“I had a talk with Judy, maybe six or eight months ago. She told me that-well, I think she had a crush on me.”

“Yes, I’ve had a similar experience. And you probably explained that you were too old for her, not to mention married.”

“Something like that.” His eyes widened. “My God! You don’t suppose-”

“That’s why she framed you for murder? Revenge for being spurned? Or maybe it was because she knew it would bring me around to defend you?” He shook his head. “Who knows? Who could possibly understand minds like those?”

Beale fell back against the thin plywood-backed chair. Ben hated seeing him like this. The coveralls were bad enough, but the other sure signs of time spent in prison were evident as well-pasty complexion, stubbled chin, red eyes, generally unclean appearance. To see a man of his education, his compassion, reduced to this was horrifying.

“Enough about those two unfortunates,” Beale said at last. “When do I get out of here?”

This was the moment Ben had been dreading. “I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? But-if they’ve caught the true killers-”

“I know those girls are the murderers, but try convincing anybody else. They aren’t confessing; they’ve got lawyers who refuse to let them say anything to anybody. The DA’s office isn’t buying it; they don’t want to admit they mistakenly sent someone to death row.”

“But the jewelry in Maura’s purse-”

“Is the best thing we’ve got going for us. But it isn’t conclusive. What’s more-it only links the girls to the first and third murder-not the one for which you were convicted. As far as the DA is concerned, the only evidence they have regarding the murder of Kate McGuire points to you.”

“That’s absurd.”

“I agree. But that’s what they’re saying.”

“You’ll use this new information in our appeal, right?”

Ben laced his fingers together, trying to give himself strength. “I already have. But here’s the thing. ‘Actual innocence’ is not grounds for appeal. It doesn’t raise any constitutional issues, at least not according to Chief Justice Rehnquist. To succeed on appeal, you need to show that there was an important procedural error in the trial court-and quite frankly, Father-there weren’t any. I mean, I made some arguments, but the truth is Judge Pitcock ran a fair trial and didn’t make any major mistakes. And he gave us a lot of breaks.”

“Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

“We’re trying the federal courts. To get you out through habeas corpus petition. But as you know, the feds have severely curtailed postconviction appeals.”

“There must be something else.”

“We can ask the governor to pardon you.”

“Then do it!”

“I have. But…” Ben’s eyes lowered. “As you know, our current governor is a Republican. Very Republican. And this is an election year. The last thing he wants to do is appear soft on crime-or worse, create a Willie Horton scenario by releasing someone who subsequently commits another crime. Especially not on a case that has gotten as much publicity as yours. Even if you didn’t do anything after you got out, releasing you could cost him some support in arch-conservative circles. He doesn’t want to take the risk.”

“I can’t believe my life has become some sort of… political football!”

“If we had some DNA evidence or something irrefutable, it might make a difference with the governor. But the sad truth is-we don’t.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s not it,” Ben said firmly. “Christina and I are continuing to work this case. Daily. We’re going to do everything there is to do and then some.”

“But as for now… I’m stuck in prison.”

Ben tried not to let his voice crack. “I’m afraid so.”

“And you don’t know when or if I’ll ever be able to get out.”

“Father, there have been defendants whose innocence was proved beyond doubt by DNA evidence who still spent additional years in jail. There are no guarantees.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes.” Ben motioned to the guard standing at the door. “I’ve arranged for you to have paper and pencils brought to your cell. Told them it was a necessary part of your defense. Tried to get you a typewriter… but anyway. I want you to write down everything that’s happened. Everything since this whole mess started. The gospel according to Daniel. Don’t leave anything out.”

“And then?”

“And then, when I read it, and reread it, and reread it, I’m hoping I’ll see something, think of something, remember something-something that will help me get you out of prison.”

Beale nodded. All in all, Ben thought he was taking this hideous news extraordinarily well. “I’ll start immediately.” He looked up at Ben. “You’ll think of something. I know you will.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” He paused. “I have faith in you.”

“Remember when I told you about Christina’s contract case? About bad faith?”

“There’s no such thing.”

“There is. It’s possible to have too much faith, or to misplace it.”

Beale shook his head firmly. “I have faith in you, Ben. Just as I have faith in God.”

Ben was incredulous. “How can you still have faith in God… when you’re behind bars?”

“I believe in the sun even when it is not shining.”

“Your God put you in prison for a crime you didn’t commit.”

“Yes, and I don’t know why, either. But I know there is a reason. And I know in time it will be revealed to me.”

Ben couldn’t restrain himself. “If your God is so damn powerful, why didn’t He save you? Why did He let those women be murdered? Why does He allow children to become murderers? Why didn’t He save the victims of the Holocaust?”

“God doesn’t do room service. He’s not a fairy godfather, floating around granting wishes. He’s something greater than that.”

“If He’s something greater, I wish to hell I knew what it was.”

Beale fell silent. His finger touched his lips and he sat for a moment, watching Ben.

“You didn’t bring Christina with you today?”

“No. She’s doing habeas corpus research. Why?”

“Just wondered. I’ve…” He paused another moment, smiled slightly, then continued. “I’ve seen how she looks at you, when you’re not watching. And I’ve seen how you look at her, when your guard is down.”

“Christina and I are good friends,” Ben said, very quickly.

“Uh-huh.”

“What does this have to do with God, anyway?”

“Have you read Victor Hugo?”

“On occasion.”

“Les Misérables?”

“Long time ago. Why?”

“Do you remember what the priest says to Jean Valjean? After he rescues him from the police by pretending that he gave Jean the candlesticks he actually stole? After he tells Jean his life now belongs to God, so act accordingly? And Jean doesn’t know what to do. How to go about it.”

“I’m lousy with quotes. What does he say?”

Father Beale smiled. “ ‘To love another person is to see the face of God.’ ”

The Gospel According to Daniel

This will be the final entry in this heretical gospel, this renegade account of a priest whose life was turned upside down for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand. I’ve recorded it all, every word, thought, and deed. And I tried to tell it true, although I’m sure that at times, to paraphrase Emily Dickinson once more, I told it slant. I don’t know that I revealed any great secrets, any startling insights. And I don’t know what use this will be to my attorney, or to anyone else. But I was asked to prepare it, and I did. It is what it is.

I don’t know what will happen next. Perhaps my attorney will succeed and I will be released. Perhaps he will fail and I will be executed. Or perhaps he will only manage to have my sentence reduced to life imprisonment and I will spend the rest of my days behind these cold walls. That, I think, would be the worst result of all, and yet I cannot deny that it is possible that is God’s will. I have seen much work that needs to be done since I came to this horrible place. Many souls in need of salvation. Many hearts in anguish, without hope. This is not the future I would’ve chosen for myself, but if this is God’s plan, then so be it.