Betrayal of Justice

by Mark M Bello

  “You are an inspiration to me. You made me take a long, hard look in the mirror and I didn’t like what I saw. Now, I have a chance to resurrect myself, personally and professionally. One evening with you makes me realize I’ve not only been a professional cripple but an emotional one as well. It’s time to start caring and trusting again. In time, maybe we find love together. To not try would be a tragedy. I’ll promise you this: I will pursue this case to the bitter end. I will never, ever let you or your boys down.”

  “I know you won’t, Zack. I’m still glad I didn’t fire you,” she smiled.

  They both laughed. Zack leaned toward her and gently kissed her on the cheek. They locked eyes and lingered in place a few seconds before resuming their walk. Zack draped his arm over Jennifer’s shoulders as they continued to the coffee shop in silence.

  At the end of the evening, he drove her home and walked her to the door. They bid each other a good night. Jennifer entered the house. Zack returned to the Z4, a happy man. The beginning of a beautiful friendship?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “The press conference was a disaster. I thought we were going to have favorable reporters on hand to ask tough questions and expose holes in their case,” the Voice grumbled.

  “We were, but on such short notice, we could only secure Schneider.”

  “Even Schneider wasn’t very tough or persistent,” the Voice seethed. “The tone of the conference was so pro-plaintiff he couldn’t get the opportunities he wanted. Jennifer Tracey stole the show. The press was eating out of the palm of her hand. The conference couldn’t have gone any better for them if they planted all the reporters. We have to mount a counter-offensive. Is anything in place?”

  “We’ve quietly relieved Gerry of his parish duties and activities. We’ve banned him from any and all contact with children. His days as a parish priest are unofficially over. We’ve retained Rashid-Bevak, a top-notch public relations firm. A press conference is scheduled for tomorrow to answer the charges made in the complaint. Walsh is opposed.”

  “Why?” the Voice wondered.

  “He thinks we should formally answer the complaint before making any public statements. He’s afraid we may say something that will come back to haunt us.”

  “Nonsense,” the Voice retorted. “He’ll answer the complaint in conformance with our public statements. We cannot let this press conference go without response while lawyers take three weeks or more to develop their pleadings.”

  “I agree. The best defense is a good offense. I say we take Blake to task on some of the allegations of a cover-up and challenge him to reveal his sources or admit he has no evidence of church involvement,” a member recommended.

  “I concur.”

  “So do I.”

  “One word of warning, of course.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re lying,” a member warned. “Gerry has done this before, we did know about it, and we did cover it up after we botched the transfer. If Blake finds out and can prove it, we’ll have only made a terrible situation disastrous.”

  “That’s true, but I don’t think we have a choice at this point.”

  “If I may, I have an alternative,” a member suggested.

  “Go ahead,” the Voice encouraged.

  “We admit Gerry is a pedophile who slipped through the screening process. We apologize to the Tracey family and continue to provide treatment. We agree to compensation in a non-discreet fashion. We promise to defrock Gerry, so this never happens again. I understand Jennifer Tracey. This will satisfy her. Give her what she wants,” the member reasoned.

  The Voice sneered at the member and responded derisively. “That would expose us to tremendous financial risk. We can’t take that chance,” he argued.

  “In my judgment, proceeding in this fashion exposes us to even greater financial risk,” the member retorted, not backing down.

  “Only if they discover the truth. Berea is wrapped up tighter than a drum.”

  “I want my vote in opposition noted for the record,” the member resolved.

  “The record will so reflect,” a surprised Voice noted.

  “All in favor of the proposed rebuttal press conference?” the Voice polled.

  “Aye,” several voices concurred.

  “All opposed?”

  “Nay.” With a single vote in opposition, the armor of the Coalition had been dented.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The church held its press conference the following day. Half the reporters who covered Blake’s press conference bothered to show up. Somehow, the response wasn’t as newsworthy as the lawsuit. The spokesman did a marvelous job responding to the lawsuit, using words like ‘conjecture,’ ‘outlandish,’ and ‘innuendo.’ He demanded Zack Blake immediately produce evidence of prior conduct or cover-up. He demanded a public apology, retraction and promised to seek frivolous action sanctions if Zack failed to comply. In Michigan, the filing of a frivolous lawsuit subjected the filing party and attorney to actual costs of defense and attorney fees. With a case and a defendant as volatile as these, the frivolous filing rule could make sanctions an enormous burden.

  The spokesman attacked Jennifer as being unappreciative of the kindness and concern that was shown by the church in providing treatment at its expense for the duration. Under these clouded circumstances, the spokesman wondered, what more could the church have done? The boys were responding to treatment, and Father Jon, the boys’ trusted pastor, was providing spiritual counseling.

  Reporting in the newspapers and on television lacked the impact and electricity of the lawsuit filing. Still, the church did a masterful job raising doubts in the minds of readers and viewers, potential jurors in both the civil and criminal trials. At issue was whether Zachary had the evidence he claimed. Editorial pages demanded Zachary “come clean” with the information in the interest of justice and expediency. Such allegations tarnished the reputations of men who held high positions with the church hierarchy and did so without substantiation the charges were true. It was an excellent defense argument, and the spokesman used it quite well. The Voice was extremely pleased with his performance.

  The following day, Gerry was pre-tried in the criminal case. The main reason for a pre-trial was to find out how much discovery time was necessary before the trial could commence and what evidence the prosecution intended to proffer to prove the charge. The critical evidence for Joseph Saunders, Oakland County’s chief assistant prosecutor, was the testimony of the boys. He argued for the boys to be allowed to testify in closed session. The experience would be a bit less terrifying. That motion was denied on First Amendment grounds. If the boys testified in closed session, the press and the public would have no access to their testimony, and only the judge, the parties, and the jury would hear it.

  The judge was a tall, lanky, Jimmy Stewart-ish looking old man named Erroll Shipper. He apparently felt the press and public’s right to know was more important than the boys’ mental health. A trial date was set for September. The judge ruled the criminal case could be televised—score one for the prosecution and for the civil trial. The defense objected, arguing it would be impossible for the defendant to get a fair trial in an impending publicity circus. Judge Shipper pounded his gavel in anger at this suggestion and urged the two sides to get together and work out a plea, thus avoiding the painful and public trial they feared. But, public it would be. With that, he rose and abruptly left the bench.

  Gerry, out on bond but prohibited from practicing his profession by the judge, rose from the defense table and stormed out of the courtroom without conferring with his lawyers. Jennifer and Zack were seated in the last row of five polished dark wood benches that extended parallel from one side of the courtroom to the other, leaving an aisle on each side for ingress and egress. As Gerry passed by, he glared at Jennifer. If looks could kill . . . Jennifer thought. How did I miss this side of him?

  Zack eyed Bartholomew and watched the entire scene unfold. After Gerry dep
arted, Jennifer and Zack rose, exited the courtroom, and walked to the Z4.

  “I could kill that son of a bitch,” Zack groused. “Did you see the look he gave you?”

  “I chose to ignore it, though I can’t believe it came from a parish priest.”

  “From a parish priest who molests children,” Zack reminded her. “The nerve of this guy! He does this to your kids, and you’re the bad one? I hate that guy!” He growled.

  “Zack, don’t get yourself so worked up. You’ll get even in court,” Jennifer assured.

  “You’re right, of course,” Zack calmed. “But I can’t stand that creep’s arrogance. Blame the mother of the kids you abused? This guy is the poster child for castration in sexual molestation cases.”

  “So, how’s the civil case coming?” Jennifer changed the subject.

  “I’m glad you asked me that question. I’ve got a meeting today with the infamous Micah Love, private eye extraordinaire. He’s the friend I’ve been telling you about. He’s the best there is.”

  “His name is really ‘Love?’” Jennifer wondered.

  “Yep, and his father and grandfather before him. I don’t know what it was in the old country. His Ashkenazi grandfather, like mine, emigrated from Russia to escape the czar.”

  “You’re Jewish?” She was surprised.

  “Yes, is that a problem?”

  “Of course not. There have been rumblings about anti-Semitism within the church hierarchy, but it is unsubstantiated. I don’t want this to become too personal or religiously difficult for you,” she reasoned.

  “It’s already personal with me, but not for that reason. It’s because of you and the boys and what that scumbag did to them. Now, that’s personal!”

  “But, Zack—”

  “Jenny, if this case develops anti-Semitic overtones, I can deal with them. I’m a big boy. Sticks and stones can break my bones, and all that shit,” he teased.

  Jennifer laughed and, just as quickly, was serious again. Zack noticed.

  “Jenny, my religion isn’t a problem for you and me, is it?”

  “I’ve never dated outside my faith, Zack.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, neither have I. There’s a first time for everything. If someday, a closer relationship develops, religious differences should not stand in our way.”

  “I guess you’re right. It’s not like we’re getting married or anything.”

  “We’re not? I’m crushed.”

  “Jesus, Zack, will you stop kidding around? We’ve had one dinner.”

  “Jesus? Name’s familiar … I can’t place it. Wasn’t he Jewish?”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s what makes me so irresistible to women.”

  “And that’s why you’re divorced?”

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

  “Have dinner with me tonight. I can fill you in on my conversation with Micah.”

  “And if I say no?” She wouldn’t have.

  “Then I’ll keep my discussions with Micah to myself.”

  “Zack, that’s bribery.”

  “Sue me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Micah Love was a heavy-set fortyish man with hardly any of his gray hair left. He was on the short side, like Zack, and Zack loved to tease him about his hairstyle. Micah was bald on the top, so he wore his hair long on one side then combed that side over his bald dome to meet the hair on the other side. Zack never understood why balding men thought this was a good look, but then again, he wasn’t bald. He was getting a bit thin at the back of his head but insisted, “I don’t have a bald spot,” to anyone who called it to his attention. The funny thing about Micah’s hairstyle, though, was when the wind blew, the combed-over hair would return to its natural side of Micah’s head, completely exposing the dome. It was a funny sight—to Zack at least. Micah never saw the humor in it.

  Despite an obsession with sex and pornography, Micah Love was the best private investigator in the area, and Zack wanted him to handle the Tracey case investigation. The problem was—there was always a problem—Zack couldn’t afford him, especially now. Unlike Zack, Micah didn’t work on a contingency. Micah had the nerve to expect to be paid upfront. He required a retainer. After retainer money was exhausted, Micah expected to be paid his hourly rate on a weekly basis. Miss a week and he abandons the case. Those were the rules.

  As Zack approached Micah’s office at the Buhl Building, downtown on Griswold, he knew serious groveling would be involved. He hoped he could sell Micah on the seriousness of the offense and the importance of the case. Obviously, he would triple Micah’s hourly rate, if he had to, as long as Micah agreed to handle the investigation on a contingency basis.

  Zack steered the Z4 into an underground office parking lot next to the building. The sign on the ticket dispenser announced parking was $1.20 per twenty minutes, up to a maximum of $18.00. I should have gone into the parking lot business, less stress, more money. He found a spot on the second level near the elevator. Why walk when you can ride? He walked the short distance from the elevator to the building entrance and pushed through the revolving doors.

  The Buhl was a beautiful old building with an all-ceramic foyer and elevator doors in polished brass. For an added touch of old-world class, building management offered human elevator operators, in uniform, who pressed the floor buttons and escorted visitors to their desired floors.

  The elevator door opened to the offices of Love Investigations, which occupied the entire floor of the building. The offices were recently redecorated in today’s colors. On Zack’s last visit, two years ago, for a simple skip trace on a deadbeat client, the place was burgundy, gray, and black. Today, the decor was mahogany and cream. If the suite number hadn’t been the same, Zack would have thought he was in the wrong place.

  It was perfect, thought Zack. Even the receptionist was new, a pretty, young, buxom blonde named Eden, according to her nameplate. Micah must have handpicked her from the Garden. She wore a tight cotton dress—if one could call it a dress—that began at the very bottom of her ample breasts and ended just below the crotch. While Zack enjoyed the view, he couldn’t believe Micah’s poor taste. Clients came in all shapes, sizes, ages, religions, and political backgrounds. A woman like Eden may appeal to a degenerate like me; but not to a classy client, like Jennifer.

  Alas, this was vintage Micah. He lived to please no one but himself. Zack knew this was what made Micah such a great detective. The personal satisfaction he derived from his success in a particular case—screw whether the client agreed or disagreed. If you satisfy yourself, you satisfy your client. Zack thought about his own practice. He hadn’t satisfied himself for a long time. In fact, seated in the new, perfectly redecorated waiting area of Love Investigations, Zack couldn’t remember the last time he satisfied himself professionally. How pathetic is that? His return to the quality practice of law required Micah Love. Jenny and the boys deserved a commitment to excellence.

  The thought of Jennifer caused his mind to wander. He couldn’t wait for the evening and their dinner plans. What will she wear? How will her hair be styled? Zack hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Micah Love interrupted his thoughts with his usual gruffness.

  “Whadayawant this time, Blake?”

  Love was standing at the door leading from the reception area to the offices. He wore a dark-blue suit, white shirt, and burgundy-and-blue tie. His hair was neatly groomed in non-wind-blown over-the-dome style. Zack couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Micah in a suit.

  “Did you dress up for me, Micah?” Zack teased. “And these new digs, they for me also?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, asshole,” Micah grunted. “The suite and the suit—hey, that’s cute—are for my classier clients. You don’t qualify.”

  “And the babe?” Eden blushed.

  “Out of your league, pal,” Micah winked at Eden.

  She smiled. Only Micah k
new whether he was being complimentary.

  “Come on in, lowlife. How ya’ been? You’re a big TV star now. I caught your performance the other day. Not bad . . . but the babe! Where did you find her? She’s outstanding!”

  “She is something,” Zack sighed.

  Micah motion Zack into the suite. They walked to the conference room and sat down in executive chairs upholstered in the same pattern as those in the reception area. Ten chairs surrounded a beautiful black lacquer conference table. A matching black lacquer bar stood at the back of the room, open, displaying any kind of liquor imaginable. Micah’s office suite was trendier than Brodman Longworth’s offices. Micah was the best at his profession and enjoyed showing off.

  “You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?” Micah teased.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll tell you this—she’s quite a lady.”

  “That’s a lawyer’s answer. You’re bonking her, aren’t you?”

  Zack was annoyed by Micah’s bawdiness. “Micah, our relationship is professional. I like her and her kids very much.”

  “Sure, it is. Why don’t you explain these?” Micah pounced. He opened a thin manila envelope and removed pictures of Zack and Jennifer, walking down South Woodward. Zack’s arm was over her shoulders, and one of the photos showed him kissing her on the cheek. Zack felt violated.

  “Where did you get these?” Zack demanded.

  “It doesn’t matter. Some investigators have divided loyalties. I got them. That’s all that matters. Query? Do you think it’s wise, in such a high-profile case, to play kissy-face in public with your beautiful client?” Micah sassed.

  “It was just a client dinner,” Zack countered.

  “It looks like more than that to me, compadre, and, most likely, to the church as well. The press would have a field day with these.”

  “Would have?”

  “I purchased exclusive use, aside from the church, of course.”