run. After adding a splash of bath oil, she lighted several scented candles and continued to undress while the tub filled.
Soon, she laid her head against the cool porcelain of the tub and waited for the warm water to work its magic, draining the cares from her stressed out mind. By the time she finished her wine she was more than ready to cover her limp body with the cool sheets of her bed and sink into oblivion, not to stir before the first rays of sunlight came streaming through her bedroom window.
* * *
“…court is now in session, the Honorable Ralph Lambert presiding. All rise,” the bailiff intoned. Those in the courtroom respectfully came to their feet as Judge Lambert emerged from his chambers. He was a small man, very thin beneath his somber robes, and with close cropped gray hair above a perpetual scowl. Defense attorneys claimed there wasn’t an ounce of kindness in him, which was why Juliet was so surprised when he summarily tossed out Father Patrick’s confession.
The judge took his bench and instructed the bailiff to admit the jury. Seven women and five men filed in and seated themselves in the juror’s box. “Madam Foreperson, has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge Lambert asked.
“We have, your Honor,” Estelle Pratt replied.
“The defendant will please rise and face the jury,” the judge said. “Please read the verdict, Madam Foreperson.”
“We the jury, in the case of the People versus Father Stuart Patrick, find the defendant guilty as charged.” Several gasps were audible in the court room. Clearly the majority of spectators had been eagerly awaiting acquittal and thought the verdict totally unwarranted.
Judge Lambert rapped his gavel sharply and shouted for order. When the room had quieted, he continued, “The Court wishes to thank the members of the jury for their service in this matter. You are excused.” He waited briefly until the last of the jury members had exited the courtroom and then cleared his throat.
“It is my decision, the verdict of this court shall be set aside…” loud cheers from the spectators, a puzzled look of astonishment from Juliet Burns, “… and that no further action is to be taken in this matter.”
“Objection!” Juliet shouted and leaped to her feet. “Your Honor, the people…”
“Objection overruled, counselor.” He banged the gavel again. “Please take your seat.”
“But… your Honor!” she exclaimed.
“Overruled,” he said with another rap of the gavel. To the bailiff he continued, “The defendant will be immediately released. Now get all these spectators out of my court!”
Ralph Lambert stood and made to exit the courtroom through the door to his chambers. He opened the door slightly before turning back to the room where several in the loud throng of people were congratulating Father Patrick, many others heading for the wide double doors leaving the courtroom. “Miss Burns,” he called, “will you please join me in chambers.” He didn’t phrase his words as a question; they were intended as a polite command. Juliet took her valise and followed Judge Lambert to his chambers, closing the door softly after she entered.
“I’m sorry if I seemed out of line, your Honor, I was simply surprised that you would suddenly set aside the verdict without discussing it with the prosecution beforehand.”
Lambert finished hanging his black robes on the clothes tree and seated himself behind his desk. “No apology necessary, Miss Burns. I had hoped I would not find it necessary to vacate the decision of the jury, but you did your job too well, even though your case was extremely weak.”
Julie was more puzzled than ever. “I’m not sure I understand, your Honor. You intended for me to lose this case?”
“…from the very start, Julie. May I call you Julie? Yes, I wanted you to lose this case, but I couldn’t tell you or Frank Heath. You see, I know, repeat, know, Father Patrick is innocent. I never had any intention of sending him to prison for even a few minutes. Furthermore, I do not want you to appeal my decision to the circuit court, do you understand me?”
“Then, why the trial, why the charade? Why the waste of tax payer money, not to mention the wasted time of the court?”
“Because a death occurred under questionable circumstances, Julie. This is an election year and Frank Heath had to prosecute when the Grand Jury returned an indictment. He had no other choice if he was to uphold his oath of office. It was a regrettable matter of politics.”
“And yet, because Father Patrick is your parish priest, you’ve decided you know what is best for the community and you decided to let him get away with murder?” she accused him.
“I’ll forget you just insulted my integrity, Julie, and I won’t hold it against you in the future, no hard feelings there. No, I didn’t take it upon myself to let Father Patrick go free, I did it because of a few words from Monsignor Hargitay two weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Juliet said. “I don’t believe I know him.”
“He is Father Patrick’s confessor, Julie. He visited Father Patrick in the county lockup several times, and heard his confession also. You know how inviolate matters of the confessional are in a court of law, I’m sure.”
“Yes, your Honor. A priest cannot be compelled to repeat matters he has heard in the confessional unless they involve the impending commission of a crime.”
“Exactly. So what Monsignor Hargitay had to say to me hurt him very much and I have no doubt he is doing penance for his actions as we speak, but I know Father Patrick did not murder Mrs. Wilkins. And I’m going to answer your questions, but only after you’ve sworn upon your immortal soul never to repeat what I’m about to say.”
“I’m not a Catholic, Judge Lambert. I’m not even sure I’m a Christian. I don’t think such an oath would mean very much to me.”
“Nevertheless, Julie, if you want to know why I’m letting Father Patrick go free, you must give me your solemn word as an officer of the court.”
“I can do that, your Honor. You have it; you have my word this conversation will go no further.” She wondered if she could really keep her word. If the judge could not convince her Father Patrick should be set free without punishment, could she let the matter drop? She forced herself to relax, to take in the judge’s words, and to weigh them cautiously before reaching a decision. “What about the confession, Judge Lambert? Why did you toss that out?”
“Please sit down, Julie. Give me a moment to explain. Monsignor Hargitay explained to me how Father Patrick and Mrs. Wilkins had grown up, practically as neighbors when they were children. No, there was no affair between them, no trace of any scandal of any sort. But Mrs. Wilkins and Father Patrick were very close friends and he felt that he had failed her when he failed to salvage her marriage. He was unprepared to stop her when she pulled out her husband’s pistol and killed herself.”
“What? Then why did he confess? Why didn’t he just tell the truth from the beginning?” Juliet was at a loss to explain such foolish actions by Father Patrick.
“As I said, Julie, Father Patrick and Mrs. Wilkins were very close friends, and he felt responsible over the breakup of her marriage. He actually felt, because of his failure, he had driven her to take her own life. As you know, Catholics who commit suicide are forbidden to be buried in sacred ground, which he felt was unfair to her because of his failure. So he washed her hands thoroughly, removing any trace of gun-shot residue, and confessed to committing the crime himself. In that way, the fault and guilt would rest with him, and she would be buried in her family plot at Saint Francis.”
“And you believe that, Judge? You believe it enough to take it upon yourself to vacate the decision of twelve jurors?”
“Yes, I do, Julie. I believe Monsignor Hargitay would never have violated the sanctity of the confessional if he did not feel there was any other way to save Father Patrick from an injustice by the court.”
Julie rose to her feet and began to leave the Judge’s chambers. “I’ll keep my promise, your Honor, I’ll never repeat what you’ve told me.” Before she said anything more, she hurriedly left the office. Once outside she gave thought to what she had been about to say, but couldn’t. “I believe the court should have compassion, but how can we know this is the right decision?” Now she understood why Frank Heath did all in his power to avoid cases involving ecclesiastical matters; “Because I can’t subpoena the only witness who knows all the answers.”