Silent Mercy (9 page)
“Your witness. You may go ahead.”
“Actually, Your Honor, Ms. Cooper is going to handle this cross.”
I could hear Sheila’s chair scrape across the floor as she half rose to her feet before thinking twice—she had no grounds for an objection—and reseating herself.
This was a circumstance of Sheila Enright’s own creation. Koslawski had his constitutional right to a trial by jury, but Shelia had chosen to waive that right with advice from two of her senior partners after they scoped the pool of prospective jurors. The tactic was occasionally used by savvy lawyers who suspected that their clients might not get a fair shake if a dozen of their peers found charges like these distasteful, and chose to rely instead on a judicial temperament that might be cooler rather than emotional, arguing the case to the bench.
If jurors had been seated in their usual role as triers of the case facts, then the judge would be responsible only for applying the law to those facts. The prosecution would need a unanimous verdict of twelve in order to convict. The defense team could claim a partial victory by hanging the group with only one not-guilty vote. Here, Lyle Keets would not only be responsible for all questions of law, but he would also be the sole trier of fact, the final arbiter in the defrocked priest’s case.
So the McGuinn trio of high-priced legal talent had decided to take their chances by opting to not allow Denys Koslawski to be judged by a jury of his peers. The voir dire of a large panel of citizens would have been certain to elicit his background in the clergy, and word would have spread through the courthouse like wildfire, attracting the tabloid press to cover this now anonymous case. You could never guess what personal views a devout practitioner—or a lapsed Catholic—would bring to the jury box.
“Would you please ask the bishop to retake the stand?” Lyle Keets nodded at the officer to bring in the witness while Sheila Enright smirked her discontent at me.
Once the case was assigned to Judge Keets, the defense team made an educated guess that the elderly jurist, who’d been on the bench since the days when the testimony of a sexual assault victim required corroboration—independent evidence of the elements of the crime, which didn’t exist in the present case—might buy into their denials. We had all done enough research to know that Keets was High Episcopal, but none of us could figure which way that would cut when it came to his jurisprudence.
Bishop Deegan, close to eighty years of age—about ten years older than the judge—swept into the courtroom, his head erect and his gold pectoral cross highlighted against his black suit and white clerical collar. He took the stand and sipped from the cup of water offered to him before making himself comfortable.
“May I remind you, Your Grace, that you are still under oath?” Keets said.
The defense had also made a lame effort to close the courtroom, but the law was well established that with rare exceptions the public was entitled to be present at criminal trials. Deegan peered over my shoulder as if to reassure himself that no spectators had entered present. Then he looked expectantly at Barry Donner and seemed surprised when I rose to my feet to begin the questioning.
“We haven’t met, sir. I’m Alexandra Cooper and I’m working with Mr. Donner on this case.”
“Very well then. Good day, Ms. Cooper.”
Deegan’s credentials had been established by Sheila Enright the previous afternoon. He was presently Bishop of the Diocese of Chicago, with degrees that included a doctorate in canon law—a codification of the law of the Catholic Church.
“You spoke yesterday about the time, fifteen years ago, when you served as an auxiliary bishop in the Diocese of New York, is that right?”
“That is correct.”
“And you met Mr. Koslawski during that period, when he was a priest in a local parish?”
Deegan nodded in the defendant’s direction. “Yes, I was the vicar in charge of education, and Denys was one of our most able teachers back then.”
That was a point he had made over and over again the previous day. Enright had taken the bishop through all of the good deeds of the young priest to hammer home his sterling character.
I asked a series of questions regarding the interactions between the two men and accepted the praise that Deegan heaped on the defendant. I wanted it clear that I had respect for his exalted position, for his religious leadership and community influence, and for the pride he so richly took in his many years of church leadership.
“During your time in this archdiocese, did you ever hear any allegations against Father Koslawski regarding sexual abuse?”
The bishop’s answer was out of his mouth before I could finish the question. “I had no duties that involved me in issues of sexual abuse.”
“Most respectfully, sir, my question was whether or not you heard any allegations, whether in or apart from your duties?” I changed the course of my inquiries, though Deegan was determined not to give me an inch. The law allowed me to ask a character witness not only about specific acts within his direct knowledge, but also the defendant’s reputation for morality within the community.
“No, I did not.”
“Did you ever hear any allegations that Father Koslawski put his hands on the knees and thighs of a young man in a movie theater?”
“Objection.” Sheila Enright didn’t rise from her seat. “Asked and answered.”
“You may respond,” the judge said.
“I don’t recall.”
“Let me back up a step, Bishop Deegan. Would you consider such conduct—the unconsented groping of a minor’s thigh and knees, by an adult—to be sexual abuse?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“I’ll allow it.”
I had studied Deegan’s answer to this question in a deposition he had given in a civil case involving another priest.
“No, I would not.”
“Is there some other way you would describe that conduct, sir?”
Deegan cleared his throat with a cough. “I would say that it’s improvident, Ms. Cooper. Improvident touching.”
Exactly the language he had used in the civil matter two years earlier, which had led to a furious interchange with the plaintiff’s lawyer.
“So, ‘not sensible or wise’ would be your conclusion about such touching. Improvident, but not a sexual violation.”
“Correct, Ms. Cooper. I don’t consider those—those, well—areas to be sexual parts.”
He ought to talk to women who ride the subway in New York, subject to the uninvited stroking of strangers on crowded trains.
Enright was on her feet. “Your Honor, I think Alex—Ms. Cooper—is already venturing beyond the scope of my direct.”
“I’m just trying to get the semantics right, Judge. I don’t want to use a conclusory term like ‘sexual abuse’ if the bishop doesn’t agree with the legal definition.”
“Ask your next question, Ms. Cooper.” Keets stared at me over the rim of his reading glasses.
“You were responsible for hearing complaints against priests, were you not?”
“Most certainly.”
“And what were the nature of those complaints?”
The bishop smiled at me now, almost beatifically. “Some were liturgical, Ms. Cooper. Some were theological.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I received complaints that a priest’s sermons were too long,” Deegan said, “or that he sang poorly. On the more serious side, there might have been a charge that a priest was promoting a practice in violation of church teachings, that kind of thing.”
“And abuse of alcohol?”
“Yes, certainly. Those came to me.”
“So sexual abuse was the only parish problem that was not under your jurisdiction.”
“Those weren’t my words, Ms. Cooper.”
“I guess we can have your testimony read back, Bishop. I believe you said that oversight of such allegations wasn’t part of your duties as vicar of the archdiocese.”
A less enthusiastic smile this time. “I suppose I should say there were no records of any such misconduct, so nothing came to my attention.”
“Well, sir, were there written records of any sexual abuse allegations in this diocese during your tenure?”
“Written, Ms. Cooper? Specifically, written?” He was speaking to me but looking to the judge as though for help.
“Exactly.”
“No need for that. No need for anything in writing.”
“Why not, sir?”
Bishop Deegan tapped the side of his head with his arthritic forefinger. “Because I kept all that sort of thing up here, Ms. Cooper.”
“In your head?” I said. “Let the record reflect that the bishop is pointing to his head while speaking.”
“Precisely.”
“And neither you nor anyone else in a position of authority in the Archdiocese of New York thought it necessary to make any formal record of such complaints?”
“Why should it be necessary, Ms. Cooper? They trusted me, of course.”
I glanced at Judge Keets to see whether he was as unimpressed with that answer as Barry and I seemed to be, but his expression was glacial.
“By the way, Bishop Deegan, how many parishioners are there in this archdiocese?”
“Two and a half million, young lady.”
“And you keep it all up here, is that correct? Every complaint and allegation?”
“Objection,” Enright said. “She’s just getting argumentative with the witness.”
“Sustained.”
“Then let’s move on from these files,” I said, tapping my own forehead.
The bishop reached for the paper cup of water. I didn’t know whether the tremor in his hand was related to his health or was a reflection of his discomfort. “I’d like to do that. Where to, Ms. Cooper?”
“I’d like to discuss the secret archives of the church.”
“The what?” Judge Keets asked, over the shouted objection of Sheila Enright. “Is there such a thing, Bishop Deegan?”
The bishop didn’t answer the judge.
“There are indeed secret archives, Your Honor,” I said. “I’d like to inquire about them.”
EIGHT
“I’VE
given you some scope, Alexandra, because there’s no jury here,” Keets said, pushing his readers to the top of his head as Enright, Donner, and I stood at the bench. “Would you mind telling me what these secret archives are?”
given you some scope, Alexandra, because there’s no jury here,” Keets said, pushing his readers to the top of his head as Enright, Donner, and I stood at the bench. “Would you mind telling me what these secret archives are?”
“I’d also like to know,” Enright said.
“I’m sorry if you didn’t do your homework, Sheila, but this goes to the heart of the matter. They’re church records, and I believe I’m entitled to inquire about them.”
“Do they have anything to do with this defendant?”
“Certainly.”
“She’s just fishing, Your Honor,” Enright said. “You can’t let her do that.”
Keets turned to the bishop and asked him to step down, letting the court officer lead him away as our voices raised beyond a stage whisper.
“You think what this man has said is credible?” I asked, trying to keep some semblance of respectability in the tone of my voice. “Every diocese in this country has been rocked by these scandals. The settlement numbers are over four billion dollars now, and at least six dioceses have had to file for bankruptcy. They’re closing down churches and parochial schools all over the country. Parishioners in the poorest communities are suffering, and it’s primarily because of the failure of the Mother Church to confront this issue for more than fifty—
fifty
—years.”
fifty
—years.”
“That’s not my client’s fault.”
“I’m well aware of that, Sheila. But Deegan has been part of the problem. Philadelphia, Your Honor, and Boston, for example, are places typical for the kinds of reports that are involved. Their diocesan personnel files show that more than seven percent of the priests in their cities had been accused of abusing children in the last half century. At least seven percent. And you know what the numbers are in New York?”
Keets lowered his glasses and made notes as I talked. “Go on.”
“One point three percent. The lowest in all 195 dioceses in the country.”
“How fortunate for the children of New York,” Enright said with obvious sarcasm.
I couldn’t think of the legal term of art for the word “bullshit.” “That’s absurd and you know it. It’s totally artificial.”
“Ladies, ladies. Let’s not have a catfight,” Keets said. “What reason would you offer for that, Alexandra?”
“Two things, Your Honor. First is that our numbers are ridiculously low because we have the most restrictive statute of limitations of any state. There are many, many more reports, but they aren’t legally viable because the complaints came in too late.”
“You mean that in most jurisdictions, the reporting can be done for a period of time after the youths have attained majority?”
“Yes, sir. That’s so very logical. Most minors don’t have the knowledge or wherewithal to take on the church at such a young age. So the statutes have been extended. And secondly, we’re the only city in which prosecutors have been denied access to the chancery’s records.”
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