Free Silent Mercy by Linda Fairstein

might be cooler rather than emotional, arguing the case to the bench.
    If jurors had been seated in their usual role as triers of the case facts, then the judge would be responsible only for applying the law to those facts. The prosecution would need a unanimous verdict of twelve in order to convict. The defense team could claim a partial victory by hanging the group with only one not-guilty vote. Here, Lyle Keets would not only be responsible for all questions of law, but he would also be the sole trier of fact, the final arbiter in the defrocked priest’s case.
    So the McGuinn trio of high-priced legal talent had decided to take their chances by opting to not allow Denys Koslawski to be judged by a jury of his peers. The voir dire of a large panel of citizens would have been certain to elicit his background in the clergy, and word would have spread through the courthouse like wildfire, attracting the tabloid press to cover this now anonymous case. You could never guess what personal views a devout practitioner—or a lapsed Catholic—would bring to the jury box.
    “Would you please ask the bishop to retake the stand?” Lyle Keets nodded at the officer to bring in the witness while Sheila Enright smirked her discontent at me.
    Once the case was assigned to Judge Keets, the defense team made an educated guess that the elderly jurist, who’d been on the bench since the days when the testimony of a sexual assault victim required corroboration—independent evidence of the elements of the crime, which didn’t exist in the present case—might buy into their denials. We had all done enough research to know that Keets was High Episcopal, but none of us could figure which way that would cut when it came to his jurisprudence.
    Bishop Deegan, close to eighty years of age—about ten years older than the judge—swept into the courtroom, his head erect and his gold pectoral cross highlighted against his black suit and white clerical collar. He took the stand and sipped from the cup of water offered to him before making himself comfortable.
    “May I remind you, Your Grace, that you are still under oath?” Keets said.
    The defense had also made a lame effort to close the courtroom, but the law was well established that with rare exceptions the public was entitled to be present at criminal trials. Deegan peered over my shoulder as if to reassure himself that no spectators had entered present. Then he looked expectantly at Barry Donner and seemed surprised when I rose to my feet to begin the questioning.
    “We haven’t met, sir. I’m Alexandra Cooper and I’m working with Mr. Donner on this case.”
    “Very well then. Good day, Ms. Cooper.”
    Deegan’s credentials had been established by Sheila Enright the previous afternoon. He was presently Bishop of the Diocese of Chicago, with degrees that included a doctorate in canon law—a codification of the law of the Catholic Church.
    “You spoke yesterday about the time, fifteen years ago, when you served as an auxiliary bishop in the Diocese of New York, is that right?”
    “That is correct.”
    “And you met Mr. Koslawski during that period, when he was a priest in a local parish?”
    Deegan nodded in the defendant’s direction. “Yes, I was the vicar in charge of education, and Denys was one of our most able teachers back then.”
    That was a point he had made over and over again the previous day. Enright had taken the bishop through all of the good deeds of the young priest to hammer home his sterling character.
    I asked a series of questions regarding the interactions between the two men and accepted the praise that Deegan heaped on the defendant. I wanted it clear that I had respect for his exalted position, for his religious leadership and community influence, and for the pride he so richly took in his many years of church leadership.
    “During your time in this archdiocese, did you ever hear any allegations against Father Koslawski regarding sexual abuse?”
    The