“As vestry members,” Susan explained, “we’re charged with preserving and protecting this church. And we’ve tried everything possible to expunge this monster. But no matter what we do, he keeps coming back, like Jason or something. Every time we think he’s finally gone for good-he isn’t.”

“Did you know,” George added, “that the minute that insane judge granted Beale bail, thirteen more families turned in their requests for transfer of membership?”

“No,” Christina answered. “I didn’t.” She folded up her notepad. “Well, I’ve taken enough of your time.” She walked over to Susan. “Sorry again about the head-on collision on the doorstep.”

“Forget it. I feel much better.” She rose. “And I must be going, too.”

“How long have you two been dating?”

George and Susan stared at one another, their faces frozen. After a few beats, Susan smiled, but it struck Christina as forced. “We’re not… dating. I’m married.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Christina said. “I just assumed… since you were over here so early…”

“Susan and I were discussing church business,” George said. “Kind of a planning session for the next vestry meeting. They’ve become so overwrought and complicated that… well, if you hope to get anything done, you need to start early.”

So he said, but Christina had read the expression in his eyes when he first saw Susan sprawled out on the sidewalk, and it convinced her that their relationship was something more than professional. Susan had insisted that they were not dating, though. And if they were, she would’ve surely heard about it by now. Wouldn’t she?

Christina let George lead her to the front door, then walked to her car, still pondering all she had seen and heard. There was something strange going on here. Christina had no idea how to get to it. But she knew they had to, and quick, before the trial. Because if she had learned anything from her years in the law, it was this: When you went to trial without all the facts, the price was always high. And in this case, the price might well be Father Beale’s life.

“Your honor,” Ben said, “clearly in this case the evidence of past crimes is more prejudicial than probative.”

“I disagree,” Canelli responded, as if this might be a surprise to someone. “It’s crucial that the jury know that the defendant is a repeat offender.”

“Repeat offender? We’re talking about a man who was arrested at an ERA sit-in. Not exactly Charles Manson.”

“A crime is a crime. And the jury has a right to know who they’re dealing with.”

“I agree,” Ben rejoined. “That’s why we have witnesses testify. But the jury won’t be aided by the minor detail of a past conviction. It will, however, give the assistant district attorney something he can distort and misuse at trial.”

Canelli glared at Ben. “I resent that remark!”

“Resent, or resemble?”

Ben turned away, avoiding Canelli’s wrath. For all his movie-star looks, Canelli had been anything but suave and debonair at this hearing. Ben didn’t know if it was some weird Catholic-Episcopalian thing, or what. But something definitely had his dander up.

Judge Pitcock, on the other hand, was his usual cool, collected self. If anything, he seemed somewhat amused by the sputtering of the attorneys and perhaps more than a little pleased to see so many members of the press in his courtroom.

Ben was also impressed by the number of newspaper and even television reporters in the gallery-far more than had been in attendance at the preliminary hearing. Of course, the preliminary hearing had been a foregone conclusion. Everyone knew Beale would be bound over for trial, so Ben had no incentive to reveal any of his case strategy or theories. This pretrial hearing was different. The outcome was not preordained, and if Ben could keep some of the prosecution’s evidence out of the trial, it would be perceived as a major success for the defense.

“Mr. Canelli,” Judge Pitcock asked, “are you suggesting that the defendant’s prior arrest and conviction-which I note took place many years ago-are somehow related to the present case?”

“Not as such, your honor. But there’s a pattern here.”

“A pattern? How so?”

“A pattern of… disregard for the law.”

Pitcock cocked an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose we could say that about any conviction, couldn’t we?” He drummed his fingers. “Explain to me how the fact that he was previously arrested during a social protest is probative on the issue of whether he murdered a woman in his church?”

Canelli hesitated. “It shows that he… that he… he is subject to strong feelings. Temper. That leads him to commit criminal acts.”

Ben looked at the judge. “This no doubt explains the outbreak of mass murders on Greenpeace boats.”

That one got a hearty laugh from the gallery. Judge Pitcock frowned at the disruption, but unless Ben was mistaken, he was forcing back a grin himself.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Canelli,” Pitcock said, “but I’m not buying this one. I don’t think you need this evidence. I don’t think it helps you. Frankly, I think you may be better off without it.”

Ben had entertained similar thoughts himself. Defense attorneys always tried to keep out past crimes to prevent the jury from being negatively biased. But in this case, if he drew the right jury, it might actually be helpful. It would make clear that Father Beale was a man of convictions, a man who cared deeply about causes and people. Or in other words, the last person on earth you would expect to commit a murder.

“Your honor,” Canelli said, “may I expand on my argument?”

“No, I think I’ve heard enough on this one. The defendant’s motion to suppress evidence of past crimes will be sustained.”

Out the corner of his eye, Ben saw the reporters in the front row of the gallery breaking out their pencils. That’s right, Ben thought, keep score for all the people out in newspaper land. Kincaid, one; Canelli, zero. And be sure to spell my name right.

“Have you got anything else, Mr. Kincaid?”

“Yes, your honor. I’ve also moved to suppress evidence regarding my client’s political beliefs.”

Pitcock scrunched up his face. “Why would a man’s politics ever be relevant to the question of whether he committed a murder?” He paused. “Unless, of course, the victim was a Democrat.”

Ben blinked. Did the judge make a funny? My, but he was in good spirits. Ben should bring an entourage of reporters with him every time he entered the man’s courtroom.

“It’s not remotely relevant,” Ben answered. “It’s just another attempt by the prosecution to prejudice the jury.”

“That’s not true,” Canelli said. As tall as he was, he hovered over the bench. “The defendant’s political beliefs-and his political activities-were a major cause of the disharmony between Father Beale and many members of his church. It is our belief that this conflict eventually led to the murders.”

Ben looked at him harshly. “My client has only been charged with one murder!”

Canelli looked contrite. “Murder,” he corrected himself.

“People were discussing politics in a church?” Judge Pitcock asked. “That doesn’t seem right. Church and state are separate. And for a good reason.” Ben wondered if the judge’s Mormon background was influencing his thinking. The Mormon church had a long tradition of resisting government interference. “Bound to cause trouble.”

“And it did,” Canelli said, pouncing. “Of the worst kind.”

Pitcock did not appear enlightened. “I’m still not getting it, gentlemen.”

“That’s because we’re both dancing around what we’re really talking about,” Ben explained. He checked over his shoulder to make sure the reporters were still listening. They were going to love this. “We’re not talking about nuclear proliferation here, judge. We’re talking about gay rights.”

Pitcock pursed his lips. “Indeed.”