William Bernhardt - Criminal intent

"Father-realistically, I have to assume your arrest will give the vestry the ammunition they wanted to have you removed. Even the bishop will be hard-pressed to back a priest who's currently residing in the county jail."

"A man is innocent until proven guilty. Not only in law, but in the church as well."

Ben popped open his briefcase and took out a legal pad. "You have more faith in the system than I do, I'm afraid."

"Faith is my business. Do you have any idea what possessed the police to arrest me?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Ben removed a small file from his briefcase. "I've had a nice long chat with Mike-Major Morelli. In Homicide. They found a large acrylic paperweight in your office covered with blood."

"The murder weapon?"

"Not exactly. They say the woman was suffocated. But she was struck by the paperweight. That's what caused the wound on the side of her head."

A shudder passed through Beale. "That's horrible. Poor Kate."

Ben showed him a photo of the paperweight, an irregularly shaped clear object about the size of a football. "Do you know what it is?"

"Of course. That's my St. Crispin's award."

"And that is-?"

"It was given to me fourteen years ago by the Episcopal Council of Churches. In recognition of my humanitarian work. So is this why I've been arrested? Because my award was used by the murderer?"

"I'm afraid there's more to it than that. They've found your fingerprints on the thing."

"Well, of course my fingerprints were on it. It's mine! It was on my desk. I probably touched it every other day!"

"Yes, but you see… your fingerprints were on it… and no one else's. If the award was used by another person to club Kate over the head, that person's prints should also be on the award, in addition to or obscuring yours. But there are no other prints. No partials or smudges. Nothing. Except yours."

"Perhaps the killer used gloves."

"A good theory. Except that no one on the premises was wearing gloves. Not even the bride."

"They could've been hidden."

"The police were on the scene less than five minutes after the body was found, and they searched the premises and everyone present before they were allowed to leave. No one had any gloves."

"Then maybe it wasn't gloves. Maybe they covered the award with a cloth or rag or… or something."

"Perhaps. But anything used in that manner would've been covered with blood. And the police didn't find anything. No rag, no cloth, no torn shirt, nothing."

Beale's eyes turned down toward the stone-cold floor. "Looks bad, doesn't it?"

"I'm afraid so. I mean, the killer might've washed his hands. But I don't think he could've done his laundry."

Beale did not look up. "You think I did it, don't you?" he said quietly.

"No," Ben said firmly. "On the contrary, I know without a doubt that you did not do it. But it looks like we're going to have a hell of a time proving it."

"You saw me, didn't you? In the bathroom. Washing my hands."

Ben nodded. This time he was the one who didn't make eye contact.

"About ten minutes after the wedding concluded I went to my office and found Kate lying across my desk. I rushed to her side, praying she was still alive. I held her in my arms and felt the side of her neck for a pulse; that's when I got the blood on my hands."

"That makes sense."

"But then Ruth O'Connell came along and screamed, and all those other people arrived, and I knew the police would be along shortly, but-but-that still wasn't really the problem. I can't explain it. I had to get that blood off my hands. I couldn't stand it."

"That's perfectly understandable, Father."

"To you, maybe. But what will a jury think?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Ben paused. He'd much rather skip the next topic that had to be addressed, but he couldn't. And if they had to talk about it, it was better to do it now than later. "Father-I must tell you. I saw you talking to Kate just before the wedding started. You appeared to be having… well, a rather strong disagreement. And I wasn't the only one who heard."

Beale's shoulders sagged. Each new development seemed to bring him lower. "It's true. We were fighting. She threatened me and… and I got angry."

"I have to ask what you were arguing about."

"It was a… theological disagreement."

"I heard her saying something about… evil. She said something you were doing was evil."

Beale's eyes darted up, then quickly looked away. "She was referring to my permitting a gay and lesbian group to meet on the church premises. She's from the old school; she considers homosexuality an aberration, a sin against God. Evil. She thought that by allowing the group to meet I tainted the whole church with their sin."

"I see. Do you have any idea why anyone would want to kill Kate?"

"I can't imagine. I mean, sure, we had philosophical disagreements. She was on the vestry, and they all want to be rid of me. But people don't commit murder because of philosophical disagreements. Do they?"

"Who knows why people commit murder? I've seen more than my share, but I still find it unfathomable." Ben glanced toward his briefcase. "There's more evidence, but the forensic teams are still working. Apparently they found a hair on the body, and they'll try to link that back to you. They'll probably come up with a few more tidbits before trial. They usually do." He looked through his papers for a few more moments, then closed the lid on his briefcase. "Anyway, that should about cover it for now. We'll talk again after the arraignment. We'll know better where we stand. Anything I can do for you in the meantime?"

"Yes. Please tell Andrea everything you've told me."

Andrea. Of course. Ben had been so concerned about Father Beale he'd forgotten about his wife. She must be worried sick. "I'll do that. And she can come visit you, if she'd like."

"I don't know how she'll feel about that. It might be… more stress than she wants. Or needs. But do keep her informed."

"I will. Anything else?"

"Yes. I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done for me, ever since these troubles started. But this is different. This is a murder trial, and it's probably going to get a lot of play in the papers. I'm sure most of what they say about me will be negative, and that's going to reflect on you. Much as I appreciate your help, speaking as your priest, I think it would be best if you stepped down and let another attorney handle my case."

"No chance."

"Ben, I'm serious. You're a great lawyer-and a fine human being, I might add. But you don't need this. Step down."

"No."

"You're not thinking this through."

"The answer is no."

"Ben… I know what you do. In many ways, your law practice is your ministry, and you do important work. I don't want to see that come to an end."

"I am not going to resign from your case."

"Ben-"

"Are you firing me? Because if you are, then I have to go. But I will not resign."

"Ben, consider what your-"

"Do you remember the stained glass window?"

A small smile played on Father Beale's lips. "It's been a while. But of course I do."

Ben nodded. "You were there for me. I'll be here for you."

Beale leaned back, letting his head touch the hard stone wall behind him. "It's been good having you in church these past few months, Ben. Particularly since I know you've been a church absentee ever since you left home."

"It's been good for me, too."

"Masterson tells me you've been a valuable addition to the choir, and that you help him out at rehearsals by playing the piano. You've done a fine job with the Old Testament readings." He paused. "But I notice you never go up for communion."

"Nothing gets by you, huh?"

"That's my job. So, what's the story, Ben?"