impossible.”
“Any possibility of a plea?”
“He says he’s being framed. He says he’s innocent and a plea is out of the question. This one will go to the jury.”
“You like that, anyway.”
“Maybe. The other client is someone who plays in your ballpark.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Not the retarded kid!”
I smiled. “No.” I paused to slurp up some of my sloppy spaghetti. It was not a pretty sight. By meal’s end I would have destroyed a multitude of napkins and the composure of any diners nearby.
I wiped away the evidence and took a swallow of my Diet Coke.
“My other client is a priest. He was accused of fondlinga boy who later withdrew the charge. Now his parents are threatening civil suit.”
“The Evans kid?”
“I don’t even know the name yet. I haven’t talked to the priest.”
“Father Chuck,” she said.
“Bingo. Father Charles Albertus, alias Father Chuck. You know the case?”
“Sure. It was my case, if you could even call it that.”
“Can you tell me about it, Sue? You know, ethically?”
“No reason not to. It’s closed. I’m surprised his parents have the balls to even think about suing Father Chuck.”
“Why?”
“Charley, I view these clergymen as being guilty until proven innocent. I shouldn’t, I know, but there is so much of it, or so it seems. Altar boys, choir girls, kids of both sexes, adults of both sexes. Once these guys start going wrong, there’s no limit. Look around you. It’s become almost a national epidemic. Priest, minister, rabbi, it really makes no difference. So when they get to me, they already have two strikes against them. I know that isn’t fair, but that’s how I see it.”
“Did you feel that way about Father Chuck?”
“At first. I knew him because he’s very active in youth groups throughout the county. That alone was almost strike three. Anyway, the Evans kid, his name is Sam, said he attended a youth meeting at Our Lady of Sorrows in Hub City. The kid isn’t Catholic, but at age nineteen in that part of the county there aren’t many places a boy or girl can go to socialize with other kids. Anyway, he claimed that after the social, Father Chuck lured him into the rectory and groped him. His actual words were that the priest had grabbed his thing.
“Sam Evans is, I found out later, borderline retarded, and looks it. Tall, gawky, and strange, sort of staring all the time. His story didn’t sound right. He could never get beyond the groping, and he couldn’t describe how he got lured into the rectory by the priest.
“Then I checked and this wasn’t the first complaint the kid had made. He said a store owner in Hub City had grabbed his thing, too. The store owner had witnesses for the time the kid claimed it happened. Nobody touched him.
“Sam Evans was a Boy Scout for about a month. He said the scout leader got him off in a room and grabbed his thing. Later he admitted he lied. He was jealous that the scout leader was showing more attention to the other boys. Obviously, that case also was closed.”
Sue ordered another glass of wine, unusual for her. “I talked to the Evans kid about Father Chuck. Nicely, understand. He still couldn’t come up with any answers to key questions. Finally, he admitted he lied again. By the time he finished, he was trying to save himself by claiming the priest had made an indecent proposal. His parents were in my office and heard everything. They are as strange as their son. It turned out Sam is being treated for a severe personality disorder. They knew he was lying. I’m surprised they’re even talking about a lawsuit.”
“If I talk to them, can I use what you’ve told me?”
“Sure. Sam’s not a juvenile, except in intellect, so it’s not protected.”
“You sound like you like this Father Chuck.”
She grinned. “Jealous? Father Chuck is a great guy. It’s like he was born to be charming. If he wasn’t a priest, and if I weren’t entangled with a crooked