Free Silent Mercy by Linda Fairstein Page B

you nor anyone else in a position of authority in the Archdiocese of New York thought it necessary to make any formal record of such complaints?”
    “Why should it be necessary, Ms. Cooper? They trusted me, of course.”
    I glanced at Judge Keets to see whether he was as unimpressed with that answer as Barry and I seemed to be, but his expression was glacial.
    “By the way, Bishop Deegan, how many parishioners are there in this archdiocese?”
    “Two and a half million, young lady.”
    “And you keep it all up here, is that correct? Every complaint and allegation?”
    “Objection,” Enright said. “She’s just getting argumentative with the witness.”
    “Sustained.”
    “Then let’s move on from these files,” I said, tapping my own forehead.
    The bishop reached for the paper cup of water. I didn’t know whether the tremor in his hand was related to his health or was a reflection of his discomfort. “I’d like to do that. Where to, Ms. Cooper?”
    “I’d like to discuss the secret archives of the church.”
    “The what?” Judge Keets asked, over the shouted objection of Sheila Enright. “Is there such a thing, Bishop Deegan?”
    The bishop didn’t answer the judge.
    “There are indeed secret archives, Your Honor,” I said. “I’d like to inquire about them.”

EIGHT

    “I’VE given you some scope, Alexandra, because there’s no jury here,” Keets said, pushing his readers to the top of his head as Enright, Donner, and I stood at the bench. “Would you mind telling me what these secret archives are?”
    “I’d also like to know,” Enright said.
    “I’m sorry if you didn’t do your homework, Sheila, but this goes to the heart of the matter. They’re church records, and I believe I’m entitled to inquire about them.”
    “Do they have anything to do with this defendant?”
    “Certainly.”
    “She’s just fishing, Your Honor,” Enright said. “You can’t let her do that.”
    Keets turned to the bishop and asked him to step down, letting the court officer lead him away as our voices raised beyond a stage whisper.
    “You think what this man has said is credible?” I asked, trying to keep some semblance of respectability in the tone of my voice. “Every diocese in this country has been rocked by these scandals. The settlement numbers are over four billion dollars now, and at least six dioceses have had to file for bankruptcy. They’re closing down churches and parochial schools all over the country. Parishioners in the poorest communities are suffering, and it’s primarily because of the failure of the Mother Church to confront this issue for more than fifty— fifty —years.”
    “That’s not my client’s fault.”
    “I’m well aware of that, Sheila. But Deegan has been part of the problem. Philadelphia, Your Honor, and Boston, for example, are places typical for the kinds of reports that are involved. Their diocesan personnel files show that more than seven percent of the priests in their cities had been accused of abusing children in the last half century. At least seven percent. And you know what the numbers are in New York?”
    Keets lowered his glasses and made notes as I talked. “Go on.”
    “One point three percent. The lowest in all 195 dioceses in the country.”
    “How fortunate for the children of New York,” Enright said with obvious sarcasm.
    I couldn’t think of the legal term of art for the word “bullshit.” “That’s absurd and you know it. It’s totally artificial.”
    “Ladies, ladies. Let’s not have a catfight,” Keets said. “What reason would you offer for that, Alexandra?”
    “Two things, Your Honor. First is that our numbers are ridiculously low because we have the most restrictive statute of limitations of any state. There are many, many more reports, but they aren’t legally viable because the complaints came in too late.”
    “You mean that in most jurisdictions, the reporting can be done for a period of time after the youths