Joel Goldman - Deadlocked

A bronze dedication plaque set in stone at the entrance marked the cathedral's completion in 1937. The school building was a mix of old and new, the most recent addition still under construction, a brightly painted sign promising it would be ready by the start of the fall semester.

It was late in the day. Parishioners arrived for mass and Mason followed them into the church, not certain where to go. Most people gave him a friendly nod though a few gave him wary looks reserved for strangers. Mason was suddenly aware of being Jewish.

He rarely attended synagogue services, not even belonging to a congregation, another sore point with Abby, who had extracted his promise to attend services for the Jewish New Year and Day of Atonement, the High Holidays coming in the fall. That was before Abby hit the campaign trail. Though he was certain a dose of atonement would do him good, he doubted whether Abby would save him a seat.

Mason's experience in Catholic churches was limited to weddings and funerals. He'd never attended mass; the prospect of doing so now just to track down Father Steve made him feel like he was trespassing.

He stood at the door to the sanctuary for a moment as a young priest greeted people as they came in, sunlight fracturing into rainbow rays as it cut through stained glass. People took their seats on wooden pews with red velvet cushions matching the thick carpet. Mason retreated outside to wait for the end of the service, figuring to ask the priest where he could find Father Steve.

Father Steve was Mary's priest. He was also a priest to Whitney King and his family. Two families. One rich and one poor. It made sense that Father Steve would maintain his relationships with both Mary and Whitney, even after all that happened.

Still, Mason was troubled by the priest's insistence that Ryan had confessed to murdering Graham and Elizabeth Byrnes, a confession that was unsupported by Ryan's last words, Ryan's mother, or Mason's gut feel from reading the trial transcript. Now Father Steve was the sole witness to Whitney's claim that he had shot Nick in self-defense. Adding the priest as the last person who may have seen Mary Kowalczyk put Mason's trust in coincidence to a real test. He wasn't ready to accuse Father Steve, but he had questions for the priest and he wouldn't accept the answers on faith.

Mason wandered over to the school, skirting the construction site, getting a close look at the artist's rendering of the structure being built. The main entrance to the school was blocked off. A sign announced the new administrative wing made possible by the Christopher King Trust, Whitney King, Trustee. Another sign identified King Construction Company as the general contractor. Mason decided Whitney was building a stairway to heaven.

The construction crew had fashioned a temporary entrance to the school. A lax workman had left it unlocked at the end of the day. Mason took advantage, ducking inside, the hallways stuffy, air-conditioning being saved for the school year. The lights were off, but sunlight made its way from tall classroom windows to rectangular-shaped windows laid end-to-end like dominos along the interior wall above rows of lockers, painting the halls a smoky gray.

Mason had graduated from Southwest High School, a mile or two south of his house, a big city public school with big city public school problems-not enough money, motivated students, or interested parents. Mason managed to get a decent education anyway. Claire told him that four years spent with people who didn't look, live, or think like he did was his enrichment program.

The gym was tucked onto the back of the school, an addition made in 1955. A trophy case displayed accumulated hardware; basketball team rosters were engraved on plaques hung on the wall outside the gym. Mason traced the ten-member teams through the years, finding Ryan Kowalczyk's and Whitney King's team, Whitney's name was preserved along with those of eight other boys. Ryan's name was missing-a blank spot in its place.

"It was easier for the school to pretend he'd never been here than to try to forget what happened," Father Steve said. Mason spun around, finding the priest behind him. The priest apologized, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you, Mr. Mason. They teach us to walk quietly at the seminary." He smiled at his joke and Mason smiled back.

"Makes it easier to sneak up on the sinners," Mason said.

"Oh, I don't have to worry about that. God catches all sinners eventually," Father Steve said. "Like me and this dirty habit of mine," he continued, taking a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket. "I can't sneak a smoke in the church, so I sneak one at the school. How about that?"

Mason couldn't help smiling again. Father Steve was short, stocky, and willing to make fun of his shortcomings. A benign, soothing combination Mason was certain put congregants at ease. Father Steve hadn't shown such self-effacing charm at Ryan's execution or in their last prickly exchange in front of Mary's house. Since then, Mary had disappeared and Nick Byrnes had been shot right before his eyes, jolts that should rattle, not calm.

Maybe, Mason thought, the priest was just more comfortable on his own turf, enjoying an ecclesiastical home-court advantage.

"I imagine there are worse sins," Mason said.

"Would you like the complete list?" Father Steve asked.

"No thanks. I've got my hands full with murder."

Father Steve pulled a cigarette from the pack, tapped the end of it against his palm, lighting it, drawing hard, the smoke working its way through him, thin vapors escaping from his mouth and nose. "You've chosen one of the greatest sins, taking another's life."

"When Graham and Elizabeth Byrnes were killed, it was murder. When Ryan Kowalczyk was executed, it was justice. Sin is a tricky thing."

"Not really, Mr. Mason. Killing is killing. The church opposes capital punishment unless executing the offender is the only way of protecting society against an unjust aggressor, a circumstance the pope says is virtually certain never to exist. There's always a way to protect people. That's what jails are for."

Mason asked, "Is it a greater sin if the state executes an innocent man?"

"No life is more valuable than another, though Ryan Kowalczyk was not innocent. He confessed to me, as you heard me tell his mother."

"I believe Ryan was innocent," Mason said.

"Then we're both men of faith, Mr. Mason. We just believe different things to be true. In my world, faith is proof enough of the existence of God. In yours, belief in a man's innocence doesn't overrule a jury's verdict."

"Juries make mistakes. That's not a matter of faith. It's a matter of fact," Mason said.

"This jury struggled with the truth until they found it.

Whitney's father told me they were deadlocked for two days before they reached a verdict on the third day. You're entitled to your own struggle."

Mason studied the priest for some sign that he knew the significance of what he had said. Ryan's lawyer, Nancy Troy, knew about the deadlock, as did Harry Ryman. Father Steve had added himself and Whitney's father to that inner circle. Rachel's question about how Nancy and Harry had known took on added significance.

"The jury refused to talk with anyone about their deliberations. How did Whitney's father know what had happened?"

The priest flicked the ash from his cigarette, an involuntary twitch that matched his stuttered answer. "He didn't… say. Maybe…he just assumed," he said, looking down the hall to avoid Mason's stare.

"Did you attend the trial? Did you talk with the jurors?" Mason asked, homing in.

Father Steve's shoulders sagged. "I ministered to both Ryan and Whitney, and their families."

Mason stepped toward the priest, backing him against the wall. "I'm sure you were a comfort to them, Father. I'm more interested in the jury and why you're trying so hard not to answer my question. The jury was deadlocked for two days. Something happened that made them convict Ryan and acquit Whitney. What do you know about that?"