DELIVER US FROM EVIL

by John L. Evans

  “I have just a few more questions, Your Honor.” He glanced at Reiniger. “Father Reiniger, my information is that you were arraigned on Friday, September 10th, 1999, and released on bail set at $300,000. Bail, incidentally provided by the archdiocese. Is that a fair and accurate statement, Father?”

  “Yes, sir. That is true.”

  Ramsey was eyeing him momentarily. “And on Tuesday, September 14th, four days later, you drove to a remote section of Valencia Park in Alta Vista, where you parked your car, and as I understand it, fastened one end of a long piece of rubber hose to the exhaust pipe. The other end was found inside the car. You were found slumped over the steering wheel, the motor was on; you were minutes away from death. The bottom line here, Father, you tried to kill yourself by asphyxiation. All of this is true, Father Reiniger?”

  Reiniger’s voice was low. “Yes. It is.”

  “Fortunately, a couple of landscape gardeners spotted you inside the car and saved your life.” He paused. “I am not a Catholic, but it has always been my understanding that suicide has never been accepted by the church. True, Father Reiniger?”

  “Yes. That is true. Prior to my driving out to the park that day, I had been doing a lot of thinking. I knew that whatever happened, I’d be facing jail time.” His tone was low, ominous. “I also happen to know how juvenile sex offenders, fare behind bars.”

  “Uh-huh. I see.”

  “But, more important than that, I felt my life was falling apart. My life was a shambles. If there is any such thing as reaching rock-bottom, I was there. I had reached a point, when I felt I just couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted out. This, seemed like the only solution.”

  “Thank you, Father. That is all the questions I have at this time, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Berkoff? Do you wish to cross-examine?”

  “Yes. I do. Your Honor.”

  Ramsey returned to his seat at the counsel table. The prosecutor rose and with folded arms, moved slowly toward the witness stand. Eyeing Father Reiniger closely, he threw him a cold, speculative look. “Father Reiniger, I want to talk about Sunday, September 5th, 1999. I want a step-by-step account of exactly what happened that day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want to know precisely the events which led up to the death of Danny Novak.”

  “Jack Kramer and Mr. Groda have testified what went on that day. I would think you would be satisfied with that information.”

  “Yes, I know. I know all that,” Berkoff said, “but I’m interested in your version. I want you to tell the court, to the best of your recollection, the exact chain of events which led up to Danny’s disappearance.”

  “Starting with?”

  “Starting with the fact, or so I’ve been told, that you and Jack Kramer got into a heated argument on the veranda of the main house. True, Father Reiniger?”

  “Yes. That is correct.”

  Berkoff’s voice turned cold. “Tell me, Father, is it customary for you to be drinking hard liquor at these summer camps?”

  “Uh, no, not as a rule.”

  “Were you or were you not, drinking hard liquor on this particular Sunday?”

  “Yes. I was.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, was it a pint, a fifth, a quart, or what?” he asked, testily.

  “I had bought a pint of bourbon at a convenience store, on the way up to the lake.”

  “Was Jack Kramer drinking as well?”

  “Yes. He was.”

  “So, you do admit that you and Mr. Kramer got into an argument?”

  “Yes, sir. We did.”

  “What was this argument about?”

  “As I recall, the main issue of our discussion, or our ‘heated argument,’ as you prefer to call it, was my deep disappointment in Mr. Kramer.”

  “Would you care to expand on that for the court, please?”

  “Very simply, I considered Jack Kramer a man whose temper clouded his judgment. I was there the night Moreno Valley defeated our basketball team. I was in the locker room when Kramer mercilessly laid into our star player for what he called, ‘losing the game.’ Later that same night, I privately reprimanded Mr. Kramer. I warned him about his excessive attitude.”

  “But, you are talking about an incident which happened more that eight months ago! Why, all of a sudden, did the subject come up on this particular Sunday?”

  “It so happened, Scott Mallory, one of the boys, showed up late that day. We had planned to leave the rectory at 12:00 noon, sharp. Scott, for whatever reason, was held up. He got there at 12:20, and in the meantime, Jack Kramer was beside himself with anger. When Scott finally did show up, Kramer lashed out at him. He chewed him out in front of everybody. At the first opportunity, meaning that when Kramer and I were alone, I reprimanded him again. I told him, ‘Jack, this just won’t do! You’ve got to learn to control your temper!’”

  “I see.”

  “As Mr. Kramer had testified earlier, he was planning a career in the priesthood. He had already made plans to join St. John’s Seminary in October. I was to be his sponsor.” He paused. “I told Jack that because of his erratic behavior, in all good conscience, I could not recommend him for the seminary. I told him I was withdrawing my sponsorship of him. This made him very angry.”

  “So, this was the essence of your argument, Father Reiniger?”

  “Yes. It was.”

  Berkoff crossed to the jury. His eyes scanned them momentarily, then he looked back at Father Reiniger. “I’m a bit mystified. Father Reiniger,” he said, with a light, glib inflection, “we’ve had two witnesses, Jack Kramer, himself, and Willie Groda, who have both testified in this courtroom, that an argument was all because of Kramer accusing you of sexually molesting a ten-year-old altar boy.”

  Ramsey suddenly spoke up. “Objection, Your Honor! Calls for speculation and hearsay!”

  “Overruled. You may continue, Mr. Berkoff.”

  “Did you or did you not argue, because of Kramer’s accusation?”

  Silence.

  The prosecutor glanced at Judge Baylor. “Will you please instruct the witness to answer the question, Your Honor?”

  “Please answer the question, Father Reiniger.”

  Reiniger was evasive. “Well, I don’t really”

  “It’s a simple question, Father Reiniger. A simple yes or no, will suffice.”

  “I really don’t remember.”

  “Are you telling us, the subject of Kramer’s accusation, never came up?” Berkoff said, pressing on.

  Reiniger shrugged. “Oh, it may have. As I just told you, Mr. Berkoff, I really don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember! How very convenient! Well, let’s move on, shall we?” He crossed back to the witness stand. “Perhaps you do remember, all of you eating your supper around the campfire, that night?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Two of the boys wanted to turn-in early, so they left. As did Willie Groda, who returned to the dining hall. That left you, Kramer and Danny Novak at the fire. Correct?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And you asked Danny Novak if he wanted to go for a ride in the motorboat?”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  “And so, even though Kramer tried to quash the idea, you and the boy took off. Correct, so far, Father Reiniger?”

  “Yes. That is correct.”

  “How long were you out on the lake?”

  “Oh, about an hour I would say. It was dark when we got back.”

  “What happened after you returned to the dock?”

  “We went to the small beach, nearby.”

  “Okay. We won’t go into all the sordid details, Father, but after having tied the boat up, and you and Danny went to the small stretch of sand near the dock, what happened then?”

  “I suggested we go in for a swim.”

  “As I said, we won’t go into all the sordid details, but you did sexually molest the boy
on the beach that night. Isn’t that true, Father Reiniger?”

  “Yes. That is true.”

  “For the record, was it consensual, sir?”

  “No. It was not.”

  “And so, you forced yourself on the boy. Is that not correct, sir?”

  “That is correct.”

  “What happened after that, God only knows,” Berkoff said, disgustedly, “and I mean that, literally. But, the boy possibly threatened to expose you, so you had to do something about it. And so, you killed him. Isn’t that what happened, Father Reiniger?”

  Reiniger’s voice was cold, even. “No! It is not! I did not kill Danny Novak!”

  Berkoff’s patience was wearing thin. “Oh, come off it, Father Reiniger! You mean you have the audacity to sit there and deny strangling that boy! Why don’t you admit it! First, you sodomized Danny Novak, then you strangled him. You loaded his body into a rowboat, then you rowed out into the middle of the lake, and dumped his body overboard!” He crossed toward the jury. “What baffles me, Father Reiniger, is, why you didn’t finish the job! You must have known the body would float to the top of the water, eventually. Why didn’t you weight it down? Why didn’t you finish the job, Father Reiniger?”

  Ramsey was on his feet. “Objection, Your Honor! He’s badgering the witness!”

  “Mr. Berkoff,” Baylor said, “you are walking a very fine line. I suggest you change your tactics.”

  The prosecutor was back at the witness stand. “All right, Father Reiniger, we’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. We’ll take your word for it. After you sexually assaulted Danny Novak, what exactly did you do?”

  “The boy was whining, sniveling. I don’t like whining or sniveling. So I left him.” He shrugged. “I just left him.”

  “And, where did you go?”

  “I returned to the main house. I went to bed.”

  For a very long moment, Berkoff stood staring at Father Reiniger. His eyes reflected a combination of contempt and disgust. Then, Berkoff slowly turned and once again crossed to the jury. All eyes were fastened on him, as he began his summation speech: “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the facts in this case are very plain and very simple. On Sunday, September 5th of this year, the defendant, Father Frederick Reiniger, invited Danny Novak and two other young boys for an overnight trip to a Catholic summer camp. From the moment they had arrived, Father Reiniger started his devious plan in motion.” He glanced directly at Reiniger. “Here, we have a cold and calculating individual, who, in his own dastardly way, took advantage of the love and trust these boys had for him. This action was obscene. It was irreprehensible, that a man would stoop to violating a young twelve-year-old boy’s trust, and all to serve his own perverted, sexual needs. Call it child abuse, call it sexual assault, call it whatever you like, ladies and gentlemen, but I believe this man is guilty. The motivation is clear. The boy threatened to expose him, and to cover his tracks, he chose the ultimate: Murder.” Berkoff returned to the jury. “The evidence given in this courtroom, demonstrates beyond all reasonable doubt, that the defendant, Father Reiniger, is guilty of the crime for which he has been accused. I’d like to see this man spend the rest of his life in prison, without the possibility of parole. He deserves the same compassion he gave his twelve-year-old victim. None! I thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen, for your attention.” Berkoff returned to his seat at the counsel table.

  “Mr. Ramsey? Your closing statement?” Judge Baylor said.

  Ramsey rose from the table and crossed to face the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, in summation, I ask, where is the evidence against my client, Father Reiniger? He has made it very clear in this courtroom today, that yes, he is guilty of molesting Danny Novak. He does not deny that allegation. But, there is not a shred of evidence that says he murdered the boy! At the risk of repeating myself, Father Reiniger, I’ll ask you again. Did you in fact have anything at all to do with the death of Danny Novak?”

  “No. I did not.”

  “Mr. Berkoff has to convince you beyond a reasonable doubt, that my client is guilty. Father Reiniger has testified that when he left Danny Novak at the beach, he was alive and well. Can Mr. Berkoff place my client at the scene of the crime? No! He cannot! True, my client admits to sexually abusing Danny Novak, but did he murder him? Of course not! Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask that you consider the evidence given in this case, very carefully. I ask that you acquit my client, Father Reiniger. I thank you.” He turned to face Baylor. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  Ramsey returned to his seat. There was an audible stirring throughout the courtroom and Judge Baylor hit his bench gavel. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he said, in a steady, even voice, “now that you have heard the final arguments in this case, the court requests that you sequester yourselves in the jury room to assume your deliberations. The court asks that you reach your verdict in a fair and open manner, without bias or prejudice. Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen, for your attention. You may now retire to the jury room.” Once again, he hit his gavel. “Pending the jury’s deliberations and their verdict, this court is now adjourned!”

  --18--

  It was well after 5:00 p.m., that afternoon, when the members of the jury, filed out of the rear door of the courthouse, and boarded a large bus, leased temporarily from Golden State Lines. They were taken to the California Hotel where they would be sequestered, hopefully, for one night, depending upon whether a verdict would be reached. A wing on the hotel’s tenth floor had been cordoned off and a deputy was stationed at the adjoining corridor.

  They had their evening meal in a large conference room, after which several of them stayed to play cards. Because the newspapers and television sets had been removed from the rooms, by Judge Baylor’s orders, there was talk about the trial, but most of the jurors (probably out of fatigue and boredom) opted for an early sleep. Following a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, pancakes, bacon and sausage, the next morning, the jury and the two alternates once again boarded the bus and were on their way, back to the courthouse. Escorted by two uniformed deputies, the twelve men and women jurors were led into the jury room to continue their deliberations.

  Juries have a certain reputation for being completely unpredictable. As prosecutor, David Berkoff would have said: “You never know which way the jury’s going to go, or how long it’s going to take to get there.” However, to everyone’s surprise, the buzz surrounding the courthouse, around three o’clock that afternoon, was that a verdict had been reached. Within ten minutes of the announcement, the courtroom was once again filled with television and newspaper reporters, jostling each other like a feeding frenzy. Fortunately, a few ‘civilians’ had managed to secure a seat. A hush fell over the courtroom as suddenly, Judge Baylor entered from the Judge’s chambers. The bailiff yelled, “All rise! His Honor, Judge Alonzo Baylor presiding. Court is now in session..”

  Baylor, looking officious in his black robe, crossed to the bench and sat down. “Thank you,” he said, “You may be seated.” The gallery spectators took their seats and Baylor threw the bailiff a curious glance. “I have been informed that the jury has reached a verdict. Is that correct?”

  “That is correct, Your Honor.”

  “Will you please instruct the jury to return to their seats.”

  The bailiff moved to the nearby jury room door, opened it, and quickly gave instructions for the jury to return. Ben Marley, the jury foreman, fiftyish, tall, an imposing man, entered, followed by the remaining jury members. Without looking up, they quietly took their places in the jury box.

  “Mr. Marley? Has the jury reached a verdict?”

  “Yes. We have, Your Honor.”

  “Is the verdict unanimous?”

  “Yes. It is. Your Honor.”

  “Will the foreman pass the verdict to my bailiff, please.”

  The bailiff crossed to Marley, who handed him the verdict. He passed the verdict to Baylor. There was a long pause as Judge Baylor quietly read the f
olded sheet of paper. He then shot Father Reiniger a long, penetrating look. “Will the defendant please rise?”

  Father Reiniger and Richard Ramsey quickly rose from their seats at the counsel table, and stood facing the Judge. When Baylor spoke, his voice was cold, authoritative: “In the Supreme Court of the State of California, in and for the Country of San Bernardino, we the jury, find the defendant, Father Frederick Helmut Reiniger, guilty as charged, in the lewd and lascivious conduct involving a minor, under the age of fourteen.” Baylor paused slightly. “In addition, pursuant to the crime of murder in the First Degree of Daniel Jason Novak, on the night of Sunday, September 5th, 1999, we find the defendant, Father Frederick Helmut Reiniger, guilty, as charged.”

  There was an immediate outburst of surprise and shock that exploded in the courtroom. Judge Baylor banged his gavel. “Quiet, please! Father Reiniger? Do you have anything to say?”

  “Only that I am innocent of the crime of murder, Your Honor. I did not kill Danny Novak. I am innocent. Once again, I am truthfully sorry if I brought any harm or pain or mental anguish to those who have testified here in this courtroom.” He paused. “I have nothing more to say, Your Honor.”

  Baylor’s look was grim. “Sentence will be imposed at a later date. Bailiff! Will you and Officer Delgado please take Father Reiniger into custody!” He turned to the jury. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury for your service. You are dismissed.” Once again, he rapped his bench gavel. “This court is now adjourned!”

  “ALL RISE!” the bailiff announced.

  Everyone in the courtroom rose to their feet. Judge Baylor hesitated for a moment. He watched as the bailiff and Officer Delgado moved toward Father Reiniger. As Reiniger was taken into custody, Baylor exited into his chambers. The gallery spectators watched in hushed silence as Delgado handcuffed Father Reiniger’s hands behind his back.

  David Berkoff smugly tried to conceal his pleasure as he deftly collected his material, folders, et cetera and placed them inside his leather briefcase. The TV reporters, Minicams in hand, rushed toward Berkoff. Shouts of “Great job!” “Congratulations!” filled the air. Photographs were being taken and the journalists, hungry for a statement, shoved microphones into his face. Berkoff, a man never suffering from ego deficiency, smiled broadly and basked exuberantly in his newly-found limelight. Then, like a band of famished scavenger dogs, the mob of reporters swooped down on Father Reiniger. Abruptly and insolently they shoved a barrage of microphones into the priest’s face, demanding a statement. They jostled and pushed each other to get near him. There was the sporadic flash of strobe lights; more photographs were being taken. For the unruly mob, Father Reiniger was a disappointment; he kept repeating: “I have nothing to say!” I have nothing to say!”