by Anne Emery
“Mr. Schenk?” The judge raised an eyebrow, and he nodded in submission.
“All right. We’ll leave your sex life for the time being, Mr. Burke. I’m sure it will come up again. Now —”
“Objection, My Lady. My friend is showing deliberate disrespect for the witness.”
“Thank you, Mr. Collins. Mr. Schenk?”
“I apologize to the court. Now. Mr. Burke. You ran the music program at the St. Bernadette’s Choir School.” “I run it, yes.”
Schenk glanced at the jury as if to say: “I know you’ll have the good sense to see that he never runs it again.”
“You knew a little girl named Janeece Tuck, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know Janeece?”
“She was a member of the children’s choir.”
“You had a nickname for Janeece, did you not?”
“I did.”
“What was that nickname?”
“I called her Alvin.”
“And why was that?”
“There used to be these cartoon characters that my brothers and sisters liked, the Chipmunks. One of them, who was always into mischief and never where he was supposed to be, was Alvin.”
“That described Janeece, did it?”
Burke smiled. “Yes, it did.”
“Now you heard Janeece’s mother, Ms. Tuck, testify here in the courtroom earlier in the trial?”
“Yes.”
“She told us Janeece lived with her father and Ms. Cudmore, but spent some days with her mother, Ms. Tuck. And she told us about Janeece coming home from choir from time to time, and talking about you. ‘I was in trouble again today, Ma.’ Or: ‘Father Burke growled at me again today.’” This was raising the antennae of some of the jurors, but Burke was nodding. The Crown attorney continued: “‘Father Burke was talking to me in Latin today. I think he was cussin’ me out.’” There were chuckles throughout the courtroom at that. “Were you cussing her out?”
“Ah, no, I wasn’t.” Burke shook his head and I could see from the unguarded tenderness in his face that he was remembering whatever it was he had said to Alvin.
“Can you recall what you said?”
“I think I said: Venisti hue ante tempus torquere nos?”
“And what does that mean, for those of us whose Latin is limited to habeas corpus?”
“It means: Have you come here to torment us before our time?” Everyone, including the judge, broke up at that. But the moments of goodwill were fleeting.
“Would you say you had a special relationship with Janeece?”
Burke was on guard. “What exactly do you mean by a special relationship?”
“I can see why you would be concerned, Mr. Burke, but I just mean that perhaps this little girl stood out for you as a special member of the choir.”
“Ah, yes. I did have a soft spot in my heart for her.”
“And she knew that, do you think? Her mother’s evidence about your ‘growling at her’ was that the little girl was ‘more bragging than complaining, the attention, you know.’ So Janeece knew how you really felt about her?”
“I think she knew. I hope to God she did.”
“What was it you liked about Janeece?”
“She was a lively, funny, smart, outspoken, beautiful little girl. A real character. And she was going to have a wonderfully rich contralto voice when she got older. Which she never had the chance to do.”
“You must have been upset when you heard about her sudden death.”
“Of course I was upset.” Heartscalded, I recalled Burke saying of himself after she died. “A nine-year-old girl with her whole life ahead of her, to die like that.”
“You are aware, then, of how Janeece died.”
“Yes,” Burke answered shortly.
“Janeece was taken from her bed by her stepmother, put in a car without a seatbelt, with a drunk driver, and taken along on an errand Ms. Cudmore wanted to run for her partner, the child’s father. The driver lost control and Janeece was thrown to her death. Is that your understanding of what happened?” Schenk was giving evidence, and repeating it at that, but an objection would just annoy the jury, so I stayed in my seat.
“That’s what I understood, yes.” Burke did not try to hide his dis gust.
“This must have struck a chord with you, so to speak, Mr. Burke.” I could see my client tense in his seat, as if waiting for a blow, but I couldn’t prevent it. “A young person dying while those who were supposed to look after her were too preoccupied with themselves to bother?” Brennan was grey, and his hands gripped each other in his lap. “Would you agree with me?”
“Who wouldn’t agree it’s a terrible thing?”
“I’m interested only in you, Mr. Burke. You have my undivided attention. Did the manner of her death, through the thoughtless neglect of her caregivers, strike any kind of personal chord in you over and above the normal grief you would have felt?”
“You know it did,” my client whispered.
“And would that be because of a fire that took place in or around New York City in i960 when you were a young man?”
Burke licked his lips and nodded.
“The court reporter cannot pick up a nod, Mr. Burke. Please give an, um —” Schenk looked up at the accused “— an oral answer.”
Brennan looked at the wall and answered: “Yes.”
“Did you have a friend with you at that house in New York, a fellow a few years younger than you, named Stanislaus Dombrowski?” “Yes.”
“How did you know Stanislaus?”
“I knew Stan through music. He was studying at Juilliard. A very gifted young lad. He started going around with me, and some people I knew.”
“The wrong people for Stan, as it turned out. Correct?”
Burke looked down at his hands. “Ah, yes.”
“I won’t get into all the sordid details of Stan’s short life or the drug habit he developed while hanging out with your crowd,” Schenk turned his glinting spectacles in the direction of the jury box “but I’ll move ahead to the fire. What started it?”
“Stan may have been trying to cook the, em, the smack. The heroin. I’m not sure.”
“Was young Stan on drugs that night?”
“Yes, I learned that he had shot up earlier and then —”
“You seem to know all the lingo, but then you would, wouldn’t you?”
I was up. “My Lady! I ask that that remark be struck from the record. I have been sitting here, making allowances for Mr. Schenk’s cross-examination, but this is going too far.”
“Thank you, Mr. Collins. The last remark will be struck and the jury will disregard it.”
The chances that the jury would disregard an implied connection between the accused and drugs were slim enough. But Father Burke chose that moment to give himself absolution and, in the process, kept the issue alive in the jurors’ minds. “God forgives all kinds of sins, Mr. Schenk.”
“God may render forgiveness but Caesar renders it not,” the government lawyer retorted. “We’re faced with earthly laws here, Mr. Burke. Your friend died in the fire, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Did Stan call for your help before he died?”
Burke lowered his eyes. “I believe he did. I didn’t hear him at first, over the music.”
“But you heard him later.”
“Not him, but someone else at the party called out that Stan was in trouble.”
“And where were you when all this was going on?”
Burke couldn’t stop himself from g
lancing at me. His eyes went nowhere near the jury box. “I was in one of the bedrooms.”
“With whom?”
“A girl.”
“A girl? Would you care to elaborate?” No response from Burke. “Let me help you. Was it more than one girl?” The jurors leaned forward as did the press, pens poised over notebooks. “Well, Mr. Burke? How many girls was it?”
“Three?” he answered with trepidation. Jesus Christ, he doesn’t know! I sat there remembering his terse refusal to discuss the incident. Two, Brennan, it was two, I berated him silently. Then, taking his cue from Schenk’s obvious surprise, Burke got it right: “Two.” I heard the sound of scribbling from the press gallery. Not a rustle from the jury box.
“A priest in bed with two girls —”
Burke exploded. “I wasn’t a priest then, for heaven’s sake! I was a kid.”
“Lucky kid. Did pretty well for yourself.”
I started to rise but Her Ladyship was already there. Once again, Karl Schenk made an insincere apology. And then: “I won’t take up the court’s time trying to elicit just what Mr. Burke and the two girls were doing, My Lady. We can all use our imaginations.” He turned to the accused. “So, the upshot is: you ignored the call for help because you were having a better time elsewhere, and your friend died at age eighteen in the basement of the house.”
Burke gave a slight nod and again Schenk jumped in. “As I explained, Mr. Burke, we need an —”
“Yes.” Burke cut him off quickly.
“Something else happened that night, didn’t it? Something happened to you in the fire.” “Yes.”
“What happened to you, what mark was left on you?”
Burke looked at the far wall. “The imprint of a cross here.” He pointed to the place above his heart where he had been branded by the crucifix.
“And this told you what? That you were chosen by God?”
“You know, Mr. Schenk, you have made some terrible accusations against me, and terrible implications about the effects you believe I’ve had on other people. I’ll grant you one thing: I seem to bring out the worst in some people.” He looked pointedly at Schenk, who was about to react when Burke went on: “Durum est mihi contra stimu-lum ealeitrare. And of those, you are the most offensive.” Gasps from the crowd and the jury. Somehow I managed to keep my head from banging on the table. Burke may have been right, and may even have earned some sympathy, but this attack would only serve, yes, to bring out the worst in the prosecutor. And what had Burke said to him in Latin?
In the meantime, Karl retaliated: “Well then, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee.”
“Ah, a slur on my religion now, is it?” I doubted that Justice Fineberg recognized the words from the Act of Contrition, and I left it alone, hoping some of the jurors would be offended on Burke’s behalf.
Schenk moved on. “All right, Mr. Burke. Tell us what this wound meant for you.”
“In my mind, Mr. Schenk, it meant that in some mystical way I was being asked — ordered — to serve God. I did not enter the priesthood solely because of that, naturally. But it gave me the jolt I needed to get started in pursuing my vocation.”
“But wouldn’t that have happened to anyone?” The prosecutor assumed a puzzled expression. “Anyone who was wearing a cross around his or her neck, or some other piece of jewelry? If the person went too close to the flames, the gold would get hot enough to burn flesh, leaving an imprint of itself in the skin. Wouldn’t that have happened, not just to you, but to anyone?”
“Yes, I suppose it would.”
“Well then, how could you see it, in your own case, as a mystical experience, a sign from God?”
“I wasn’t wearing a crucifix.”
I bolted forward in my seat. I sensed the rapt attention of the jurors. I knew Schenk did not want to do this, but he went ahead and asked the question anyway. “What do you mean, you weren’t wearing a crucifix?”
“You’ve painted me as a degenerate here in front of the jury, the judge, the press and the public. A dissolute youth, lying there in drunken, stoned bliss with two women giving me, ah, pleasure, while my friend was dying downstairs. What the hell would I be doing with a crucifix around my neck at that stage of my life?”
Chapter 13
Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison.
(Lord have merey, Christ have merey, Lord have merey.)
— The Mass
I
Father Burke was still under oath and I could not speak with him. He was escorted from the courtroom. Susan Drummond and I bolted for our conference room. I was about to shut the door behind us when I saw my wife coming towards me. “May I?” she asked, obviously in deference to Susan; otherwise, Maura would have made herself at home with nary an if you please. The two women knew each other and said their hellos.
“Let’s start at the end,” I said. “What was the reaction?”
Susan had been on the ball, I was relieved to learn. “The jurors were stupefied. We can’t assume they’re all believers and mystics. We know from jury selection that some of them are far from it. But every last one of them gaped at what Burke said. I can’t believe Schenk left it like that. It’s not often you see Schenk flummoxed.”
“True enough,” put in Maura. “And it wasn’t just the jurors who looked poleaxed. The woman sitting beside me had just squeezed in a few minutes before. When she heard Burke say he wasn’t wearing a crucifix, she looked as if someone had entered her from the rear!”
“Who was the woman?” I said.
“Don’t know. She had short, straight dun-coloured hair, and she was kind of chunky. About thirty-five. She looked as if she was seeing God Almighty Himself. Her hands flew up to her face, which was the colour of oatmeal, and she didn’t quite manage to stifle a little cry. She’ll be saying her prayers with fervour tonight, whoever she is.”
“That must have been Eileen,” I answered. She had sat in occasionally during the trial. “Eileen Darragh. Assistant at the youth centre. She’s always thought Burke was God. Now she knows for sure.
“What’s the jury’s attitude to our guy, do you think? I don’t mean the mystical stuff. What about the sniping between him and Schenk? The woman in Brazil. Breaking the vows. That was only four years ago.” Anger made its way into my delivery. “I asked him straight out. Who could have seen that scar? Had he slept with anyone? He said no. Lying to the lawyer. De rigueur for any client. I guess they like to keep us in suspense —”
“Lighten up, Monty,” Susan said. “This is all the Crown can find on him in terms of character. Promises of chastity and obedience, he said. He didn’t use the word ‘vows.’ They’re not going to get a bishop to testify that he’s disobedient. The poverty angle is too nebulous, and we can be sure they’ve looked into his assets. So all they have is celibacy, and his evasiveness and dissembling about it. And —” Sue mouthed the words “— Mount A.”
Maura caught my warning look. I had not told her about the young woman at Mount Allison. My fear of the incident flared up again. It was exactly the sort of evidence Schenk might produce on rebuttal, to counter our evidence of Burke’s good, non-violent character.
“What is it?” Maura asked. “Is there something else?” I waved her question off and shook my head. She knew enough not to pursue the subject, though it would not be likely to slip her mind.
“Priests are allowed to do everything else,” Susan said, “so who cares if he gambles and takes a drink? He’s not a lush. As for the sex, the jurors probably don’t care. They understand. These guys are saddled with a vow of celibacy. If they break it once in a blue moon, it’s just human nature.”
“I hope so. It’s character and credibility though. He’s a liar
, he breaks his vows, ergo, you can’t believe his evidence, and what else might he do? I made him sound like a saint on direct. Now all this comes out. Jesus, if we have to go through a trial for Leeza Rae, they’ll crucify him.”
Susan held up a calming hand. “One step at a time, Monty. You men are so hysterical. This is the Cudmore trial, and sex is a minor sideshow. The jury loved him on the Janeece questions. They could see how deeply he cared for the little girl. Of course, that’s the motive. But if he’s that tender-hearted underneath the icy exterior, how can he be a killer?”
We returned to the courtroom and the cross-examination resumed. The witness was reminded that he was still under oath. The Crown prosecutor started his damage control immediately.
“In what year did this crucifix incident occur, Mr. Burke?”
“In i960.”
“And this branding, if we may call it that, changed your life, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“In what way?”
“I began to explore the idea that I had a vocation to the priesthood, I redirected my university studies to that end, I gave up some of my former activities, and I entered the seminary.”
“What year did you go into the seminary?”
“In 1962.”
Schenk took a sip of water. He cast a quick glance at the jurors to see if they were paying attention. They were. We all were. I tensed as he turned to the accused.
“Do you have any children, Mr. Burke?”
What? They say there are no atheists in a foxhole; I wonder if there are any at the defence table when the accused is on the stand. What was God doing to me now? My client was staring in horror at the prosecutor. He looked as if he might need medical attention. I heard pens scratching on paper, and voices murmuring.
I finally got it together and leapt to my feet. “My Lady! Objection! This scar is relevant only as it relates to what was found on the body of Ms. Cudmore. The mystical aspect, or the effect it may have had on Father Burke’s life, is not relevant to this proceeding. My Lady, Mr. Schenk is harassing the witness.”