“My apologies.”

“After the trial, I went on the Internet and read everything I could about you. I even bought that book you wrote, on the Kindergarten Killer.”

“Ah. You were the one.”

“I’ve followed all your big cases. I even cut out articles about you in the newspaper and put them in a scrapbook.”

Maura’s voice was a whisper’s whisper. “You’re her hero.”

Judy jabbed her again, rather more roughly than before. “Anyway, I know you’re busy. I just wanted to say I think it’s a great thing you’re doing in there for Father Beale. I mean, other lawyers talk about taking unpopular cases, especially when they’re getting paid a lot of money, but you really do it, and half the time you don’t get paid anything at all. I think that’s really wonderful.”

“Yes, so does my staff.”

“I mean, I know you’re going to lose this one-the panel almost has to remove Father Beale, don’t they? When half the church is up in arms against him, and the man maybe even committed a murder?” She giggled excitedly at the prospect. “But I think you did everything you could for him in there.”

“Girls, girls, girls. I hope you’re not bothering Mr. Kincaid.” An elderly woman wedged herself between them, pushing the girls back. Her face was familiar. Ben knew he had seen her around; she was one of the women in charge of ECW-the Episcopal Church Women’s group. But what was her name? Ruth something. Carter? Conner?

Bingo. “Not at all, Mrs. O’Connell. We’re just having a nice chat.”

“Well, it’s very good of you to spend your time with two silly girls.” Judy shot her a look that could have leveled a city. “Shouldn’t you two be folding robes or something? Remember, an acolyte’s work is never done.”

Judy somehow managed to flash a smile that lacked even the slightest trace of warmth. “Yes, Mrs. O’Connell.” The two girls skittered away.

“Oh, hello, Ernestine.” Ruth was greeting a woman of similar age who was decked out with enough jewelry to stock a Tiffany’s. Ben couldn’t help but notice the honking big diamond ring on her finger and the diamond-studded bracelet rattling around her wrist. Ben didn’t know anything about gems, but he knew those baubles had to be seriously valuable. He’d heard rumors that Ernestine Rupert, a widow, was extremely wealthy, and that her tithe alone made up half the budget for St. Benedict’s. With those doodads dangling in his face, he couldn’t doubt it.

“Ben,” Ruth said, “I just wanted to tell you, on behalf of the entire ECW, that there will be no hard feelings against you when this trial is completed. We just want to put the whole chapter behind us. Let bygones be bygones. And once Father Beale is removed, we’ll be able to do that.”

“Well, that’s… very kind of you.”

“You mustn’t feel that you’ve failed, either, dear boy,” Ernestine added. “The panel really has no choice, does it? And in some respects, you’ve been part of the process that helped resolve the matter. You shouldn’t come down too hard on defense lawyers, that’s what I was telling Ruth. They’re a necessary evil.”

“How kind.”

“Well, remember what I said. I expect to see you in the choir next Sunday.” She wiggled her fingers and passed on.

Ben felt Christina sidle up beside him. “Looks like you have some admirers.”

“What, the old ladies?”

Christina crinkled her freckled nose. “No, the girls.”

Ben glanced to the side and saw that Judy and Maura were still watching him. As soon as his eyes met theirs, they giggled and ran off.

“The taller one used to watch me on TV,” Ben explained. “Now she wants to be a lawyer.”

Christina made a tsking sound. “Corrupting the minds of youth. Isn’t that why they made Socrates take hemlock?”

“I might take hemlock, if it got me out of here.”

“That seems a bit extreme.”

Ben felt a rush of air behind him. Harold Payne had entered the narthex. “Please reassemble in the parish hall. The panel has reached its decision.”

Father Holbrook settled his considerable weight into the chair behind a table draped with a purple cloth. His face was long and his expression flat.

“First of all,” he said, “I want to make it clear to everyone present that neither I nor the jurors take any pleasure in this proceeding. These internecine conflicts within a parish can do irreparable damage, and inevitably divert our attention from the more important matter of serving Our Lord Jesus Christ. I have a responsibility to my diocese, however, and the charges that have been brought against Father Beale are serious ones-ones that cannot be ignored. Therefore, we have conducted this trial in accordance with the canons of this church, and the panel has reached a decision. They have kindly allowed me to speak on their behalf.”

He glanced down at his notes. “Even if we exclude the speculations regarding the unfortunate death of Ms. Conrad, the court has received eyewitness accounts of open hostility toward parishioners, church resources used for improper or immoral purposes, and heretical teachings diametrically opposed to the true faith of the Episcopal Church. These offenses simply cannot be overlooked.”

Ben laid his hand on Beale’s arm. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“At the same time, we must reflect that when this church brought Father Beale from Oklahoma City to be the shepherd of this flock, it made a contract. Not only with Father Beale, not only with the diocese, but with God. If, as we believed then, God called Father Beale to this church, what right have we to work against His wishes?”

There was a stirring in the audience. Heads turned. Voices whispered.

“We are also concerned about the suggestions that Father Beale might be involved in the murder of Helen Conrad, based on the flimsiest of circumstantial evidence. Although the evidence was clearly insufficient to warrant criminal prosecution, it is true, as his able counsel noted, that Father Beale will surely be tried and convicted in the minds of most people if we remove him from his sacred office. Therefore, we decline to do so.”

The whispers Ben heard over his shoulder grew louder. “No!” “Is he kidding?” “This can’t be!”

“The documented instances of misconduct by Father Beale are serious, however, and therefore we are directing Father Beale to take a two-week leave of absence from this church to be spent at the St. Michael’s retreat, where he will undergo an extended period of meditation and, we hope, rededication to his vocation. We are also directing him to enroll in an anger management course at the earliest opportunity. But we will not remove him from his calling. What God has made, let no man rend asunder. This court is adjourned.”

Usually, after the rendering of a surprise verdict, there was such an upswell of noise and activity that Ben could hardly hear himself think. Not this time, however. After the initial shocked responses had been uttered, most of the audience sat in stunned silence, barely moving, not saying a word.

“Congratulations,” Ben said, clasping his client on the arm. “You’ve won.”

“Yes,” Father Beale said gravely. “But what have I won?”

“You’ve won your freedom,” Christina answered. “If you want to stay at St. Benedict’s, you can. If you’d rather start anew somewhere else, you can. Whichever path you follow, it will be because you chose to follow it, not because you were hounded by enemies or haunted by horrible accusations. The long nightmare is over.”

But Christina was wrong, as would become apparent to the three of them, and to the entire church, altogether too soon. The long nightmare was just beginning.