Deliver Us From Evil (16 page)

“What was significant about the semen samples, Detective?”

“Upon examination, we found that the spermatozoa was of the same blood type, as Father Reiniger’s.”

There was a slight rumble from the spectators. Judge Baylor gaveled them down. “Quiet, please.”

Berkoff paused. “I see. So, you are telling us, that for argument’s sake, we’re looking into a scenario where the defendant and Danny Novak returned from the ride in the motorboat, and went to the nearby stretch of sandy beach, where the victim was sexually assaulted. Are we okay on this, so far, Detective?”

“Yes. That is our assumption. Yes.”

The prosecutor turned back to his table and picked up Danny Novak’s clothes: his blue pants, the baseball cap and his white, athletic shoes. They were individually wrapped in plastic evidence bags. Berkoff crossed to the stand. “Detective, I would like you to identify these articles of clothing, for the record, if you will.”

“They were positively ID’d as belonging to the victim.”

“By whom?”

“The victim’s mother, Carolyn Novak. We also ran DNA tests.”

“Uh-huh. And where exactly was the clothing discovered?”

“We found the said items buried in a small stretch of sandy beach between the boat-dock and Mr. Groda’s cabin residence.”

“I see.” Berkoff turned to face Judge Baylor. “Your Honor, we would like to submit these articles of the victim’s clothing and have them marked as Prosecution Exhibit ‘B.’”

“So submitted. You may proceed, Counselor.”

Berkoff passed the plastic-wrapped items to the court clerk. He turned back to Farrell. “Now, what about the boy’s T-shirt, Detective?”

“Forensics found traces of Danny’s hair and, as a matter of fact, his T-shirt, inside the small rowboat, also tied to the dock. We feel that rather than start the motor up again, and create a lot of noise, the defendant simply carried Danny’s body to the rowboat, placed it inside, rowed out to the middle of the lake, and dumped it overboard.”

“Thank you, Detective.” He glanced at the Judge. “That is all the questions I have at this time, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Ramsey? Your witness.”

Ramsey rose from his chair and began to move toward the witness stand. “I have just one or two questions for Detective Farrell, Your Honor.”

“You may proceed.”

“You have stated the victim’s clothing was positively ID’d by his mother. Is that not correct, Detective?”

“That is correct.”

“You also stated the clothing was tested for DNA. Correct, sir?”

“That’s right.”

“In the DNA findings, did the Medical Examiner find any evidence,
whatsoever,
that would tie my client to the victim?”

“Only the sperm sample that was found on the victim’s body.”

Ramsey’s face darkened. This was not what he wanted to hear. His voice rose sharply. “I’m talking specifically about the clothing. I reiterate. In your DNA findings, there was
nothing
to connect the boy’s clothing to my client. Isn’t that correct, Detective?”

“Correct, sir. That is true.”

Ramsey was quick, abrupt. “Nothing further, Your Honor!”

“You may be excused, Detective.” The Judge glanced at Berkoff. “Mr. Berkoff? You may call your next witness.”

“Your Honor, we would like to call Willie Groda to the stand.”

--13--

Willie Groda was born and raised in West Memphis, Arkansas, a small mill-town near the Arkansas-Tennessee border. His father, Jimmy Lee Groda had deserted his wife when William (Willie) was just six-years-old. A year later, Loretta Groda had died of cancer, and the boy began a life of being knocked around from pillar-to-post, living (surviving) in a string of foster homes. At age eighteen, he was cut loose and began a succession of menial jobs that never lasted for more than six months, including: janitorial work, washing dishes, delivering furniture, setting up pins in a bowling alley, even assistant-managing a porno-theater on the rough side, the south side of town. Between jobs, he was often found sleeping on a park bench; under newspapers in a back alley; in winter, inside the warmth of the local bus station. He’d served several stints in rehab for his alcoholism; he’d been arrested numerous times for drunken and disorderly conduct. The booze had taken its toll, and the spectators and jury members eyed Groda warily, as he was sworn-in and seated. His eyes were dark, sunken-in; his face was lined and leathery; he exuded an aura of fear, quiet menace. Berkoff was quick to notice the jury’s apprehensive reaction to Groda, as he approached the stand. “Will you please state your full name for the record, sir?”

“William Emile Groda. They call me Willie, for short.”

“How old are you, sir?”

“Seventy-six.”

“What is your present occupation, Mr. Groda?”

“Caretaker, custodian, cook. Jack-of-all-trades, you might say.”

“You are presently employed? Working as caretaker at Camp Sierra?”

“Yes sir, I am.” He grinned. “But after this trial is over, there’s no telling
where
I’ll be workin’!”

“How long have you been in California, Mr. Groda?”

He paused slightly. “Well, lemme see now, I left my home in West Memphis, Arkansas, goin’ on almost three years now. Cain’t believe it’s been that long.”

“Uh-huh, I see. Now, Mr. Groda, I’d like to talk about the events which occurred on Sunday, September 5
^th
, of this year. The day, Danny Novak died.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course, you knew Danny Novak, didn’t you?”

“Oh, sure! I saw a lot of Danny. He was what you’d call a nice kid. Would do anything for you!”

“How would you describe his relationship with Father Reiniger?”

“Oh, Danny
loved
Father Reiniger; he worshipped the ground Father walked on. He trusted him.” He paused again; there was the trace of a thin smile. “And, as for Father Reiniger, well, he was what I’d call, a little foxy.”

“What do you
mean
by that, Mr. Groda?”

“Lookin’ back on it, Father Reiniger took great pains, he took a lot of care, to build up that trust. He had them boys eatin’ right out of the palm of his hand. They’d do anything for him, mostly, because they trusted him.”

“I see.” Berkoff paused. “Now, prior testimony given in this courtroom, has stated on the afternoon of Sunday, September the 5
^th
, Father Reiniger and Jack Kramer became embroiled in a heated argument. Is that a fair and accurate statement, Mr. Groda?”

“Yes, sir. That is correct.”

“And, to your knowledge, were they drinking?”

“Yeah. They was.”

“Now, this argument, Mr. Groda. What exactly were they arguing
about?”

Groda’s voice was slow and even. “Jack Kramer was accusing Father of, what shall I calls it? Molestin’, messin’ around with the boys.”

Berkoff narrowed his eyes. “There is no question in your mind,
that
is what they were arguing about?”

“Ain’t no question about it,” he said flatly. “I heard Kramer tell Father a young kid, an altar boy had come to him, and told him Father had molested him after Mass that same day.”

“What was Father Reiniger’s reaction to
that?”

“Oh, he was P.O.’d! Furious! He was mad as hell. Finally, I heard Father say, ‘I don’t have to listen to any more of this crap from you!’ And he got up and left.”

Berkoff walked slowly to the jury box, grasped the railing, then turned back to look at Groda. “Mr. Groda, when was the
very
last time you saw Danny Novak? Do you remember?”

“I sure do. We’d all had our supper around the campfire. The other two boys had turned-in early. I’d picked up the dishes and gear, and gone back to the dining hall. I was busy cleanin’ up the place when all of a sudden I heard the motorboat startin’ up. I dropped what I was doin’ and walked out to the small deck that overlooks the lake. I saw Danny and Father Reiniger easin’ the boat away from the dock. The boat headed out into the lake and that was the last time I ever saw Danny. That is, until they found his body in the lake, the next day.”

“Thank you, Mr. Groda. Your witness, Mr. Ramsey.”

Ramsey remained seated at the counselor’s table for a few minutes. He threw Groda a brief, appraising glance, then quickly rose and approached the witness stand. His voice was cold, sarcastic. “You know, Mr. Groda, it astonishes me, it completely eludes me, that you can relate precisely what Father Reiniger and Jack Kramer were arguing about, that day!”

“I don’t get your point, Mr. Ramsey,” Groda said, with a sheepish grin.

Ramsey sneered. “You don’t get my point!
Where
were you when this so-called argument was taking place?”

“I was down in the dining hall. Fixin’ supper.”

“And
they
were sitting on the front porch of the main house, as it were?”

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“And, how far, is the dining hall, from the main house?”

Groda shrugged. “Oh, I dunno. Three-hundred-yards, I’d guess. Somethin’ like that.”

There was a long pause. “Isn’t it true, Mr. Groda? That you indeed heard loud voices emanating from the veranda, and unbeknownst to Father Reiniger and Mr. Kramer, you sneaked up to the house, entered through the rear, the kitchen, really, and stood there eavesdropping? Isn’t
that
what really happened. Mr. Groda?”

“Objection!” Berkoff yelled. “Relevance, Your Honor!”

“I’ll allow it. You may proceed, Counselor.”

“I repeat, isn’t
that
what really happened, Mr. Groda?”

“I dunno where you-all is getting your information from, Mr. Ramsey.”

“One of the boys saw you leaving the main house and walking down to the dining hall. It’s no big mystery, sir.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “I guess you’re right.”

Ramsey paused; he studied Groda for a long moment. “Mr. Groda, I’d like to talk about the events which occurred later that same day. Sunday, September 5
^th
.”

“Yeah?” Groda said with a touch of annoyance. “I’ve already explained to Mr. Berkoff what went on that day. Nothin’s changed, Mr. Ramsey.”

Ramsey ignored him. “You testified that you, Father Reiniger, Jack Kramer, Danny, and the other boys had your supper around the campfire. Isn’t that true, Mr. Groda?”

“Yeah. That’s true.”

“Later, you picked up the dishes, the ‘gear’ as you called it, and returned to the dining hall. Correct?”

“Yeah. Correct.”

“You were cleaning up, when suddenly you heard the motorboat starting up. Correct?”

“Yeah, that’s correct, Mr. Ramsey,” he said, with a weary intonation.

Berkoff was in again. “Objection, Your Honor!”

“On what grounds, Mr. Berkoff?”

“He’s leading the witness.”