DELIVER US FROM EVIL

by John L. Evans

  “I gotta admit, Groda looks a little weird, a little scary.”

  “You were sayin’ he’s the custodian and caretaker at this boys’ summer camp?’

  “Yeah. That’s right.”

  McGraw snickered. “Nothin’ like puttin’ the fox in the hen-house. I wonder if the archdiocese even bothered to check this guy out?”

  “Apparently, not.”

  McGraw took a deep drag on his cigar. “But then, you’re telling me Groda was puttin’ the finger on Father Reiniger, claiming he was messin’ around with the boys. Right?”

  “That’s what Groda implied.”

  “You think the old man has any proof, of this?”

  “Claims he overheard an argument between Reiniger and the camp counselor.”

  “And, what’s his name?”

  “Jack Kramer. A nice guy.”

  McGraw rolled the cigar around in his mouth. He glanced at Farrell contemplatively. “This guy, Groda, could be covering his ass, intentionally steering us in another direction.”

  Farrell nodded. “Yeah. Could be.”

  It was at this precise moment, there was a light tapping on the door and Detective Juarez entered. McGraw turned to face him. “What’s up, Gregg?”

  “You’re not gonna believe this. Forensics has come up with the final DNA results, on the Novak case.”

  McGraw grinned. “Try me!”

  “They tested the DNA twice, to be doubly sure. They got a positive match. Father Reiniger.”

  Instinctively, McGraw flinched. “You gotta be shittin’ me, Gregg! Father Reiniger? The priest?”

  “That’s right, Captain. Like I said, a positive match.”

  McGraw paused for a long moment. He seemed to be studying the tip of his cigar. “Well,” he said, “let’s not get our hopes up too high, here. Reiniger might have sexually molested the boy, but that doesn’t mean to say he murdered him. So far, we have no physical evidence linking him to the crime.” He paused again. “I sure as hell buy the whole scenario. Reiniger certainly may have had the motivation. But, I gotta have hard evidence. Facts. Something solid. I can’t go to the D.A. unless I smell a conviction. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” Farrell said, “I know what you mean.”

  McGraw flicked the ashes of his cigar into an already overflowing ashtray. “In the meantime, let’s pick Reiniger up!”

  * * *

  The Catholic section of Alta Vista’s Westlawn Cemetery, was easily identifiable because of its accumulation of carved, marble headstones: angels, open prayer books with rosaries, even a glistening statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Danny Novak’s funeral. It was close to 12:00 noon, and the sun was hot in the sky. The heavy bronze casket sat rested and poised above the open grave. A cross of cardinal-red roses covered the lid. Banks of wreathes and flowers at each side of the coffin. The small gathering of mourners discreetly tried to cool themselves in the hot, midday sun. Father Reiniger, dressed in a dazzling white surplice stood at the head of the casket, reciting the final prayers and blessing the deceased with holy water. Nearby, stood Carolyn Novak, heavily-veiled, dressed entirely in black, and her elder son, Mark. Behind them was Mark’s aunt, Linda Kasloff. At a discreet distance away from the chief mourners, and hardly noticeable, stood Danny’s father, Karl Novak. He was wearing dark shades. On a slight rise, overlooking the burial site, was a gray, marble mausoleum. Inconspicuous, and also wearing dark sunglasses, was Detective Farrell.

  A short time later, now that the gravesite service was over, the mourners began to return to their cars. Carolyn Novak was putting on a brave front, but inside, she was demolished. She was speaking to Father Reiniger, thanking him specifically, for his part in the funeral. He was trying to console her. In the background, was the repetitive slamming of car doors, as the mourners returned to their automobiles. As Father Reiniger was walking toward his waiting, black limousine, he was suddenly approached by Farrell. The priest was a little taken aback. “Oh, Detective Farrell! I didn’t see you at the service. Good to see you again!” He gripped Farrell’s hand. Farrell’s voice was very low. “Good seeing you.” He paused for a microsecond. “Listen, Father, under the circumstances, I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but there have been some new developments regarding Danny Novak’s death.”

  “New developments, Detective?”

  “Yes. And we will need you to come down to police headquarters. We need to ask you a few questions.”

  Reinger was stunned. “A few questions, Detective? If you don’t mind my saying so, this sounds a bit preposterous!”

  Farrell ignored what the priest had said. “This is the plan, Father Reiniger. I will follow your limousine back to the rectory. I know you will want to change. We’ll drive to police headquarters from there.” Farrell’s tone was somewhat harsh, authoritative.

  Reiniger nodded. “Fair enough, Detective.”

  Minutes later, Farrell returned to his unmarked sedan, which was parked in the shade of a huge Royal palm. Detective Juarez was seated inside; the passenger door open. As Farrell slid into the car, he threw his partner a quick, fleeting glance. “Thought I might get some flack from Reiniger, but so far, he seems willing to cooperate.”

  Farrell moved up to a position, directly behind the priest’s limo, and soon the long cortege of funeral cars was making its way along the tree-lined road toward the exit gates of the cemetery. Suddenly, a large white thundercloud rolled across the sun. The vast cemetery was plunged into a purplish-gray light. The leaves on the trees began to quietly rustle; a slight breeze had come up. Danny Novak’s funeral was over.

  * * *

  Interrogation Room 2-A. SBPD. 3:30 p.m. That same day. Located on the 2nd floor of the building, the interrogation room was a ten-foot-square cublicle, mirror-fronted, speaker-connected. It was painted a sickly, pea-green color. One large window was covered with a heavy, wire-mesh screen. There was a scarred, wooden conference table, around which were three or four ancient, walnut chairs, bolted to the floor. Above this, an exposed, yellowish fluorescent light fixture. The room was austere. Claustrophobic. Father Reiniger entered the interrogation room, followed closely behind by Detectives Farrell and Juarez. Reiniger crossed to the large table where he sat down. Farrell took the chair opposite, while Juarez stood behind the priest, leaning against the door. There was a long silence and finally, Reiniger spoke: “What is this all about, Detective?”

  “As I mentioned to you at the cemetery, Father,” Farrell said, “there have been some new developments regarding the Novak boy’s death.” He paused. “I’d like to talk about Sunday night, September the 5th.”

  “We have already been over that, Detective.”

  “Yes, I know we have. But I’d like to go over it again.”

  “Starting with?”

  “You, Jack Kramer and the Novak boy were left at the campfire. This, Willie Groda had returned to the dining hall. Right, Father?”

  “That’s right.”

  “By the way, did you know Groda has an arrest record? That he was arrested and charged with the sexual abuse of a nine-year-old girl in July of 1995?”

  Reiniger’s eyes narrowed. “No. I had no idea.”

  “He served a year and a half in the Crittenden County Jail, in Arkansas.”

  “Like I just told you, Detective, I had no idea.”

  “Doesn’t the archdiocese do a background check on these people, Father?”

  Reiniger smiled a little. “Apparently, Mr. Groda fell through the cracks.”

  “Uh-huh.” Farrell paused. “You, Jack Kramer and Danny were left at the fire. You offered to take the boy for a ride in the motorboat. Correct?”

  “Yes. That is correct.”

  “The boy was eager, very excited about the boat-ride, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “When I asked you back in the rectory, if Jack Kramer had accompanied you, you told me, ‘No, he didn’t.’”

  “That is correct.”

  “You ind
icated Kramer wasn’t that interested in the boat-ride, when, in fact, you didn’t want him to go on the boat-ride. Isn’t that right, Father?”

  Reiniger’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at, Detective?”

  “My information is that you and Mr. Kramer got into an argument, earlier that afternoon, and you became very angry.”

  Reiniger threw the detective a quick, puzzled look. “An argument? That is complete nonsense! I don’t know where you are getting this information, Detective!”

  Farrell’s voice rose. “You and Kramer got into a heated argument on the front porch of the main house!”

  Reiniger suddenly became slightly haughty. “This is fascinating, Detective, but it’s pure speculation. Such an argument never took place. It never happened!”

  “My sources tell me Kramer accused you of, ‘messin’ around’ with the boys, Father.”

  Reiniger tried to cover a look of shock. He shook his head. “Well, I have no idea who your sources are, Detective, but they are wrong. They are dead wrong.”

  “Okay,” Farrell said, “we’ll move on. Let’s go back to the motorboat ride. You left for this boat-ride at approximately what time?”

  “Seven-thirty or thereabouts.”

  “How long were you out on the lake?”

  “About an hour. It was dark when we got back to the campsite.”

  “You docked the motorboat. Then, what happened?”

  “Danny said he was worn-out, very tired. He said he wanted to go to bed.”

  “And?”

  Reiniger shrugged. “Danny was to share a bedroom with the other two boys, up at the main house. He started for the house.”

  “On what floor was this bedroom, Father?”

  “The second floor. Kramer and I slept in rooms on the first floor.”

  “So, you watched Danny as he began to make his way up to the ‘main house,’ as you call it?”

  “That is correct. As I told you before, that was the last time I saw Danny Novak, alive.”

  There was a long pause. Farrell was trying hard to keep his cool. When he spoke again, his voice was slow and even. “I’ll tell you where I’m comin’ from, Father Reiniger. As I’ve already told you, a complete autopsy was made on Danny Novak’s body. The boy was raped and sodomized. The M.E. found traces of semen. DNA test results indicate that incidentally, the semen matches your blood type, Father.”

  Reiniger was stunned. “Why, this is ludicrous! This is impossible! There has been a mistake, Detective! This is an outrageous accusation!”

  “I’m going to have to place you under arrest, Father Reiniger. The charge: lascivious and lewd conduct involving a minor.” He turned to face Juarez. “Read him his rights, Detective Juarez, and cuff him.”

  Juarez quickly read the priest his rights and handcuffed his hands behind his back.

  Reiniger’s pale eyes iced up momentarily. “You are making a big mistake here, Detective Farrell.”

  “You will be spending the weekend here, Father Reiniger, and then you’ll be transferred to the County Courthouse for your arraignment, on Monday morning.”

  Juarez began to lead him out of the interview room. Suddenly, Reiniger turned back to face Farrell. His voice was cold, venomous, when he spoke. “As I said, Detective Farrell, you are making an outlandish mistake here, and you will pay for it. You will pay for it, I can assure you, of that!”

  Moments later, Farrell joined Captain McGraw, who had been watching the interrogation, through the one-way mirror of the adjacent observation room. McGraw’s look was grim. “I dunno what kind of bullshit Reiniger thinks he’s throwin’ here! Nobody can contest DNA results, not even the good Father. The semen found on the kid’s body matches Reiniger’s blood type.” He shrugged. “What more is there to say?”

  * * *

  9/13/99. The County Courthouse. Downtown San Bernardino. 9:00 a.m. The huge courtroom on the second floor of the building was filled to capacity. The St. Michael’s parishioners, still in a seemingly state of shock, upon hearing the news, had gathered at the courthouse to witness the formal arraignment of their beloved Father Reiniger. The few remaining seats that were vacant after the throng of TV reporters and newsmen had entered, were left to the few ordinary citizens fortunate enough to get in. This, incidentally, was arranged by a numbers draw conducted by a bailiff at 8:00 a.m., before the arraignment proceedings were scheduled to begin. Presiding Judge, Jacqueline Schapiro sat tall and rather aloof behind the bench. In her late fifties, she was a heavy-set, big-boned woman. Her hair was dyed jet-black; she wore horn-rimmed glasses. She had earned the reputation of having a tough, no-nonsense demeanor. She reflected an aura of fear and intimidation.

  A sudden hush fell over the crowded courtroom as a uniformed deputy escorted Father Reiniger from a small, adjacent holding room, and led him to a position facing Judge Schapiro. The Judge paused momentarily, then whipped off her horn-rimmed glasses. She stared at Reiniger; her look was grim, distasteful. When she finally spoke her voice was cold, authoritative. “In the case of the State, versus Father Frederick Reiniger, you are charged with Code Number 727189, specifically lewd and lascivious acts involving a minor under the age of fourteen. How do you plead?”

  “Not guilty, Your Honor,” Reiniger said.

  “In addition, in the case of the State versus Father Frederick Reiniger, you are charged with the First Degree Murder of Daniel Jason Novak on the night of Sunday, September 5, 1999. How do you plead?”

  “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  Reiniger’s attorney, Richard Ramsey, in his mid-forties, was tall, lean, almost-handsome. His eyes were sharp, penetrating. He suddenly stepped forward. “Your Honor, considering that my client, Father Reiniger, is a recognized and respected leader in the community, I would like to”

  Judge Schapiro sharply cut him off. “Yes, I know all about Father Reiniger’s devotion to his St. Michael’s parishioners, his charity work, his benelovence, his aid to the poor, et cetera, et cetera, but this man is charged with sexually abusing a twelve-year-old child, and more important than that, causing the death of this same twelve-year-old child.” Schapiro paused. “Bail is set at $300,000.” Abruptly, she banged her gavel. “That’s it! Next case, please!”

  --6--

  EXTRACT: San Bernardino Sun-Times

  LOCAL PRIEST FACES MURDER CHARGE

  San Bernardino, Calif. Monday, September 13. Father Frederick Reiniger of St. Michael’s Parish, in Alta Vista was arraigned at the County Courthouse this morning on charges of abducting and murdering twelve-year-old Danny Novak, whose body was discovered in Half Moon Lake on Labor Day afternoon. Reiniger is also charged with lewd and lascivious conduct involving a minor, under fourteen years of age. Autopsy reports state that young Novak was sexually assaulted, strangled, then his body thrown into the lake. DNA results tie Reiniger to the crime. If convicted, he could face life imprisonment, without the possibility of parole. Reinger was released late today on a $300,000 bond, provided by the archdiocese. His trial is scheduled for Tuesday, September 21, at the San Bernardino County Courthouse.

  * * *

  9/14/99. 8:30 p.m. Because of its close proximity to the County Courthouse, and the SBPD, the Hotel California’s El Padrino Room was a favorite watering hole for defense lawyers, prosecuting attorneys, judges and upper echelons of the police department. Built in the early 1930s, the California was considered the premiere hotel in downtown San Bernardino. Fortunately, spared the ravages of time, and following several renovations over the years, the hotel still managed to maintain its Italian Renaissance grandeur: a baroque, marble fountain, centered the grand, main lobby; large fluted columns encased the double staircase leading to the mezzanine and elevator lobby; the intricate ceiling (imported from a former Italian castle) was hand-carved, burnished in gold. The El Padrino Room, just off the main lobby was reminiscent of a gentlemen’s private club; heavily-beamed ceiling, antique gold chandeliers and wall sconces, a magnificently-carved mahogany bar, red leather upholst
ery. The effect was warm, refined, classy.

  Steve Farrell was seated alone at the bar. He was quietly smoking a cigarette. A red-jacketed, Latino bartender set a freshly-made bourbon-rocks in front of him and moved off to a shadowy corner of the bar, where he continued to placate a boozy, over-the-hill, bottle-blonde, female customer. Farrell had just taken a gulp of the bourbon, when he felt a light tapping on his shoulder. He turned to face Captain McGraw. “Sorry, I’m late, Steve. The Chief called me about an hour ago. Said it was important. He wanted to see me in his office, right away.”

  Farrell smiled. “No problemo.”

  McGraw slid onto the bar stool next to him and immediately caught the barkeep’s attention. “Gimme a Scotch, Jose, will ya? Cutty Sark, if you got it. Okay?”

  “Coming right up, Captain!”

  Farrell took a deep drag on his cigarette and exhaled. “So, what’s up with Chief Walker?”

  McGraw spoke to Farrell’s reflection in the wide, beveled mirror behind the bar. “Well, you know how Chief Walker is; always got a hard-on for the Detective Bureau. As usual, he thinks we were draggin’ our feet on the Danny Novak case. He’s pissed that Reiniger was cut loose on bail. I gotta admit, I’m a little pissed about that, myself.”

  “I agree.”

  “The SBPD’s been getting plenty of flak from the press and TV.”

  Farrell’s tone was cryptic. “So, what else is new?”

  “Needless to say, Walker gets a little edgy, a little touchy, when the natives get restless.”

  Farrell nodded. “Yeah. So tell me.”

  The bartender placed McGraw’s drink on the bar in front of him. He took a slug of the Scotch and winced slightly. He turned to face Farrell. “I was goin’ over that tape we made of Reiniger’s interrogation, last night, and there’s still some things that are botherin’ me.”

  “Such as?”

  “The time element bothers the shit out of me. I’m okay, up until Reiniger and the boy return from the boat-ride. Reiniger said they left around dusk, about 7:30. They were out for about an hour which means they got back around 8:30. Reiniger tells us the boy went directly to the main house. The M.E. states the boy’s death occurred at approximately 10:00 p.m. What bothers me, is that we got a time-period here, an hour-and-a-half, to be precise, that we can’t account for. We don’t know what the fuck happened between 8:30 and ten o’clock, that night.”