With arms folded, Ramsey walked slowly back to the witness stand. He eyed Kramer with a long, somewhat curious look. “You know, Mr. Kramer? It intrigues me, it baffles me, really, that, as you have testified in this courtroom today, you suspected my client, Father Reiniger, of sexually molesting this ten-year-old boy. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, Mr. Kramer, that you are playing a very dangerous game, here. You are trifling with a man’s reputation. In fact, threatening to destroy a man’s reputation. Are you aware of that, Mr. Kramer?”
Kramer’s tone was cool, confident. “Yes. I’m fully aware of that, Mr. Ramsey.”
“You allege, you suspected Father Reiniger of sexually abusing this young boy.” He paused. “I keep asking myself, why in God’s name, didn’t you say something about it? Why didn’t you go to the archbishop? Why didn’t you go to the church hierarchy? Why didn’t you go to somebody? Anybody?”
“I felt I just couldn’t do that.”
When Ramsey spoke again, his voice was low, condescending. “You felt you just couldn’t do that! What a shame, what a pity! The truth is, you know it, and I know it, the truth is, it never happened in the first place! This ten-year-old boy doesn’t exist, and you know it! This ten-year-old boy is a myth! The bottom line here, Mr. Kramer, is that you are a volatile, hot-headed young man with a short fuse, and a violent temper! And, if I may say so, you are also a cold-blooded liar!”
Suddenly, Berkoff jumped up. His eyes flashed. “Your Honor! I object! This is outrageous! I demand that remark be stricken from the record!”
Ramsey was triumphant, smug. “Consider the remark withdrawn, Your Honor.” He began to return to his seat. “I have no more questions for this witness.”
Judge Baylor’s gaze swept over the courtroom. “Due to the lateness of the hour, he said, “this court will adjourn and reconvene at ten o’clock, on Monday morning.”
--11--
“The People call Ms. Virginia Lombardi!” David Berkoff’s voice sounded clear and resonant as it echoed throughout the crowded courtroom. Officer Delgado, the young, uniformed bailiff, opened the double doors leading to the rotunda. Virginia Lombardi stepped inside and began to make her way toward the bench. Once again, she was heavily made-up. She wore an attractive, flowered, silk dress, white stiletto-heels; she wore an array of gold, costume jewelry, a large, white, leather handbag. The spectators were slightly stunned by the huge, wide-brimmed hat she was wearing; the brim swathed with white roses. As she was being sworn-in, Judge Baylor, who looked mildly askance, was quietly speculating: Ms. Lombardi’s “get-up” was much more suited for a summer garden party, than a criminal courtroom. The jury members eyed her curiously as she seated herself at the witness stand. She was self-assured. Somewhat haughty.
“Will you please state your name, for the record?” Berkoff said, as he approached the stand.
“Virginia Lombardi. But, nobody calls me Virginia. They call me Ginny.”
“How old are you, Ms. Lombardi?”
She was reluctant to answer. “I’m forty-five, give or take a few years.”
“For the record, I need you to be specific, ma’am.”
“I’m forty-nine,” she said, lowering her voice.
“Uh-huh. And, where do you reside, ma’am?”
“557 Tamarack Lane, Alta Vista, California.”
“And what is your association with the defendant, Ms. Lombardi?”
Virginia’s voice rose. “Let’s get one thing straight here, Mr. Berkoff! It’s Mrs. Lombardi, not Ms!”
Berkoff smiled. “Oh. Excuse me. What is your association with Father Reiniger, Mrs. Lombardi?”
“I was Father Reiniger’s housekeeper.”
“Primarily, what were your duties as Father Reiniger’s housekeeper?”
She shrugged. “Well, the usual things. I kept the rectory clean. I washed his clothes. I cooked.”
“I see,” Berkoff said. “Approximately how long did you work for Father Reiniger?”
“Oh, I’d say a little over a year,” she answered, hesitantly.
“Are you a Catholic yourself, Mrs. Lombardi?”
She seemed affronted. “I am surprised you would ask me that question, Mr. Berkoff. Of course, I am a Catholic!”
During the course of the last half-dozen questions and answers, Berkoff noticed that the members of the jury were straining and moving around in their seats; because of the large, flowered hat Mrs. Lombardi was wearing, they were having difficulty seeing her face. Berkoff moved in very close to the stand, almost touching her. “Mrs. Lombardi,” he said, close to a whisper, “will you please favor the court and remove your hat? It’s a lovely hat, ma’am, but the jury members are having trouble seeing you.” He turned to face Judge Baylor. “Would you agree with that request, Your Honor?”
“Yes, I would agree, Counselor, it’s a lovely hat and I agree with you that Mrs. Lombardi should remove it. Now, can we get on with it?”
Mrs. Lombardi smiled, almost apologetically and quickly removed her hat. She laid it down on the stand in front of her.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Berkoff said, and there was long moment of silence. Then: “Mrs. Lombardi, I would like to go back to the night of Saturday, July 17th, of this year. Do you recall that particular night, Mrs. Lombardi?”
“I happen to recall that night very well,” she said, slow and even.
“Tell us in your own words, what transpired, what went on that night?”
“Well,” she said, relishing the attention, “Father had asked the altar boys for a few volunteers. He wanted to have the meeting room, the club room, in the basement of the rectory re-painted. Five or six boys showed up. As I recall, Father had forgotten I’d stayed over. I had some work to catch up on. No matter. About three hours after the boys had arrived, I decided to go downstairs with some soft drinks, you know, soda pop. What I saw when I got down there, shocked me. It really shocked me! Here they were, all sitting around eating pizza, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and the language they were using! I couldn’t believe it!”
“Was Father Reiniger drinking beer and smoking, also?”
“Yes. He was.”
“What happened then, Mrs. Lombardi?”
“Well, I was so shocked, I was so dumbfounded, I couldn’t think of a thing to say! And that’s very unusual for me, Mr. Berkoff. Just ask my husband!”
There was a wave of snickers throughout the courtroom. Baylor gaveled them down. “Quiet, please! Let’s get on with it, Mr. Berkoff!”
Berkoff tried to cover a smile. “What happened next?”
“I knew from the minute Father laid eyes on me, he wanted me out of there. Father has a way of turning cold, deadly serious, when he wants to. He looked me straight in the eye, and if looks could kill, Mr. Berkoff, I’d be dead right now. I knew it was time for me to leave. I laid the sodas down, and went back upstairs.”
“My understanding, Mrs. Lombardi, is that you left the rectory, shortly after that?”
“Yes. That’s correct. But when I got home, I discovered I’d forgotten something or other, my address book, my house keys, don’t remember what it was. So, I drove back to the rectory.”
“Do you recall what time that was, ma’am?”
“Yes. It was quarter to twelve. Almost midnight.”
“Go on, Mrs. Lombardi.”
“I had my own key, so, I let myself in.” She paused. “I found Father Reiniger sitting on the living room couch, drinking wine. He turned around and once again looked me straight in the eye. He said, ‘What do you want, Mrs. Lombardi? What are you doing here?’” She paused again. “I was a little embarrassed. I told him I’d forgotten something. I remember what is was, now. It was my address book. It had a list of telephone numbers in it. I’d promised my sister back in Brooklyn, I’d call her the next morning. She has an unlisted number.”
Judge Baylor was getting slightly impatient. “Yes, yes, Mrs. Lombardi. So you picked up your address book. What happened then?”
“Well, I
was just getting ready to leave, when all of a sudden, the bathroom door opened and one of the boys walked out. I won’t mention his name. All he had on, was a towel wrapped around him.”
“Yes. Go on, Mrs. Lombardi,” Berkoff said.
“Father’s face turned a little red. I could tell he was ill-at-ease, a little embarrassed. Father said, ‘He decided to take a shower.’ I answered, ‘Yes, I can see that, Father!’ And in a minute, I was gone.”
“And so, you went directly home?”
“Yes, I did. My husband was watching some old movie on TV, when I got there. I tried to explain to him what I’d seen. That I thought it was a little odd, strange, that one of the boys was taking a shower in the rectory at midnight, of all times. He scoffed at the idea, told me I was imagining things, as usual. He was much more interested in watching the movie, than listening to me, so I dropped the subject.”
Suddenly, Berkoff returned to the prosecutor’s table and picked up a white shoe box. He then turned and once again, approached the witness stand. “Mrs. Lombardi, as you can see, I have a simple, white shoe box in my hand. Does it look familiar to you? Have you ever seen this box, before?”
“Yes, I certainly have,’ she said, ominously. “It’s what was inside the box that really threw me for a loop, Mr. Berkoff!”
“I see.” He paused. “And where exactly did you see this box, Mrs. Lombardi?”
“Well, it was Christmastime. Father had bought a nice tree for the rectory. He asked me to go ahead and decorate it. He told me I’d find lights and Christmas tree decorations in the hall closet.”
“And did you find the box, Mrs. Lombardi?”
“If you will just let me continue, Mr. Berkoff! Yes, I found the box of decorations all right, but hidden behind it, I also found the shoe box you have in your hand, Mr. Berkoff.”
“So, you opened the box?”
Low. Almost a whisper. “I’m gonna be perfectly honest with you, sir. I’m just as curious, just as snoopy as the next guy. I won’t deny that for a minute!”
“Did you open the box, Mrs. Lombardi?” Berkoff said, pressing on.
“Yes. I did.”
“And what did you find inside the box?”
Her voice was low, somewhat apprehensive. “I found a collection of photographs, taken with a Polaroid camera.”
“Photographs of what? Of whom, Mrs. Lombardi?”
“They were all pictures of young boys, some partially dressed, most of them naked.”
Suddenly, a slight rumble echoed throughout the courtroom. Judge Baylor gaveled the spectators down. “Quiet, please! You may continue, Mr. Berkoff.”
“Approximately how many photographs were in the box, do you recall? Just give us a rough estimate.”
“Oh, I’d have to say, twenty, thirty.”
Berkoff opened the shoe box and extracted five or six of the photographs. He held them out to Mrs. Lombardi. “Mrs. Lombardi, I’d like you to take a look at these photographs. Are these what you saw that evening in the rectory?”
Mrs. Lombardi took the photos and looked at them as if she’d just seen a tarantula. She passed the photographs back to Berkoff.
“Are these the pictures you saw that night, Mrs. Lombardi?” he said.
Cold. “Yes. They are.”
“Would you say these pictures would be classified as, pornographic?”
Her voice was dour. “Yes. Without a doubt, I certainly would.”
Berkoff turned toward the Judge. “Your Honor? May I show these photographs to the jury?”
“You may.”
Quickly, Berkoff turned and passed the half-dozen photographs to Ben Marley, the foreman of the jury. Marley in turn, passed the photos along to the other jury members. The women, especially, were visibly shocked.
“Your Honor,” Berkoff said, “we request that this box of pornographic photographs be marked as Prosecution Exhibit “A”, and submitted as evidence.”
“So submitted. You may continue, Mr. Berkoff.”
Berkoff passed the box of photographs to the court clerk for identification, then slowly turned once again to face Mrs. Lombardi. “Mrs. Lombardi, I’d like to talk about the events which occurred on Tuesday, July the 20th, 1999. That incidentally, was just three days after the incident involving the painting of the rectory club room. Do you remember the events which occurred on July 20th, Mrs. Lombardi?”
“Of course, Mr. Berkoff. How could I forget that night?”
“Tell us what happened that night, if you will.”
“I seem to have a knack, for being in the wrong place, at the wrong time,” she said, smiling a little.
“How so, Mrs. Lombardi?”
“It was another one of those nights, when I’d gone home, but had to return to the rectory for something I’d forgotten. I don’t recall what it was right now, besides, it’s not important.” She paused. “Once again, I walked into the rectory, unannounced, and I found one of the altar boys lying on the couch, stripped to the waist. Father was giving the boy a massage with an electric hand-vibrator. I could see Father was very angry that I’d walked in on him. The next morning, he handed me an envelope, with a week’s pay inside. He said I was through. He was terminating me.”
The prosecutor glanced abruptly at Richard Ramsey. “Your witness, Mr. Ramsey.”
Berkoff returned to his seat at the counsel table. Ramsey rose and with folded arms, slowly moved toward the witness stand. Eyeing Mrs. Lombardi closely, he threw her a cold, appraising look. “Mrs. Lombardi, you told this court, and I quote: ‘I seem to have a knack, for being in the wrong place, at the wrong time’. Isn’t that what you said, Mrs. Lombardi?”
Virginia Lombardi was suddenly changing her position; re-crossing her legs. “Yes. That’s right. I did.” Her tone was flippant.
“Forgive me, but I don’t think that is entirely true.”
“What are you getting at? What do you mean?”
Ramsey’s voice rose. “What I mean, Mrs. Lombardi, is that you didn’t just happen to drop by the rectory as you implied. Your ‘haphazard’ return trips to the rectory were planned, Mrs. Lombardi.”
Loud. Her voice quick, icy. “That’s ridiculous! That’s also a damned lie! I never planned any such thing!”
“The truth is,” Ramsey’s tone was cold, lethal, “and my client will verify this. You are a very calculating and manipulative woman. You are obsessed with getting your nose into other people’s business, where it doesn’t belong!”
Suddenly, Berkoff rose quickly from his chair. “Objection, Your Honor! Mrs. Lombardi is not on trial here!”
“I’ll allow it. Continue, Mr. Ramsey.”
“My information, Mrs. Lombardi, is that you take particular delight in causing dissension between everyone you come in contact with!”
“That is also a lie! And I resent that remark, Mr. Ramsey!” she sniffed.
“You are greedy, you are manipulative, you are deceitful. You are also a liar, Mrs. Lombardi! Why would any of these jurors believe a word you say?”
Berkoff was in again. His voice was loud. Almost threatening. “Your Honor, I object! He’s harassing the witness!”
“Sustained.”
In an unexpected move, Mrs. Lombardi suddenly turned to face the Judge. “Your Honor, may I ask a question?”
There was a twinkle in Judge Baylor’s eye. “This is a little unorthodox, Mrs. Lombardi, but I am willing to go out on a limb. What is your question?”
“Do I really need to be subjected to Mr. Ramsey’s constant verbal abuse? Is his verbal abuse, really necessary, Your Honor?”
Judge Baylor eyed Ramsey contemplatively. “Yes, Mr. Ramsey, I think you’ve made your point. Let’s get on with it!”
“One last question, Mrs. Lombardi. Didn’t the prosecution cut you a deal? Isn’t it a fact the prosecution paid you to give this testimony?”
Suddenly, Berkoff leaped to his feet. His face turned ashen with anger. His voice was intense, abrasive. “Your Honor! Now this is getting ridiculo
us! I demand that question be stricken from the record!”
“Mr. Ramsey,” Baylor said, “I must warn you, you are treading on very thin ice. Will the jury please disregard Mr. Ramsey’s last statement.”
Ramsey tossed the Judge a small smile. “I withdraw the question, Your Honor.” He then glanced at Mrs. Lombardi with a cold, withering look. “I have no more questions for this witness.”
Berkoff slowly sank into his chair at the counsel table. He was trying valiantly to control his rage.
“You may step down, Mrs. Lombardi,” the Judge said, then his gaze was fastened on the prosecutor. “Mr. Berkoff? You look slightly perturbed. A little out of sorts. Do you wish to continue?”
“Yes. Of course. Your Honor.”
“Then, will you please call your next witness.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. The people call Dr. Adam Steiner.”
--12--
Dr. Adam Steiner approached the bench, was sworn-in by the clerk and took his place on the witness stand. In his mid-sixties, he was tall, professorial; he wore a mustache and goatee, steel-rimmed, aviator-styled glasses. In a slightly nervous gesture, he re-adjusted the microphone.
“Can we please have your full name for the record, Doctor?” Berkoff said.
“Dr. Adam Steiner.”
“How old are you, Dr. Steiner?”
“Sixty-seven.”
“Where do you presently reside?”
“1000 Sand Canyon Road, Palm Springs, California.”
“My understanding is that you a Doctor of Psychiatry. Is that not correct, sir?”
“That is correct.”
“You received your doctorate at Columbia University?”
“Yes. That is correct.”
“You were a professor in the Department of Psychiatry at the Mount Sinai School of Medicine in New York. Correct, Dr. Steiner?”
“That is correct.”
“You were a resident in psychiatry at the Atascadero State Hospital, here in California?”
“Yes. I was.”
Berkoff looked up from his notes on the podium. “You are a member of the American Board of Psychiatry, are you, Doctor?”
“Yes, I am.”
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