Ordinarily, the detective from out of state did not attend the extradition hearing. But today was Detective O’Flattery’s last day on the job, and as a matter of personal pride, he wanted to be there.
One of the guards passed along the information that Father Gerard wanted to speak to him. The detective took a certain personal, professional pride in that, though he despised the priest. Gerard – he refused to call him father any longer – was the kind of man that had hurt the Catholic church deeply.
“What can I do for you, father?” asked O’Flattery when he met him in the hall.
Father Gerard shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? No confession?”
The priest knew he was being mocked. “An innocent man has no need to confess,” replied the priest.
“Right,” said the detective.
Father Gerard turned away from him, prodding the two sheriff’s deputies to take him into court. His head felt clear; it had been days since he’d had a drink. And for the first time in his life, he knew he would never have another one.
Just outside the courtroom, he was met by a court-appointed lawyer, a young woman not too long out of law school who stood shifting her weight from foot to foot as she spoke.
“I’m your lawyer,” she told him, sticking out her hand. She began to explain the process.
“It’s all right,” he told her. “They’ll convict me no matter what you do. So it’s all right.”
“You can’t give up.”
“I haven’t,” he told her. “For the first time in many, many years, I haven’t given up at all.”
(end)
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