“He said he was sorry. He said, ‘If I did these things to you, Robert, I am deeply sorry. Please forgive me.’ He was very apologetic. Thinking back on it, Father seemed very reasonable. He was subdued. I got the feeling, he was almost relieved.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stiles.” Ramsey turned to face the prosecutor. “Your witness, Mr. Berkoff.”
--16--
Ramsey returned to his seat at the counsel table. David Berkoff rose, and with folded arms, slowly moved toward the witness stand. Eyeing Stiles closely, he threw him a long, curious look. When he spoke, it was with some distaste. “Tell me, Mr. Stiles, did this alleged sexual molestation in Santa Barbara have any, what shall I say, adverse effects on your life? Did it change your life in any way?”
“Yes. It did. I felt a tremendous amount of guilt. As I have said before, I felt I was the one who was at fault. I was the guilty party.”
“As I understand it, you went into therapy, Mr. Stiles. Isn’t that true?”
“Yes. I did. I felt I had to. Before I started my therapy sessions, I’d become very shy, withdrawn. I’d gone into bouts of depression; I couldn’t sleep. I had problems trusting authority figures. I just felt I couldn’t trust anybody.”
“I understand.” He paused. “Mr. Stiles, I would like to talk about the events which occurred in August of 1989. That would be about a month after the incident in Santa Barbara. Correct?”
“That is correct.”
“I realize I’d be taxing your memory. After all, this happened all of then years ago. And you were just sixteen. Correct?”
“That’s correct, Mr. Berkoff.”
“My understanding is that you went to see the archbishop. Archbishop O’Donnell, who is currently assigned to Christ, the King Cathedral, in Riverside. Right, Mr. Stiles?”
“That’s right.”
“You went to see the archbishop primarily to inform him of what had happened in the motel room in Santa Barbara. Correct?”
“That is correct.”
Ramsey suddenly glanced up at the Judge. “Objection, Your Honor. Relevance.”
“Overruled. Continue, Mr. Berkoff.”
“In your meeting with the archbishop, were you specific about what happened that night?”
“Yes. I was.”
“You were very brave, Mr. Stiles. And, what was Archbishop O’Connell’s reaction?”
“He was shocked. He kept saying, ‘You must be mistaken. I’ve known Father Reiniger for over ten years now. I happen to know him very well. I can vouch for him 110-per-cent. He would never do these things you are describing.’”
“Uh-huh. I see. I am curious. What was the archbishop’s demeanor during this conversation? Was he sympathetic? Understanding? Compassionate?”
“He was none of those things, Mr. Berkoff. I found the archbishop to be pompous, arrogant, indifferent. He was very condescending.”
“What was the result of the meeting, Mr. Stiles?”
“He said he would look into it. He said, he’d get back to me.”
“And, did he get back to you?”
“No. He didn’t.”
“Did you in turn, try to contact him?”
“Yes. I tried calling him on the phone at least four or five times.”
“And?”
“His secretary always had an excuse. He was out-of-town, he was tied up in a meeting. He was officiating at a funeral. On one occasion, his secretary told me he was on his way to Rome, the Vatican. I found out later, that was true. But, in essence, I was constantly getting the run-around, what I’d call, the brush-off.”
“So, you never talked with the archbishop again, after that first meeting?”
“That is correct.”
“I see.” He paused. “Mr. Stiles, in your own honest opinion, do you think the church was aware of what Father Reiniger was doing? That he was sexually abusing juveniles?”
“Of course, the church was aware! But they refused to do anything about it. Their idea was to ignore it. Just sweep it under the rug. They solved the problem by transferring Father Reiniger from one parish to another. Nobody in the church listens. Nobody cares!”
“Mr. Stiles, you stated earlier, that before your therapy sessions, you had problems trusting authority figures. You felt you just couldn’t trust anybody. I’m sure the molestation in the church sacristy and the incident in Santa Barbara, had been a very traumatic experience for you. Did you ever say anything to your family about any of this?”
“Yes. I did.”
“And what was their reaction?”
“I was looking for support, and, as in the case of Mark Novak, they refused to believe me.”
“And?”
“There was a lot of anger from both my mother, my father, and my sister. They thought I had betrayed the church. We were a conservative Catholic family. They all turned against me. Everybody wanted me out of their lives. I felt like I was invisible.”
Berkoff eyed Stiles for a long moment, then slowly crossed to the jury box. He gripped the hand railing; his eyes scanned the jury members momentarily, then he glanced back at Stiles. “It’s my understanding that as a possible manifestation of this emotional trauma, the shame and guilt, you turned to drugs, Mr. Stiles. Is that a fair and accurate statement?”
“Yes, sir. It is.”
“Would it be fair to say you eventually became addicted?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you care to say what specific drug you were using?”
“I was doing cocaine. Coke.”
“For a period of how long?”
“Almost a year.”
“You eventually checked into rehab?”
“Yes, sir. I did.”
“I see. And now you’ve been clean and sober for how long?”
“Over a period of seven years now.”
“For the jury’s edification, you maintain that this use of drugs was a direct result of the shame and guilt, manifested by the sexual abuse?”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
Once again, Berkoff’s eyes surveyed the members of the jury. If Robert Stiles had never received support and compassion from his immediate family, there was definitely support and compassion for him in the courtroom, this afternoon. Berkoff spotted at least two women in the jury, who were teary-eyed and totally sympathetic. This gave the prosecutor’s ego a sudden rush. He smiled to himself as he turned and walked slowly to the stand. He moved in very close to Robert Stiles. “Mr. Stiles, I understand that you have a seven-year-old boy of your own?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Please tell the court, what is your main concern, for this seven-year-old child, Mr. Stiles?”
There was a long pause. As Stiles continued, he all at once became very emotional, he was about to break, and he tried valiantly to hold back the tears. “I pulled my son, Robbie, out of the church. He won’t become an altar boy. He won’t have his First Communion. He won’t be going to summer camp, and God knows, it has nothing to do with him! The simple facts are, his Dad doesn’t trust the church. His Dad doesn’t trust the clergy. I can’t, I can’t take the chance that my son will be abused, molested, like I was.” He shook his head. “I just can’t take that chance!”
“I understand.” Berkoff hesitated momentarily. “Mr. Stiles, I have just one last question. It requires a simple yes or no answer.” His voice was direct and flat. “Did Father Reiniger offer you a substantial amount of money, not to testify against him in this courtroom today?”
Ramsey suddenly leaped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor! Mr. Berkoff’s line of questioning is completely out of order!”
“Overruled, Mr. Ramsey! You may continue, Mr. Berkoff.”
“I’ll repeat the question. Did Father Reiniger offer you a substantial amount of money, not to testify against him in this courtroom today? I need a yes, or a no, Mr. Stiles!”
“Yes. He did.”
“And how much money are we talking about, Mr. Stiles?”
“He offered to pa
y me $5,000 in cash, to say nothing, to keep my mouth shut.”
There was a low buzz throughout the courtroom. Judge Baylor gaveled them down.
“No further questions, Your Honor,” Berkoff said, abruptly.
“You may step down, Mr. Stiles. Mr. Ramsey, you may call your next witness.”
“Your Honor, the Defense would like to recall Detective Farrell.”
Baylor quickly scanned the gallery. “Recall Detective Steven Farrell, please.”
Farrell was soon seated on the stand. Ramsey picked up a yellow legal pad and walked stiffly to the podium. For a few moments he studied the notes on his legal pad, then he turned to face the detective. “Detective Farrell,” he said, “I’d like to go back to statements you made, in your previous testimony. We were discussing DNA findings.”
“Yes?”
“You stated that when Danny Novak’s clothing was tested for DNA, you found there was no connection between the said clothing and my client. Is that not correct, Detective?”
“Yes, sir. That is correct.”
“And looking back, and I’m quoting you now, you said, ‘Only the sperm sample that was found on the victim’s body.’ Do you remember making that statement, Detective Farrell?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Let’s talk about DNA and DNA technology for a moment, Detective. Is it possible, as in this case, is it at all possible, that the DNA findings, the sperm sample, could be in error? Faulty?”
Farrell’s voice was slow and even. “That’s very unlikely, Mr. Ramsey.”
Ramsey moved in close to the stand. “In your experience with forensics and DNA findings, to your knowledge, has there ever been an error or a misjudgment?”
“I would have to say that is a very remote possibility, Counselor.”
“But, is it possible, Detective? I need a yes or no answer.”
“Yes. It’s possible.”
“You’ve answered my question, Detective,” he said quickly. “Moving on, Detective Farrell, I’d like to talk about a sexual assault case which occurred in Los Angeles, in November of last year. 1998. The People versus Lamar Hicks. Case Number 25255. Are you familiar with the case, Detective?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“I’ll refresh your memory. Lamar Hicks, a twenty-three-year-old black man was arrested for the rape of Sherrell Sykes,an eight-year-old girl, he was purportedly babysitting. Semen was found on the victim which was ostensibly a DNA match for Hicks. Following a quick trial, Mr. Hicks was convicted and sent to the maximum security prison at Folsom.” Ramsey crossed toward the jury. “After Hicks’ conviction, the District Attorney’s office had the DNA analyzed and it was found to match Sherrell Sykes’ neighbor, Calvin Rivers, who later confessed to the crime.”
Berkoff suddenly spoke up. “Objection, Your Honor. Relevancy.”
“I’ll allow it. Continue, Mr. Ramsey.”
Ramsey returned to the stand. “You do recall the case, Detective?”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“Lamar Hicks was an innocent man, Detective. He never learned of the guilty-verdict reversal. He’d taken a hand-made ‘shiv’ he’d fashioned out of a spoon he’d smuggled out of the prison cafeteria, and had cut both his wrists. Hicks was found dead in his cell. Calvin Rivers is serving a twenty-year-to-life prison term. Hicks’ wrongful conviction and subsequent imprisonment, was an outrageous miscarriage of justice, in fact, a horrible injustice. Would you agree with that statement, Detective?”
“Yes, sir. I would.”
“That being said, in your experience, Detective Farrell, have you ever known of an inmate released from prison, because of faulty DNA?”
“Yes. I have.”
“Have you ever known a prosecutor to lie, to perjure himself regarding DNA findings?”
Berkoff was on his feet. “YOUR HONOR!”
Ramsey smirked. “I withdraw the question, Your Honor.”
Judge Baylor’s eyes narrowed. He was not amused. “Will the jury please disregard Counselor’s last question.”
“No further questions, Your Honor,” Ramsey said.
“Mr. Berkoff? Redirect?”
“No questions, Your Honor.”
“You may step down, Detective Farrell. Next witness, Mr. Ramsey?”
“Thank you, Your Honor. We would like to call Father Reiniger to the stand.”
Father Reiniger left his place at the defense counsel’s table and crossed to the court clerk. “Will you please raise your right hand, Father?” she said. “Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?”
“I do.”
“You may be seated.”
Father Reiniger took his place on the witness stand. Ramsey rose, and slowly approached the bench. “Father Reiniger, for the record, will you please state your full name?”
“Frederick Helmut Reiniger.”
“And where were you born?”
“I was born in Munich, Germany, in November, 1954.”
“1954. Mathematics was never one of my strong subjects. That would make you, forty-five-years old?”
“That is correct.”
“Your family emigrated to the United States in 1970?”
“Yes, sir. That is correct.”
“You left St. John’s Seminary in Camarillo in April of 1987?”
“Yes, sir. That is true.”
“And you are presently assigned to St. Michael’s parish, in Alta Vista?”
“Yes, that is correct,” Reiniger said, nodding.
“Uh-huh.” Ramsey paused slightly. “I’d like to talk about the trip you made to Santa Barbara. That would be in July of 1989. Do you recall that trip you made, Father Reiniger?”
“Yes. Of course. After the conversation I had with Robert Stiles, the trip has become very clear in my mind now. You will have to admit, ten years is a long time.” He smiled thinly. “And at my age, the mind gets a little hazy.”
“Who accompanied you on this trip to Santa Barbara, Father Reiniger?”
“Well, there was Robert Stiles, of course, and two other boys, their names I don’t recall, just off-hand.”
“Do you agree with Mr. Stiles’ testimony that the four of you spent the night in a motel?”
“Yes. It had become quite late and we decided to stay over.”
“Was that your suggestion, Father? Or was it one of the boy’s?”
“No. It was my idea.”
“Do you admit that you shared a bed with Robert Stiles?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Do you admit giving Mr. Stiles a massage with an electric vibrator?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Father Reiniger, do you admit sexually molesting Robert Stiles that night?”
“Yes. I do. But, as Mr. Stiles has testified earlier, when we met at St. Michael’s two weeks ago, I told him I was sorry. I told him I was very sorry for any pain or harm that I had caused him. I also want to apologize to Mark Novak.”
“Then, you also admit to sexually abusing Mark Novak?”
“Yes. I do. And for that, I am sorry.”
Ramsey approached the witness stand and leaned in very close to Father Reiniger. “You also heard testimony from Detective Farrell, which stated conclusively that sperm samples of your blood-type were found on Danny Novak’s body. Did you sexually abuse the boy that night, Father Reiniger?”
Reiniger’s voice was low, hardly audible. “Yes, I did.”
“So you readily admit in this courtroom today, that you indeed sexually molested the Novak boy?”
“Yes. I did.”
“Did you in fact, kill Danny Novak that night, Father Reiniger?”
“No. I did not.”
“You are asking this jury to believe that you had nothing to do with the Novak boy’s murder?”
“Yes, sir. That is true.”
At that moment, Willie Groda suddenly leaped up from his seat in the gallery. He rushed toward the wooden guard-railing, his arms
flailing wildly in the air. His face was hot with rage. When he spoke, his voice was loud, intense. “Goddamn you, Father Reiniger! Why don’t you tell the truth! Why don’t you tell the truth! You son of a bitch! You murdered that boy, and you know it!”
Astounded by this sudden outburst, Judge Baylor hit his bench gavel repeatedly, with a loud clatter. “Order! Order! Order in this courtroom! Mr. Groda, you are completely out of order! I will not tolerate any such disturbance in my courtroom! Mr Groda, will you please?”
Groda cut him off, ugly. “Judge Baylor, this whole trial is a goddamned farce! It’s a joke!”
“Mr. Groda! Will you please, SIT DOWN!”
Groda was unrelenting. “Everybody in this town knows Father Reiniger killed that boy! Why doesn’t the bastard own up to it? Why doesn’t he tell the truth! Why doesn’t the son of a bitch, tell the truth?!”
The Judge was angry now. Livid. “Bailiff! I want that man removed! I want that man removed from my courtroom! I want you to get him out of here! NOW!”
Everyone watched in stunned silence, as the bailiff and Officer Delgado quickly moved toward Willie Groda. As they reached to grab him, Groda angrily brushed them aside. His voice was hot, dripping with contempt. “Keep your fuckin’ hands off of me! I’ll walk outta here on my own steam! I don’t need any help from you, assholes!”
The air was electric. Groda hesitated and shot the Judge a long, sneering glance. “Screw you, Judge Baylor!” he said, almost a whisper. Then, Groda turned and walked slowly out of the courtroom. The two men followed closely behind. Immediately after Groda’s exit, a wave of shocked pandemonium swept over the courtroom. Still angry over this unruly and unforeseen incident, Judge Baylor began to repeatedly bang his gavel. His eyes flashed. “Order! Order! I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my courtroom! If it persists, I warn you, I shall clear the courtroom!”
The noise slowly subsided; Baylor gazed out over the gallery. His face reflected a look of distain, disgust. “We will take a thirty-minute recess. Court is adjourned!”
--17--
Thirty minutes later, Judge Baylor was still angry. Complete control of his courtroom, was Baylor’s Number One priority, and he’d lost it. And, ironically enough, he’d lost it to Willie Groda of all people; a backwoods, mountain hillbilly whom Baylor secretly despised. The Judge was trying valiantly to regain his composure. He glanced at Richard Ramsey. “You may continue, Counselor.”
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