“I see.” Berkoff paused briefly. “And, as I understand it, you eventually went to bed. The two older boys sharing one bed, you and Father Reiniger sharing the other. What happened then?”
“He waited for about a half-hour, thinking the other boys were asleep, I suppose. Then, he reached for my groin. He began to fondle me, he began to masturbate me. I remember his fingernails were very long. I was embarrassed, but I was also angry. I grabbed his hand and pushed it away. I said, ‘Keep your hands off me, Father!’”
“And did he keep his hands off you?”
“I fell asleep, and about three o’clock in the morning, I suddenly woke up again. Father was lying behind me. He had pulled my shorts down; his penis was up between my legs. He was trying to sodomize me.”
“What happened then, Mr. Stiles?”
“I panicked. I jumped out of the bed and went into the bathroom. Before I could even lock the door, Father was right in there behind me. He was very angry. He was threatening. He led me to believe it was all my fault. He warned me not to say anything about it to anyone. He said, ‘If you tell anybody about this, Robert, God will punish you!’ He said, ‘They won’t believe you anyhow, so don’t tell them!’ I spend the rest of that night, sleeping in a chair. All I could think of, was, how ashamed of myself, I was. I felt I was no good. I really began to believe it was my fault! And, most of all, I thought of how much I loved Father Reiniger, how much I admired him, and how much I trusted him!” He paused. “And, now I felt alone, betrayed. Father Reiniger had betrayed that trust! He’d let me down. I was demolished!”
There was a long pause, as Berkoff slowly walked away from Stiles. He crossed to the jury. He was quick to notice the look of shock and bewilderment on their faces. He then turned back to face Stiles. “Mr. Stiles, would it be correct for me to say, that you are no longer a practicing Catholic?”
“Yes, sir. That is true. I was an altar boy, I sang in the choir, I enjoyed Mass very much, I enjoyed helping out whenever I could. But, after I was sexually abused, I gave up on the church. I still believe in God, but the church doesn’t exist for me anymore.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stiles. I have no more questions for this witness, Your Honor.”
The Judge glanced abruptly at Ramsey. “Your witness, Mr. Ramsey.”
“I have no questions at this time, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Berkoff?”
“Your Honor, the Prosecution rests.”
There was a slight pause as Judge Baylor quickly surveyed the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, as it is close to 12:00 noon, we will take an early lunch break, and reconvene at one-thirty. At that time, we will hear from the first witness for the Defense.” He rapped his gavel. “Court is now adjourned!”
* * *
Lunch for the jury and the two alternates was usually catered; food was sent over from the California Hotel, or a nearby restaurant. The principals in the trial, i.e., the Judge, the A.D.A., the defense attorney, the witnesses, chose to exit the courthouse through a rear door, leading to the parking lot. They did this for good reason; they wanted to avoid the television reporters and the newsmen who hovered around the main entrance, like a horde of hungry vultures.
David Berkoff was apparently on a high. He was on an ego-trip. He’d felt the morning’s session with Robert Stiles had gone extremely well, and he wanted to capitalize on that fact. He’d decided to meet with the press. He felt: a little positive publicity, why not? He’d even had his secretary apply a touch of makeup; he wanted to look good for the cameras. As anticipated, the moment he had emerged from inside the courthouse, he was surrounded by the mob of reporters. Sharon Enright, a brassy and ballsy, blonde reporter from UBS-TV News, shoved a microphone into his face. “Mr Berkoff!” she yelled, “What’s your gut feeling? You think the prosecution’s case is going well?”
“Yes,” he answered. “As well as can be expected. Yes.”
“Word around the courthouse,” Enright continued, “is that you’ve never lost a case for the D.A.’s office. True, Mr. Berkoff?”
“True.”
“And you think you’ll win this case?”
“No doubt in my mind. Of course, I’ll win this case.”
“And, if you lose?”
He forced a smile. “No,” he said, “I’ll win this case!”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself!”
Berkoff was getting slightly pissed. “Next question!”
Another reporter, this time a male from the Los Angeles Star-Tribune, edged his way in front of Enright. “Mr. Berkoff? According to the testimony given so far, you can’t actually place the defendant at the crime scene. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“No. Not at all. We believe the defendant assaulted the Novak boy, and common sense tells me he had to silence him. By killing him. I’m sure the jury will see it the same way.”
Sharon Enright was not about to be upstaged by anyone. Shoving the male reporter aside, she moved in closer to Berkoff. “Mr. Berkoff, you stated that Robert Stiles came to you on his own volition. That he wasn’t subpoenaed. Is that true, or is it just another one of your sleazy courtroom ploys?”
“Number one, I resent that remark, Ms. Enright. And Number two, Mr. Stiles did approach our office, voluntarily.”
“Okay, I believe you.” Enright paused for a microsecond. “What’s the deal on Richard Ramsey?”
“What do you mean, Ms. Enright?”
“A simple question, Mr. Berkoff. What’s your impression of Mr. Ramsey?”
“He’s a very good attorney. A very capable adversary, if you will.”
Enright’s face turned sour. “Oh, come on, Mr. Berkoff! Let’s drop the façade. What’s he really like?”
“What are you getting at, Ms. Enright?”
“Everybody’s got a few skeletons rattling around in their closet somewhere. What about Ramsey?”
The prosecutor was suddenly affronted. “Ms. Enright, I don’t think your questions are entirely appropriate. I really don’t think”
“Rumors are,” she said, cutting him off, “Ramsey is a recovering alcoholic. True, Mr. Berkoff?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Sharon Enright moved in closer. Now, she and Berkoff were face-to-face. “Come off it, Mr. Berkoff,” she yelled, “You’re evading the issue!”
“I have no comment.”
“You’re playing us! You’re stonewalling! Is Ramsey an ex-drunk, or not?” she screamed.
Berkoff’s eyes flashed. He glared at Enright. “What is it about, No Comment, you don’t understand, Ms. Enright?”
Enright’s face turned stony. “Come on, Mr. Berkoff,” she pleaded, “throw me a bone! I need a story. My editor is on my ass! I need a good story!”
Berkoff stared at Enright with narrowed eyes. He said nothing. All at once, as if on cue, a gleaming, black Cadillac limousine eased up to the curb. “Excuse me,” Berkoff said as he brushed past Enright and moved quickly down the courthouse steps. The chauffeur had already opened the rear door. Berkoff slid inside the car. His face was pale, ashen. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, Morgan,” he whispered. In a few brief moments, the limo had disappeared from view.
--15--
The Defense calls Mrs. Carolyn Novak!”
Officer Delgado standing just inside the tall, double doors, opened them, and Carolyn Novak entered the courtroom. She appeared somewhat reticent, vulnerable, even a little shy. She moved down the long aisle and crossed to the witness stand, where she was sworn-in by the clerk. Hesitantly, she took her seat. Ramsey rose from the defense table, and began to walk toward her. His voice was sympathetic, gentle. “Will you please state your name, for the record?”
“Carolyn Anne Novak.”
“And where do you presently reside, Mrs. Novak?”
“717 Las Lomas Drive, Alta Vista, California.”
Ramsey paused slightly. “Mrs. Novak, I’d like to take this opportunity to extend my belated condolences on the death of your son.”
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br /> “Thank you, Mr. Ramsey.”
Ramsey moved slowly toward the jury box. “Mrs. Novak,” he said, “I’d like to regress for a few moments, if you will. My understanding is that you are presently divorced?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“When did this divorce take place?”
“Five years ago.”
“Your ex-husband’s full name for the record?”
“Karl Anton Novak.”
“Who instigated the divorce proceedings?”
“I did.”
“For what specific reasons? Can you tell us that, Mrs. Novak?”
All at once, Berkoff spoke up. “Objection! Relevancy, Your Honor.”
“I’ll allow it.”
“What were the specific reasons for obtaining the divorce, Mrs. Novak?”
“My ex-husband was verbally and physically abusive.”
“Toward you?”
“Toward me, and the boys. I suddenly decided I couldn’t take the abuse any longer and so I ended the marriage.”
“I see.” Ramsey paused. “How long have you known Father Reiniger, Mrs. Novak?”
“Father came to St. Michael’s parish, about two years ago.”
“Now, isn’t it true, Mrs. Novak, that you would quite often invite Father Reiniger into your home?”
“Yes. That’s right. I very often invited Father over for Sunday dinners. Sometimes I thought of him, as being part of the family. Both Mark and Danny loved him very much.”
“What about you, Mrs. Novak? What was your impression of Father Reiniger?”
Her voice was steady, even. “Father Reiniger is one of the most wonderful persons, I have ever met. He would never do these things he’s been accused of. Never! When Mark came home and told me he’d been ‘molested,’ of all things, by Father Reiniger, I couldn’t believe my ears! In my mind, there was just no way Father would do such a thing! No possible way!”
“As I understand it, Mrs. Novak, you and Mark had a major confrontation over this issue. You asked him to leave the house, isn’t that true?”
“Yes. I did. When Mark told me these things, it was like I’d been kicked in the stomach! We argued, we fought, we screamed at each other. We wouldn’t talk to each other for days on end. He insisted it was all true. I didn’t believe a word he told me, and I never will believe it.” She paused. “Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I asked him to move out. Move out of the house.”
“And did he move out, Mrs. Novak?”
“Yes, he did. He moved in with my sister, his aunt, who lived a few blocks away. She had a spare room.”
“Your sister’s name for the record, ma’am?”
“Kasloff. Linda Kasloff.”
“I see.” There was a long pause. “Mrs. Novak, I know this is painful for you, but I’d like to talk about Labor Day, September 6th, of this year.”
“Yes?”
“When were you first made aware, that your son was indeed missing?”
“Father Reiniger called me on the telephone.”
“What time was that? Do you remember?”
“About nine o’clock, nine-fifteen in the morning.”
“What happened then, Mrs. Novak?”
“I went next door to one of my neighbors. He’s a very good friend of mine. I told him what had happened. I told him I was too upset to drive, and would he take me up to the lake?”
“And?”
“We were just getting into his car, when suddenly a police car pulled up behind us. Apparently, Father had also called the Alta Vista Police, and they had sent a patrol car over, to pick me up.”
“And so, you made the trip up to the lake in the police car?”
“Yes. That’s right.” There was a long pause. “I remember we used to love to drive up to Half Moon Lake. That was before my husband and I were divorced. Mark and Danny were always begging us to take them there. I always thought of the lake as being so beautiful. It was that deep azure blue, and the way the water would sparkle in the sunlight, like glittering diamonds. It was always so cool and peaceful there. The nights were always clear, and we’d look up at those millions of stars.” She paused. “But, that Monday, that Labor Day, as we drove along in the police car, the lake seemed so different to me. It had started to rain. It wasn’t beautiful at all that day. Now, it seemed dark and foreboding. And of course, I knew the reason why. Call it a premonition, call it what you like, but I had this horrible feeling. My son, Danny, had disappeared, without a trace and I was afraid they would never find him again.”
Ramsey paused. “As I understand it, you arrived at the lake, shortly before noon?”
“Yes, that’s right. Father Reiniger was waiting for us when we got there. I remember he was so caring, so sympathetic toward me. He was doing his best to ease my anxiety, to comfort me. Then, later, Father, Detective Farrell and myself, walked down to the shore of the lake. I remember there was a small group of people, curious onlookers, I suppose, gathered at the dock.” She paused. “That particular Labor Day, turned out to be one of the most horrible days of my life, Mr. Ramsey. You can’t imagine what it feels like to see a group of men in rowboats dragging the bottom of the lake, with steel hooks, looking for your son, your own flesh and blood.” Her eyes began welling up with tears. “There’s nothing on this earth so painful, so devastating, for a mother to lose her son, her child. After they found his body, pulled it into the boat, and came ashore, it was like a nightmare for me. I was hysterical! I was screaming that this just couldn’t be happening to me! Mr. Ramsey, from that moment on, my mind went blank, my mind went completely blank. To this day, I really can’t remember anything, that is, until I found myself staring at Danny’s flower-laden casket at the funeral, three days later.” Mrs. Novak took a small, white handkerchief from inside her purse, and dried her tears. Ramsey crossed to her and gently grasped her arm. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Novak.”
Carolyn Novak was trying to regain her composure. “You will have to excuse me, I’m sorry. I just can’t help it.”
There was a long pause as Ramsey crossed to the jury. They were mesmerized by Mrs. Novak’s testimony. He gripped the hand railing and turned to look back at her. “Mrs. Novak? Do you really believe in your heart, that Father Reiniger had anything to do, with Danny’s death?”
She shook her head. “No! No, of course not! There is no possible way Father Reiniger could have had”
Berkoff suddenly interjected. “Your Honor, I object! With due respect to Mrs. Novak. I cannot accept this! This is purely prejudicial and I ask that that question be withdrawn!”
“I withdraw the question, Your Honor.” Ramsey returned to the stand. “Mrs. Novak, I have one final question. After this horrible and devastating experience of losing your son, Danny, and in a way, losing your son, Mark as well, did you ever have doubts? Deep down inside, did you ever have doubts, about God? Did you ever think of giving up on the church, Mrs. Novak?”
“Oh, no! Never! I am a Catholic. I still go to church. I say, never give up on the church!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Novak.” He turned to Berkoff. “Your witness, Counselor.”
“I have no questions at this time, Your Honor.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Novak,” Judge Baylor said, “you may be excused. Mr. Ramsey? You may call your next witness.”
“Your Honor, we would like to recall Robert Stiles.”
Mrs. Novak stepped down from the witness stand amd exited the courtroom. Robert Stiles, who had been listening intently to Mrs. Novak’s testimony, from his seat in the gallery, rose and moved quickly toward the bench. He seated himself on the witness chair.
“I don’t need to remind you, Mr. Stiles, you are still under oath,” Baylor said, kindly.
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Ramsey very quickly reviewed material in a manila folder at his desk, then rose, and crossed toward Stiles. “Mr. Stiles, you testified earlier that when you learned Father Reiniger was allegedly involved in the death of young Danny No
vak, you wanted to do everything you could, to help secure his conviction. Isn’t that what you said? Are we in agreement with this scenario, so far, Mr. Stiles?”
Stiles’ response was cool. “Yes, sir. We are.”
“That’s a very provocative statement. Now, isn’t it a fact that you approached Father Reiniger at the St. Michael’s rectory, less than two weeks ago, Mr. Stiles?”
“Yes. That is true.”
“Regressing for a moment, it was over ten years since you had seen Father Reiniger. Isn’t that true?”
“Yes, sir. That is true.”
“Tell me, Mr. Stiles, what prompted you to all of a sudden contact Father Reiniger, after all those years?”
“To be perfectly honest, I had repressed all memory of what had happened that night in Santa Barbara. I wanted to forget all about it. Forget it ever happened. Block it out. I was in denial. But then, when I heard about what had happened to Danny Novak, it all came back to me. I knew I had to confront Father Reiniger.”
Ramsey glanced at him curiously. “Confront? An interesting choice of words, Mr. Stiles, but, go on, so you met Father Reiniger after Mass, as he was walking back to the rectory. Did he know who you were?”
“No. Not at first. I had to re-introduce myself. I told him my name and that I used to know him at Queen of Angels parish.”
“Go on, Mr. Stiles.”
“His memory seemed very vague. Then I mentioned the trip we’d made to Santa Barbara. I spoke about the night we’d slept together, and that he’d sexually molested me. He was shocked. He told me he couldn’t remember. He asked me to give him a detailed account as to what exactly had happened, which I did. I gave him a full account including the fact that he tried to sodomize me, in the middle of the night.”
“What was his reaction to that, Mr. Stiles?”
“He said, ‘I could have done those things, and if I did, I might have been asleep.’ He said, ‘I was unaware of what I was doing.’”
“What else did he say, Mr. Stiles?”
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