“My wife, Andrea, has always been supportive of my ministry, and this was no exception. Admittedly, she was hesitant at first, and even now often prefers to watch rather than to participate. But she’s behind me one hundred percent.”

Both figuratively and literally, because she was back in her seat on the first row of the gallery. She was, in reality, not at all happy about it. Regardless of what she believed, being present while her husband publicly discussed his relationships with other women couldn’t be fun. But Ben thought her presence was critical. She lent credibility to everything Father Beale said. If she didn’t object to what he was doing, what right had anyone else?

“Do you have any regrets?”

Father Beale paused, thinking. “I still believe what I advocate. I think what we did was right, and I think most people would be better off if they followed our lead. But I wonder if… I wonder if maybe I pushed too hard. Particularly some of the women. Perhaps it was too much too fast. Of course, no one was forced against their will. But I may have underestimated the power and influence of a priest. I may have induced some of them to proceed… before they were ready.”

He turned, craning his head toward the heavens. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. But if anyone was hurt-and it seems they were-I regret that most sincerely.”

“Father Beale,” Christina said finally, “did you kill Kate McGuire?”

“No.” He turned, peering straight at the jury as he spoke. “I did not. Not her, and not anyone else. I cared deeply for Kate.” He hesitated, then added, just under his breath. “I still do.”

“Thank you, Father. No more questions.”

Canelli had been strangely quiet throughout the direct of Father Beale; Ben almost wondered if he was beginning to believe him. But that whim soon passed. Once cross started, it was no holds barred. Undoubtedly, Canelli thought the verdict would hinge on what happened during this cross-because Ben thought so, too.

“First of all, Mr. Beale,” Canelli said as he strode across the courtroom, “I’d like to thank you for that fascinating excursion into the wonderful world of situational ethics.”

Father Beale sat like a rock, staring back at Canelli, not saying a word.

Good boy, Ben thought. Just keep it up. As many times as Ben had prepped witnesses for trial, he was all too aware that most of them forgot everything he had told them when they actually took the stand. Including the most important rule of all: Don’t take the bait. If he doesn’t ask a question, keep your mouth closed.

“I mean, I’m being genuine,” Canelli said. “How many times in your life do you get to hear someone express a complex, philosophical excuse for screwing around?”

“Your honor,” Ben said wearily.

Judge Pitcock looked at Canelli harshly. “Mr. Prosecutor, I don’t like that kind of talk in my courtroom.”

“Sorry, sir.” He wasn’t.

“If this is any indication of how you intend to conduct this cross-examination, I’ll shut it down right here and now.”

“That won’t be necessary, sir.” Canelli returned his attention to the witness. “So, Father Beale… do you consider yourself a holy man?”

Ben rose to his feet, but he wasn’t fast enough to prevent Beale from answering. “Of course I do.”

Canelli shifted his gaze back to the bench. “Your honor, I ask leave of court at this time to introduce past acts evidence.”

“No way,” Ben cried. “Bench conference.”

Ben raced Canelli to the judge, while Father Beale and the jury watched in silence.

“Your honor, he cannot introduce evidence of past acts to imply or suggest conformity during the incidents at issue. The case law on this is a mile long. It’s absolutely not permitted.”

“Unless,” Canelli added, “the witness opens the door.”

“He hasn’t opened any doors. He’s barely spoken.”

“He said he was a holy man.”

“He is!”

“Your honor,” Canelli said, “this is no different from the many cases in which a witness testifies that he is honest or truthful. It opens the door to evidence of past incidents in which he was not honest or truthful. Here, we have a witness who claims that his behavior is holy. I’m now entitled to show otherwise.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ben said. “You set a trap for him.”

Canelli shrugged. “The man said what he said.”

“He’s a priest, for God’s sake. Saying he’s holy isn’t bragging. It’s more like… a job description.”

“Nonetheless,” Judge Pitcock said gravely, “the man did say it.”

“Only when he was directly questioned by opposing counsel,” Ben said.

“It’s in the record.” Pitcock spread his hands. “My hands are tied.”

Ben knew the judge was right, but he still hated the result, not only because it couldn’t possibly help Father Beale’s case, but because he knew the whole mess was his own damn fault. “Your honor, in this case, where matters of faith and religion are so intricately intertwined with criminal issues, this kind of questioning could have a prejudicial effect that far outweighs its limited probative value. I must ask the court to reconsider.”

“Sorry, Mr. Kincaid. I hear what you’re saying. But the law is clear.” He addressed Canelli. “You may continue.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Canelli went into full attack-dog mode. “Tell me, Father Beale, since you got this great gig at St. Benedict’s, exactly how many Liberated Christian women have you had?”

“Objection!” Ben bellowed.

“Overruled.”

“I’m… not sure what you mean,” Beale said stonily.

“Well, let me rephrase,” Canelli continued. “How often did the Liberated Christians group meet?”

“Once a week. But they weren’t all-”

“And I assume you had a different woman every week.”

“Most of those meetings were discussional in nature.”

“Well, how many weren’t, sir? How many went past talking and involved coupling?”

Beale’s face was tight as a drum. “Usually we had interactive sessions once a month.”

“Interactive sessions. I like that. Sounds a lot better than ‘we all piled into a room and had sex with one another.’ ”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Really. What was it like? We all want to know.”

“You’re making it sound so… nasty.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“No, it wasn’t!” Beale’s voice rose sharply. He was starting to lose his temper, which, Ben knew, was exactly what Canelli wanted. “Sex is a beautiful thing. It’s a gift from God. It’s these narrow-minded puritans who have transformed this gift into something base and ugly.”

“Uh-huh. Right.” Canelli paced back and forth in front of the witness box, his tall frame hunched forward. He looked like a tiger preparing to pounce. “So, you had sex once a month, and this went on for at least three years. My goodness, Father Beale-you’ve had sex with, what? Thirty-six different parishioners?”

“It wasn’t always someone different.”

“Oh? Did you have favorites?”

“Some people will inevitably turn out to be more compatible than others.”

“So you would have a return bout with the same woman.”

“Sometimes.”

“You know, Father, this is starting to sound less like recreational sex and more like having an affair.”

“It wasn’t an affair.”

“I don’t see the difference.”

“Then you’re not trying. The difference is huge. My wife knew all about it.”

“Did she know about your favorites?”

Inevitably, every eye in the courtroom clocked back to the gallery to check Andrea’s expression. Ben thought she was holding up well, given the circumstances. But she wasn’t enjoying it; that was obvious enough.

“I don’t think she kept track of who I was with or when. It wasn’t important to her.”

“Says you. Tell me this-was Susan Marino one of your favorites?”

Beale’s breathing became deep and heavy. “We partnered together on more than one occasion.”

“You were a busy man, Father. The Don Juan of the Episcopal Church.”