Read Online Silent Mercy by Linda Fairstein - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda Fairstein
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accusing a priest of molesting her son. Wouldn’t be good for the boy, and it certainly wouldn’t be good for her beloved church.”
“And Leopold, what became of him?”
“Typical of the pattern, Barry. A couple of years in a small parish in a remote part of Texas hill country, then on to Oregon, then up to Bridgeport. And always gravitating toward his target population. Supervising the altar boys, organizing retreats for the youth choir. You’ve seen stories about civil cases against priests, but you’ll search pretty hard to find any criminal cases that have been successfully prosecuted. Not one in this county when I got to this job.”
“Is that why you’ve been so adamant about no plea for Koslawski?”
“That’s part of it,” I said. “He’s had lots of chances, over and over again. He’s hurt so many young lives and walked away from them each time, protected by the Mother Church.”
“And if Sheila Enright hadn’t been so hell-bent on putting Koslawski’s character in evidence through Bishop Deegan, the religious background wouldn’t have tiptoed its way into this case.”
We were spreading our files on the table when Enright and her client walked into the courtroom. She was an associate in a white-shoe law firm in which her senior partners billed their clients at $850 an hour. That representation was the first sign that Koslawski had someone with a deeper pocket trying to protect him. When I checked the list of archdiocesan settlements, the McGuinn, Hannon, and Cork name came up repeatedly.
“Good morning, Sheila,” I said.
She mumbled a greeting to me and to Barry, but her client was stone-faced. “Any sign of Keets yet?”
“His secretary called to tell us to come up. She said he’s ready to go.”
Enright put her briefcase beside her chair and began whispering to her client. It was a smart move for a sex offender to have a woman at his side for trial. It often made a defendant seem more benign and unlikely to be threatening to anyone. It might have backfired in this circumstance because of Enright’s manner. Her attack on the victim had been strident and nasty in tone and substance. There was nothing to corroborate his version of the events—there rarely was, since sex crimes were not likely to be committed in front of witnesses—but the youth’s calm demeanor and forthright responses to her questions reflected the confidence of his candor.
One of the court officers banged twice on the side door that led to the judge’s robing room. “All rise. The Honorable Lyle Keets entering the courtroom.”
The black robe draped over his shoulders and the leather-bound notebook he carried suited the judge’s patrician bearing. Keets mounted the three steps to the bench, followed by his law assistant, and ordered us to be seated as he pulled in his chair. The stenographer took her place in the well, between the witness stand and the judge’s chair above her.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, lifting a fountain pen while checking the previous day’s notes. “We suspended after the direct examination by Ms. Enright of her witness, Bishop Edward Deegan. Are we ready to resume testimony?”
“Yes, sir,” Barry Donner answered.
“Your witness. You may go ahead.”
“Actually, Your Honor, Ms. Cooper is going to handle this cross.”
I could hear Sheila’s chair scrape across the floor as she half rose to her feet before thinking twice—she had no grounds for an objection—and reseating herself.
This was a circumstance of Sheila Enright’s own creation. Koslawski had his constitutional right to a trial by jury, but Shelia had chosen to waive that right with advice from two of her senior partners after they scoped the pool of prospective jurors. The tactic was occasionally used by savvy lawyers who suspected that their clients might not get a fair shake if a dozen of their peers found charges like these distasteful, and chose to rely instead on a judicial temperament that
“And Leopold, what became of him?”
“Typical of the pattern, Barry. A couple of years in a small parish in a remote part of Texas hill country, then on to Oregon, then up to Bridgeport. And always gravitating toward his target population. Supervising the altar boys, organizing retreats for the youth choir. You’ve seen stories about civil cases against priests, but you’ll search pretty hard to find any criminal cases that have been successfully prosecuted. Not one in this county when I got to this job.”
“Is that why you’ve been so adamant about no plea for Koslawski?”
“That’s part of it,” I said. “He’s had lots of chances, over and over again. He’s hurt so many young lives and walked away from them each time, protected by the Mother Church.”
“And if Sheila Enright hadn’t been so hell-bent on putting Koslawski’s character in evidence through Bishop Deegan, the religious background wouldn’t have tiptoed its way into this case.”
We were spreading our files on the table when Enright and her client walked into the courtroom. She was an associate in a white-shoe law firm in which her senior partners billed their clients at $850 an hour. That representation was the first sign that Koslawski had someone with a deeper pocket trying to protect him. When I checked the list of archdiocesan settlements, the McGuinn, Hannon, and Cork name came up repeatedly.
“Good morning, Sheila,” I said.
She mumbled a greeting to me and to Barry, but her client was stone-faced. “Any sign of Keets yet?”
“His secretary called to tell us to come up. She said he’s ready to go.”
Enright put her briefcase beside her chair and began whispering to her client. It was a smart move for a sex offender to have a woman at his side for trial. It often made a defendant seem more benign and unlikely to be threatening to anyone. It might have backfired in this circumstance because of Enright’s manner. Her attack on the victim had been strident and nasty in tone and substance. There was nothing to corroborate his version of the events—there rarely was, since sex crimes were not likely to be committed in front of witnesses—but the youth’s calm demeanor and forthright responses to her questions reflected the confidence of his candor.
One of the court officers banged twice on the side door that led to the judge’s robing room. “All rise. The Honorable Lyle Keets entering the courtroom.”
The black robe draped over his shoulders and the leather-bound notebook he carried suited the judge’s patrician bearing. Keets mounted the three steps to the bench, followed by his law assistant, and ordered us to be seated as he pulled in his chair. The stenographer took her place in the well, between the witness stand and the judge’s chair above her.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, lifting a fountain pen while checking the previous day’s notes. “We suspended after the direct examination by Ms. Enright of her witness, Bishop Edward Deegan. Are we ready to resume testimony?”
“Yes, sir,” Barry Donner answered.
“Your witness. You may go ahead.”
“Actually, Your Honor, Ms. Cooper is going to handle this cross.”
I could hear Sheila’s chair scrape across the floor as she half rose to her feet before thinking twice—she had no grounds for an objection—and reseating herself.
This was a circumstance of Sheila Enright’s own creation. Koslawski had his constitutional right to a trial by jury, but Shelia had chosen to waive that right with advice from two of her senior partners after they scoped the pool of prospective jurors. The tactic was occasionally used by savvy lawyers who suspected that their clients might not get a fair shake if a dozen of their peers found charges like these distasteful, and chose to rely instead on a judicial temperament that
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