Chapter 7: Father Morelli
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Saturday, December 13, 2003
11:30am
McCoy and Curtis had decided not to call Briscoe to the stand. It was just too risky. Briscoe had gone home, and now they were talking about the rest of the case.
"They've subpoenaed Father Morelli as the final witness for the prosecution," McCoy informed him.
"What can he say, though? He's my priest, everything is protected by privilege."
"Not everything. They can ask him about your demeanor, your role at the Church, your mother, all of that. Everything he's observed that isn't directly a product of confessions or counselling." McCoy paused for a second, aware that this was probably going to be a little touchy. "What would you think of waiving confessional privilege?"
"Letting you ask about what we've talked about?"
"Yes."
"Why would I want to?"
"Because I think he could be a good character witness for you. I'd have to talk to him, see what he has to say, but I think it might work in our favour. Unfortunately, it could backfire because the prosecution would be able to question him as well."
Curtis looked at him askance. "He's my confessor, Jack. Do you have any idea the things I've told him?"
"I go to confession too - once in a blue moon, but I do go. I know how private it is. But is there anything you've told him that hasn't already come up during this trial?"
Curtis thought for a moment. "I guess not," he said, grimacing at how much of his private life had become public.
"Would you consider waiving privilege? You don't have to waive all of it - for example, you can keep any marital counseling privileged - but you can waive confessional privilege."
Curtis thought for a moment, eyes focused inwards as he sipped his coffee. "Yeah, I may as well."
===
Tuesday, December 16
10:02am
The trial had not been easy on Curtis. He had sat through witness after witness, all of whom had looked at him apologetically as they gave testimony that bolstered the prosecution. Although all of the character witnesses were people who liked Curtis, from his coworkers and neighbours to his fellow parishioners, they had all been led to admit the same things: that at the time of his mother's death Rey Curtis had been incredibly overburdened, exhausted, irritable, and not himself, greatly changed from what he had been years ago.
On cross, none of them could say that he knew that his mother's will and insurance policy had been changed. None of them could point to a single instance of him saying that he wished his mother was dead. Many of them hadn't even known his mother was ill, because he didn't talk about his family. But it was still difficult for him to sit through.
Now it was time for the final witness for the defense, Father Neil Morelli. McCoy knew there wasn't much Morelli could say that would add to what the other witnesses had said, in terms of besmirching Curtis' character. He wasn't sure why Silcox had called him to the stand, and that made him extremely uncomfortable. So far Silcox's prosecution had been competent and thorough, but hardly brilliant, but McCoy knew he wouldn't feel better until Silcox had rested his case.
"Father Morelli, you were Estela Curtis' spiritual advisor, were you not?"
"Yes, I was."
"Now, one possible explanation for Estela Curtis' death is that she committed suicide. Did she seem depressed to you?"
"No, she did not."
"Did she act like a person who was suicidal?"
"No, she did not."
"Did she tell you she was suicidal?"
"I was her confessor. I cannot confirm or deny anything that may have come up during her confessions."
"But you can talk about conversations outside of confession or counseling, you can talk about what you observed. What did Mrs. Curtis think of suicide?"
"Suicide is a mortal sin. Mrs. Curtis was a very devout woman, she followed the teachings of the Church to the letter."
"The Church has mostly relaxed its stance towards suicide, though, hasn't it? I mean, many Catholics now believe that although suicide is wrong, God might forgive somebody who has taken their own life if their reasons were valid, isn't that right?"
"That's not the position we take in our parish. And that's certainly not the position Mrs. Curtis took. In our parish we teach the following:" Morelli looked into the distance, obviously reciting from memory "'Suicide contradicts the natural inclination of the human being to preserve and perpetuate his life. It is gravely contrary to the just love of self. Suicide is contrary to love for the living God.'"
Curtis looked down, swallowing hard. Silcox nodded, satisfied.
"Very well. So in your opinion, did Mrs. Estela Curtis commit suicide?"
"I don't know," Morelli answered after a brief hesitation. Curtis narrowed his eyes at Morelli, looking a little puzzled. Silcox also looked slightly nonplussed, but quickly recovered.
"In your opinion, is it likely that she could have?"
"In my opinion based on what I knew of her character and beliefs, it would have been unlikely." Silcox looked a little disappointed with the luke warmth of that answer, and moved on.
"Father Morelli, how long have you known Rey Curtis and his family?"
"Fourteen years, ever since I first came to St. Ignacio's parish."
"You're the same age as Mr. Curtis, right? Thirty-eight?"
"Yes."
"You met when you were a brand new priest, an assistant at your first parish, and he was newly married and just starting out in law enforcement, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And now you're the senior priest at your Church, and Mr. Curtis has four children and has been married about fourteen years, is that correct?"
"Yes," Morelli looked at little unsure about this line of questioning, and McCoy and Curtis glanced at each other, equally unsure.
"What was the Curtis family like when you first came to the parish?"
"They didn't have children yet. I believe Mrs. Curtis first became pregnant a few months after I arrived at St. Ignacio's," Morelli smiled at Curtis, and looked back at Silcox. "They were a wonderful couple, the kind of people that make a parish work. They were very involved in the Church. Their marriage was very strong. They were invaluable to me as helpers in the Church community, and as examples of a good Christian couple, a good Christian family."
"What kinds of things did they do in the parish?"
"Mr. Curtis helped the elderly parishioners with their yard work, and Mrs. Curtis counseled parishioners experiencing difficulties. They also volunteered at the soup kitchen and often taught at the Sunday school."
"Does sound like a wonderful couple to have as part of your Church."
"Yes, they were."
"Did they follow the teachings of your Church?"
"Yes, of course."
"Didn't sort of fudge on the more inconvenient parts?"
"No, not at all."
"Your Church makes a great deal of money from donations, right? Tithing?"
"Yes."
"Did Mr. Curtis' family donate to the Church?"
"Of course, his family tithed generously."
"Generously? On a cop's salary?"
"They also had other income at the time."
"From a casino owned by Mrs. Curtis' family, isn't that right?"
"Yes, Mrs. Curtis is a Pequot. The casino was Pequot-run, by members of her family. They were shareholders."
"About five years ago Mrs. Curtis' cousin, Bruce Lyons, embezzled from the casino, isn't that right?"
"Yes. There was a federal investigation and a lawsuit."
"Had the Curtises been part of this embezzling scheme?"
"Oh no, no, not at all - but they were still liable, along with the other shareholders. It was quite a financial setback for them."
"This happened shortly after Mrs. Curtis was first diagnosed with MS, didn't it?"
"Yes - maybe a year after, I'm not sure."
"So they now have no other source of income, other than Mr. Curtis' salary."
"No, they don't."
"Do they still donate to the Church?"
"No, not any more. I knew of their financial difficulties and let them know they did not need to feel obligated to give."
"Very generous of you. And do they still volunteer at the Church?"
"They don't have time any more."
"Their situation has changed, hasn't it?"
"Mr. Curtis and his family have been through a lot in the past few years. Mrs. Curtis's illness has progressed much faster than they expected, and their youngest daughter is disabled."
"And brain damaged."
"Yes."
"What are we talking about, in Mrs. Curtis' case? What do you know about her illness?"
"She's in a wheelchair. She suffers from paralysis and spasms in her limbs, is mostly unable to walk. She's very fatigued most of the time. She also suffers from seizures sometimes, and her vision is occasionally affected to the point where she can't focus on letters. She also experiences a great deal of pain."
"She's also... forgive the bluntness, but due to her illness she is unable to participate in a sexual marital relationship, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"What about the youngest daughter, Tania?"
"Tania has some developmental delays that make it difficult to take care of her. She's almost three years old, but still needs a lot of the same care that a one-year old would need."
"How have the Curtises coped with these stresses?"
"Fairly well, considering the strain they're under. It has been a difficult time, but Mr. Curtis remains a devoted husband and father. He's the primary caregiver for all of his daughters and his wife."
"Do they have any other family to help them?"
"Mr. Curtis' mother was not well, his brother lives in Tucson and his sister lives in Albany. She comes to town once a month to give him some time to himself. Mrs. Curtis' family live in New Jersey."
"You've counseled Mr. Curtis and his wife before, isn't that correct? You counseled them before she was diagnosed with MS."
"Yes."
"What was that about?"
"That counseling is protected by privilege."
"Didn't Mr. Curtis have an affair? Didn't they split up for a few months over this?"
"I was their counselor. I cannot confirm or deny anything that may have come up during their counseling." McCoy cocked his head, suddenly regarding Morelli very closely.
"Well, we already heard from a witness last week who testified to the affair and their separation," Silcox smiled at Morelli, "so you're not exactly divulging state secrets here." He paused. "When Mrs. Curtis was diagnosed with MS, Mr. Curtis felt responsible, didn't he? He felt that this was God's punishment for his indiscretion in 1996?" Morelli looked confused, not sure whether or not he could answer that question. "And you encouraged those feelings of guilt, didn't you?"
"Objection! Your Honour, we've already established that anything resulting from counseling is privileged."
"Sustained, move along, Mr. Silcox."
"Father, when Mrs. Curtis became pregnant for the fourth time, she already had MS, didn't she?"
"Yes."
"And was this a planned pregnancy?"
"No."
"Were they using contraception?"
"Not artificial contraception. The Church frowns on that. They were using Natural Family Planning, which the Church allows."
"Otherwise known as the rhythm method, or Vatican Roulette, right?"
"No, it's not the rhythm method. It's somewhat more complex than that. It's also highly effective when done correctly - 98% effective, as a matter of fact."
"Not effective enough, obviously. When Mrs. Curtis became pregnant, what did you tell them to do?"
"What do you mean?"
"She had MS and three children already, and she was on medication that was known to cause birth defects. Hardly the best time to have a child. Didn't their doctor tell them it wasn't a good idea to continue the pregnancy? Didn't she suggest an abortion?"
"That was hardly a suggestion they were going to follow. They are devout Catholics."
"So they had the child despite medical warnings."
"Yes."
"And their child, Tania, is brain damaged and disabled."
"Yes."
"Do you still feel you did the right thing in telling them to have this child?"
"Objection, Your Honour, this trial is not about the Catholic Church's teachings on abortion. How is this relevant?"
"Sustained. Mr. Silcox, tread carefully on matters of religion in my courtroom, please," the judge admonished him.
"I didn't have to tell them anything," Morelli added. "They could no more have committed abortion than they could commit murder. In our eyes it's the same thing." Silcox looked at Curtis speculatively, then shrugged.
"Now, when Tania was born, the Curtises were taxed to their limit providing care for her. What would have happened if they had had another child?"
"I don't know. They would have had some difficulties, I suppose."
"So, did you recommend contraception to prevent further children?"
"Of course not, as I indicated, the Church frowns on artificial contraception."
"What did you suggest they do?"
"I suggested Natural Family Planning again, or abstinence."
"Abstinence. And this was before Mrs. Curtis' health made sex impossible for them. They were supposed to live together but not sleep together, is that right? How did Mr. Curtis feel about that?"
"He wasn't happy, but he understands the Church's position on artificial contraception."
"Oh he does. Does he understand the Church's position on vasectomies?"
"Objection. Your Honour, may I ask where Mr. Silcox is going with any of this?"
"Goes to character, Your Honour. This character witness is stating that the defendant follows the teachings of his Church. He pointed out that Mr. Curtis 'could no more have committed abortion than he could have committed murder,' presumably because abortion is such a big no-no. I'm pointing out that Mr. Curtis's adherence to Catholic law is somewhat more flexible than Father Morelli would like us to believe."
"I'll allow it."
"Did Mr. Curtis understand the Church's position on vasectomies?"
"Yes."
"And that is..."
"The Church opposes them."
"It goes a little further, doesn't it? In fact," Silcox's second chair handed him a piece of paper, "to quote Bishop Thomas Wenski, 'Sterilization is evil. It is a mutilation that frustrates the purpose of the marriage act.'" Silcox put down his paper. "Did Mr. Curtis have a vasectomy?"
Morelli looked at Curtis. Curtis looked back at him steadily. "Yes, he did," he confirmed.
"He confessed this to you?"
"Yes."
"And Mr. Curtis has waived the confidentiality of confession, so you can answer freely. Did you absolve him? Make him say ten Hail Mary's and go on his way?"
"No. I didn't absolve him until I felt sure he knew what he had done was wrong, and that he truly repented."
"I see. Have you given him absolution for the murder of his mother yet, or are you waiting for him to realize that was wrong too?"
"Objection!"
"Withdrawn," Silcox leaned against his table for a moment, then began again. "Father, you are aware that Mr. Curtis has been unfaithful to his wife since she has been diagnosed with MS."
"Yes, I am."
"How do you know this?"
"He has confessed to me."
"How does Mr. Curtis feel about his infidelity?"
"He feels very guilty. He feels that he is failing his wife and family. He's a very moral person, he has deep religious convictions. He's not a person who forgives himself easily when he doesn't live up to the teachings and expectations of the Church or of his conscience."
"But, come on, I mean, if his wife can't, what's a guy to do?"
"The Church does not wink at infidelity just because there is no sexual relationship between the spouses," Morelli said primly.
"When he tells you of these infidelities, what do you do?"
"I counsel him. He promises to try harder to be faithful to his wife. I help him to come to terms with his failings, and try to help him make sure it doesn't happen again."
"How do you do that?"
"I point out the ways in which he has sinned in the eyes of God and man, that he has failed in his duties as a husband and father, that he is breaking his vows," he looked at Curtis, who looked down at the table, twisting his wedding band.
"Do you absolve him?"
"When I feel that he has repented, yes, I absolve him."
"Mhm. Repentance includes the sincere desire to not sin again, isn't that correct?"
"Yes."
"But how long has this been going on? How many times has Rey Curtis admitted infidelity to you?"
"A little over a year, I think. He gets one night a month to be away from his wife and family, and he... he usually goes to a bar and, uh... meets a young lady there."
"Yes, we heard from one of those young ladies last week. How many times in the last year has Mr. Curtis gone out and not picked up a perfect stranger for casual sex?"
Morelli glanced apologetically at Curtis, who looked down again. "Twice."
"Oh. I see. He's very sincere in his desire to not sin again. Your counseling to help make sure it doesn't happen again is doing wonders."
"You have to understand, Mr. Curtis is in a difficult position, he's under a great deal of stress. I take that into account when I absolve him."
"How do you feel about Mr. Curtis?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"What do you think of him?" Morelli opened his mouth to answer, but Silcox continued, "How did you feel about Mr. Curtis after he confessed to having an affair in 1996, after he confessed to having a vasectomy, after he confessed to all of those indiscretions as his wife's illness progressed?"
McCoy narrowed his eyes at Silcox.
"I..."
"How did you feel about him? This is a man who used to be a pillar of your community. And that's a pretty far fall, breaking some pretty important rules. How did you feel about him?"
"I understand that people make mistakes. We are all sinners. Priests understand that."
"Mhhm. Father, when Estela Curtis was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, how did Mr. Curtis and his family react?"
"They were understandably upset."
"Who was going to be taking care of Estela Curtis as she became sicker?"
"Mr. Curtis would."
"I see. He was working full-time, taking care of four children including one who is retarded, a crippled wife, and now he was going to take care of a demented mother as well? Seems like a lot, don't you think?"
"I believe Mr. Curtis would have been able to do it. His faith gives him strength."
"I see. Superhuman strength, I guess. Same kind of strength he displays when he goes to bars and picks up strangers."
"Objection!"
"Sustained."
"Now, your Church offers respite care for people who need it, doesn't it? For example, you send volunteers from your Church to help take care of elderly parishioners so their children can get a break sometimes, right?"
"Yes."
"Did you get any respite care for Mr. Curtis as his wife's illness progressed, after his daughter showed signs of being disabled?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I... I didn't think it was necessary."
"Were you aware that Mr. Curtis was clinically depressed?"
"I knew he wasn't feeling himself."
"Were you aware that he'd lost a great deal of weight, had trouble sleeping, was irritable, was on performance probation at work?"
"I knew he wasn't feeling well."
"Not feeling well. We heard from quite a few witnesses last week who all noticed a lot more than 'not feeling well.'"
"The witness has answered Mr. Silcox," McCoy pointed out. Silcox glanced back at him and moved on.
"What did you do for him?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did you direct him to a psychiatrist?"
"Mr. Curtis couldn't afford a psychiatrist. Besides, I didn't think it was necessary."
"Did you counsel him?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Morelli looked a little confused. "What do you mean?"
"Never mind, let's move on. You said that the Curtises tithed generously when they were able to. Now, your Church spends some of its donations on food and clothing for poor parishioners, don't you? Usually single mothers or elderly persons?"
"Yes."
"Did Mr. Curtis' family receive any of that as their financial situation deteriorated?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I... I didn't think-"
"Didn't think it was necessary?"
"No."
"Are you aware that his family has applied for every kind of government assistance there is, but that for various bureaucratic reasons, they don't qualify for most of it?"
"Yes."
"So they really had nowhere else to go, did they?"
"I suppose not."
"Why didn't you give them any of the Church's money? Were they not needy enough? Are you aware that almost fifty percent of Mr. Curtis's income goes to medication and nursing care for his wife and youngest daughter? Are you aware that Mr. Curtis' children wear secondhand clothing, that they have no new toys or books, that his family of six lives in a small two-bedroom apartment, that he took on an extra job marking papers for a local college to make ends meet? Do you still think they aren't needy enough?"
Morelli was silent.
"Why didn't you see the signs that Mr. Curtis was severely depressed? Why didn't you help him? Everybody else who knew him could see the changes in him. You were his priest - why didn't you?"
Morelli looked at Curtis, whose gaze was fixed on Silcox.
"Was it because he reminded you of yourself, the life you would have had if you had followed a different path? Was it because he disappointed you with his infidelities, with his failures? Because if he could fail, maybe you could too?"
"I... I don't know..."
"The truth is, you did fail, didn't you. You failed him. You failed Rey Curtis and his whole family. You decided your only responsibility was for their souls, and their bodies could go to hell. You told him everything he couldn't do - including making love to his own wife when they couldn't have any more children - but didn't help him after you gave him the Thou Shalt Nots." Silcox paced for a moment.
"You were angry with him because he broke your rules. You were angry with him because he didn't live up to what you thought he should be. So you punished him. You absolved him, but you refused to help him, and you set him up to fail again." He faced Morelli directly.
"He needed support. You gave him guilt and condemnation. You drove him deeper into depression and despair. He had no way out. He had nowhere else to go. No wonder he didn't feel he had any other choice when his mother got sick too. You drove him to kill his mother, didn't you?"
Father Morelli stared at Curtis, stricken.
===
Tuesday, December 16
9:01pm
"Rey, the DA is offering a deal," McCoy began. "Man One, six to ten, and you'd have to allocute."
Curtis rubbed his forehead. He looked up at McCoy.
"What do you think?"
"I think Father Morelli's testimony may have hurt us a lot. He looked guilty, and he made you look guilty. I reserved the right to recall him for our case, but..."
"Yeah." Curtis leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.
"I think it's time to look at a plea. It's a generous offer. Partly that's because they don't think they can pull off Murder Two, but... it's still generous."
"I didn't do it," Curtis said dully.
"Rey. I can't be sure of proving that. You had motive, you had means, and you lied to the police about your whereabouts, being a police officer yourself. Your family's been in trouble for a long time, you've been in trouble... it's not a far leap for the jury to take, to believe that you did this. Out of desperation, or need for money, or whatever, it doesn't matter. It may be a circumstantial case, but I know if I were prosecuting I wouldn't have much doubt about winning it. The alternative is Murder Two, and that's a much longer sentence. If you plead now we can argue for leniency, and I think we have a pretty good case with this judge."
"I didn't do it. I'd have to commit perjury and admit to something I didn't do."
"Rey."
"You think I should take the deal, don't you?"
"I don't know. I think we can win. But I'm gambling with your life here. I'm not used to asking my client's opinion on how to proceed, and I'm not used to being responsible for my client's well-being if they do as I say and I lose their case. I think you need to think about this seriously."
"Deborah?" Curtis turned to her.
Deborah shook her head, a sob escaping from her throat. Curtis took her hands in his and his eyes filled with tears.
"Six years..." He slipped one hand up her arm and she leaned forward until her head lay on his shoulder. She clutched at him, sobbing softly. He gently rested his chin on top of her head and stared off into space, thinking.
"The alternative may be fifteen."
Curtis nodded, not trusting his voice. He turned his face into Deborah's hair and took a few deep breaths.
"Deborah." He touched her face tenderly, tilting her face up to his. "Please... help me. I can't decide this without you."
Deborah swallowed, stifling her sobs. "It... it's a sin. Perjury. God knows, I don't want you gone for fifteen years, the thought of that... I would rather die." She stopped for a second, then took his hand between hers. "But... if the only way to avoid it is for you to lie, to say you killed her... it's your soul, Rey. How can you - how can you turn your back on God?"
Curtis bent his head down, laying his cheek along hers and looking down at their clasped hands. "You don't think I've done worse?" he said, his voice soft. He looked up at her, eyes dark with tears, but holding hers steadily. "All those times I cheated on you, broke my vows to you and God that I would be faithful, you don't think that's worse? And you..." he stopped for a moment, hesitating, then shook his head and continued quietly, "you don't think God's already turned His back on me?"
Deborah stared at him. "You can't mean that."
Curtis broke their gaze. "You don't want me to take the deal."
"Not if you have to commit perjury."
"OK." He turned to McCoy. "No deal."
===
Wednesday, December 17
12:31pm
Jamie Ross, who was coming off maternity leave, had insisted on taking McCoy, Curtis and his wife out for lunch on the first day of the defense's case. So here they were, at a fairly nice restaurant. Deborah looked somewhat ill-at-ease.
"OK, everybody, go to town, my treat," Ross said expansively.
Ross and McCoy made their choices and caught up on some mutual friends while Curtis quietly read the menu to Deborah, who was still having trouble with her eyes. Once the food arrived, they all tucked in.
"I'd like to ask Father Morelli about your mother when we recall him," McCoy broached the subject.
"What about her?" Curtis asked him as he unobtrusively cut Deborah's food into small pieces.
"I got a feeling that he knew more than he was letting on, about her mental state."
"So? Doesn't matter, he can't say anything if it's protected by privilege."
"No, but... if he has knowledge that could exonerate you..."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm saying I think your mother may have told him she was thinking of committing suicide."
"What makes you say that?"
"I just got a feeling, when he was on the stand."
"A feeling? That's all you've got?"
"A very strong feeling."
Deborah suddenly swore as she knocked over her glass. Curtis reached out and rescued the glass, putting his hand on Deborah's shoulder soothingly. Deborah bit her lip and looked down.
"Shh, shh, it's OK," he murmured to her as he mopped the water, then took an empty plastic bottle with a spout out of Deborah's purse.
"You'd have to do a lot better than 'a very strong feeling' to break the seal of confession," he said as he filled the bottle with water and passed it to Deborah.
"Do you want me to try?"
"No," he glanced surreptitiously at Deborah, who seemed to be having trouble with her fork.
"It could exonerate you. Don't you want that?"
"Yes, but... not at that price." Deborah put her fork down, hand shaking, and blew out her breath in frustration.
"Shakes?" Curtis asked in an undertone. She nodded, and he touched her hand softly. He took her fork and speared a piece of fish from her plate. She looked down. "It's OK," he reassured her, smiling at her gently. She sighed and nodded, opening her mouth so that he could feed her. McCoy waited for a second, then asked,
"You would rather go to prison than use a confession?"
"We've been down this road before. Some lines you just can't cross."
"I've crossed it before."
"I know, and I didn't agree with you then either. Confession is confession. It's sacred. You can't break that, not without the permission of the person who made the confession."
"You would go to prison to protect the sanctity of confession?" Ross asked skeptically. Curtis shrugged.
"What if I find out she confessed to thinking of suicide?" McCoy asked.
"I don't want you to look into it."
"You're tying my hands," McCoy protested.
"It's not my law, it's God's."
"You've broken other rules that are just as important."
Curtis blew out his breath. "Doesn't mean I've let go of my morals, just because I can't live up to them. You know how I feel about this, Jack. We've had this talk before."
"The last time we had it, we were talking about somebody else's trial. Not yours. You weren't facing jail time."
"And you told me that you were Catholic, but not at work. It's different for me. I'm Catholic whether I'm a cop or a defendant. And a Catholic is not gonna ask a priest to break the seal of confession. At least, this Catholic won't."
"Rey-" Ross began.
"I'm not gonna change my mind. Move on." Curtis took a bite of his pasta in between feeding Deborah.
"OK. I'll still talk to him about other testimony he could give that doesn't involve confession." McCoy ate in silence for a few minutes, then broached another subject. "What do you think about Deborah taking the stand?"
Curtis looked at Deborah.
"What could I add?"
"Character witness?"
"Not a good idea," said Curtis grimly. "If she takes the stand, she'll have to testify that she didn't think I was capable of taking care of her and the girls. That she left me because of that. That won't paint a pretty picture in the jury's mind."
"What about now? Have you changed your mind?" Ross asked Deborah. Deborah smiled at Curtis.
"Yeah, I guess so." He smiled back at her.
"Could you use that?" Ross asked McCoy.
"The point isn't what things are like now, it's how they were when my mother died," Curtis pointed out. They continued to eat in silence for a few minutes, Deborah indicating that Curtis should have some of his food too before it got cold.
All of a sudden there was a crash. The waiter had left an earthenware plate with bruschetta next to Deborah's chair, and she had inadvertently bumped up against it. The bruschetta had spilled onto her dress before the plate fell to the floor and shattered. Curtis quickly got up and made sure none of the shards had fallen on Deborah, then knelt down next to her chair and held her arm reassuringly as the patrons at the nearest tables glanced over at them. The waiter showed up next to them, asking what had happened.
"Can you not put anything next to my wife, please? She has muscle spasms," Curtis said in a low, matter-of-fact voice.
"Of course, sir. I'm very sorry, ma'am," the waiter apologized profusely and signaled to a busboy to bring a mop. Deborah picked at her stained dress, angry and embarrassed. Curtis helped her to pick some of bruschetta off, murmuring softly to her.
"Here, let me take you to the ladies' room," Ross suggested. Deborah nodded and they left, Ross pushing her chair.
"So... it looks like things are going well between you two..." McCoy commented.
"No, not you too."
"What?"
"Lennie's already making me feel like I'm in high school again. Can't anything in my life be private?"
"I'm not trying to invade your privacy. I'm just observing that things seem to be going well. I'm assuming she's not staying at the nursing home?"
"No."
"Good."
"Yeah."
"Things going well?"
Curtis looked at his plate for a moment, smiling slightly. "Yeah. Really well. We're taking it one step at a time, but... I think she'll decide to stay with us."
"That's great."
"The girls are pretty happy," he said, striving for a nonchalant tone.
"Sounds like you're pretty happy about it too." Curtis looked down, concentrating on his meal. "You're allowed to be happy about this, you know."
"I... I guess so. I just... I guess part of me thinks I don't deserve to be, I dunno," he shook his head, dismissing the subject. "I don't think she should testify, though."
"OK. I didn't think so, I just thought I'd bring it up."
McCoy dug into his salad, thinking. He'd gone over the transcript of yesterday's session, trying to see how badly their case had been hurt by Curtis waiving confessional privilege, but quickly concluded that Silcox would have made his case without the waiver. And Father Morelli had been able to freely testify on cross in ways that McCoy felt could help their case.
Still, Silcox's strategy had been good. The jurors would probably be feeling compassionate towards Curtis, but Silcox had known that would happen anyway. The point was not to convince them that Curtis was a bad person; the point was to convince them that he had committed a murder. And yesterday morning, they'd looked like they believed it.
McCoy hoped he could do something to salvage the situation that evening, when he spoke to Morelli again.
===
Wednesday, December 17
5:31pm
"Your testimony didn't go well, not for us, anyway," McCoy began, sitting down in Father Morelli's office.
"I guess not. I'm very sorry. The prosecutor took me by surprise."
"Me too. But he definitely scored points with the jury. Your testimony may be what determines whether Rey goes to jail or not." Father Morelli looked miserable.
"Do you want to help us?"
"Yes, of course."
"Father, you were Estela's confessor..." Morelli looked at him suspiciously.
"Yes..."
"Why didn't you say that Estela didn't commit suicide?"
"I-"
McCoy's eyes narrowed. Quickly dismissing everything Curtis had said that afternoon, he plunged ahead, following his hunch. "Why didn't you say it? Silcox led you straight towards a very solid declaration that Estela Curtis did not and could not have committed suicide, but you shied away at the very last moment." Morelli looked at him, hesitating. "You know something, don't you?" Morelli flushed and looked away from him.
"She told you she was thinking of committing suicide, didn't she?"
"I cannot confirm or-"
"-deny what is told in confession, yes, I heard that. I also heard you say the exact same thing and look the exact same way when Silcox asked you about Rey and Deborah's separation in 1996."
Morelli looked at him, a deer-in-the-headlights kind of stare. "These people told you everything, every detail about their lives. They trusted you. You knew, didn't you? Estela Curtis told you she was thinking of committing suicide." Morelli bowed his head.
"You have to come forward."
"Whatever she said or didn't say, it was in confidence. I can't betray that."
"It's pretty well established that you've betrayed the Curtis family a fair bit already. You left them high and dry when they needed you. Are you really going to do it again? Rey Curtis may very well go to prison for something he didn't do. His wife will be in a nursing home, his children in foster care. Do you think they will ever recover from that? Do you think his mother would want that for her son?"
"I can't say that she admitted she was going to commit suicide! That - that would mean, if she did it, that her soul is in Hell, suffering - do you think Rey wants to know that? That his mother killed herself because of him? Because she saw that he was weak?"
"You think he'd rather go to prison? Is that why you won't come forward?" McCoy was incredulous. "That's insane! If that's why you're keeping quiet, you have to come forward!"
"I cannot confirm or deny-"
"Spare me!" McCoy got up and leaned over him. "Father, did Estela tell you she was thinking of suicide?"
"I... I cannot-"
"I'm going to take that as a yes," snapped McCoy. He glared at Morelli for a moment, frustrated with his inability to get through to him. "Fine. Let's talk about what else you can add to the trial if I recall you."
As they spoke, McCoy's mind raced. Father Morelli's testimony was pretty much done. As they explored other possible reasons to recall him, McCoy realized that there was really nothing else that he could add. The only option he had was to try to convince him, somehow, to break the seal of confession. The very thing that Curtis did not want him to do.