Sleepers

'Do you swear that what you say shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?'

'I do,' Father Bobby said.

'Take the stand,' the bailiff said.

'Father Carillo, to which parish do you belong?' Danny O'Connor asked.

'The Sacred Heart of Jesus on West 50th Street.'

'And how long have you been there?'

'It will be twenty years this spring.'

'And what is your position there?'

'I'm a priest,' Father Carillo said, smiling.

O'Connor, the spectators and the jury all joined in the laugh; even Judge Weisman cracked a smile, but John and Tommy sat in stone silence, hands cupped to their faces, while Michael chewed on the end of a blue Bic pen.

'I'm sorry, Father,' O'Connor said. 'I meant, what do you do there?'

'I'm the school principal,' Father Bobby said. 'I teach seventh grade and coach most of the sports teams. I'm also acting Monsignor, serve mass daily, listen to confessions and try to repair whatever needs fixing.'

'They keep you busy,' O'Connor said.

'It's a poor parish,' Father Bobby said. 'Low on funds and short on staff.'

'Do you know most of the people in your parish?'

'No,' Father Bobby said. 'I know all the people in my parish.'

'Do you know the two defendants, John Reilly and Thomas Marcano?'

'Yes I do,' Father Bobby said.

'How long have you known them?'

'Since they were boys,' Father Bobby said. 'They were students of mine.'

'How would you describe your relationship with them today?'

'We try to stay in touch,' Father Bobby said. 'I try to do that with all my boys.'

'And how do you do that?'

'Through sports, mostly,' Father Bobby said. 'We either organize a game or go to one. It's a common ground. Makes it easier to get together.'

'Father, do you recall where you were on the night of November first of this past year?'

'Yes I do,' Father Bobby said.

'And where was that?'

'I was at a basketball game,' Father Bobby said. 'At the Garden. The Knicks against the Celtics.'

'What time does a Knick game begin?'

'They usually start at about 7:30,' Father Bobby said.

'And at what time do they end?'

'Between nine-thirty and ten,' Father Bobby said. 'Providing there's no overtime.'

'Was there any that night?'

'No, there wasn't,' Father Bobby said.

'And who won the game, Father?'

'Sad to say, it was the Celtics,' Father Bobby said. 'Kevin McHale and Robert Parish were a little too much for our guys that night.'

'Were you at the game alone?'

'No,' Father Bobby said. 'I went there with two friends.'

'And who were those two friends, Father?'

'John Reilly and Thomas Marcano,' Father Reilly said.

'The two defendants?'

'Yes,' Father Bobby said, gesturing toward John and Tommy. 'The two defendants.'

The spectators sitting behind the wooden barrier gave a collective cry. Carol put her head down, her hands covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Michael took a deep breath and looked toward the ceiling.

John and Tommy turned around, scanning the spectators, their bodies relaxing. As they turned to face the bench, they looked over at me. I smiled as they looked down at the cover of the book in my hands.

John had tears in his eyes.

I was holding a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

'What time did you meet with Mr. Reilly and Mr. Marcano?' O'Connor asked, soon after Judge Weisman hammered a call to order.

'They picked me up outside the school playground,' Father Bobby said. 'It must have been about six-thirty or thereabouts.'

'How did you get to the Garden, Father?'

'We walked,' Father Bobby said. 'It's less than twenty blocks.'

'And Mr. Reilly and Mr. Marcano walked with you the whole time?'

'Yes,' Father Bobby said. 'We walked together.'

'And at eight twenty-five p.m., the time police say the victim, Sean Nokes, was murdered, were you still with Mr. Reilly and Mr. Marcano at the basketball game?'

'Yes I was,' Father Bobby said. 'If they were out of my sight at all during the game, it was either to go to the bathroom or to get something to drink.'

'What did you three do after the game?'

'We walked back to the parish,' Father Bobby said.

'Was it a cold night?'

'Windy as I recall,' Father Bobby said.

'Did you stop anywhere?'

'At a newsstand on Eighth Avenue,' Father Bobby said. 'I bought an early edition of The Daily News.'

'And at what time did you, Mr. Reilly and Mr. Marcano part company?'

'About ten-thirty, maybe a few minutes later,' Father Bobby said. 'They left me in front of the rectory, near where they picked me up.'

'Did the two defendants tell you where they were going after they left you?'

'No,' Father Bobby said. 'But I would imagine after a night spent with a priest, they went looking for the first open bar they could find.'

O'Connor waited for the snickers to subside.

'So then, Father, if the two defendants were with you on the night of the murder, they couldn't have shot and killed Sean Nokes, as the prosecution claims. Isn't that correct?'

'Unless they shot him from the blue seats at the Garden,' Father Bobby said.

'No, Father,' O'Connor said with a smile. 'He wasn't shot from there.'

'Then he wasn't shot by those boys,' Father Bobby said.

'I have no further questions,' O'Connor said. 'Thank you, Father.'

'It was my pleasure,' Father Bobby said.

'Your witness, Mr. Sullivan,' Judge Weisman said.

'Thank you, your Honor,' Michael said, standing up and walking over to Father Bobby.

'Did you buy the tickets for the game, Father?' Michael asked. 'Or were they given to you?'

'No, I bought them,' Father Bobby said.

'On the day of the game?'

'No,' Father Bobby said. 'I went to the box office about a week before.'

'How did you pay for the tickets?'

'With cash,' Father Bobby said. 'I pay for everything with cash.'

'Did you get a receipt?'

'No,' Father Bobby said. 'I didn't.'

'Did anyone know you were going to the game?' Michael asked, 'Other than the two defendants?'

'I don't think so,' Father Bobby said.

'When did you ask the defendants to go to the game with you?'

'The Sunday before,' Father Bobby said.

'Was anyone else present?'

'No,' Father Bobby said.

'So, no one saw you buy the tickets,' Michael said. 'There's no record of any purchase. And no one else knew you were going with the defendants. Is that right?'

'That's right,' Father Bobby said.

'So how do we know you were there?' Michael asked. 'How do we really know you and the two defendants were at the game on the night of the murder?'

'I'm telling you both as a witness and- as a priest,' Father Bobby said. 'We were at that game.'

'And a priest wouldn't lie,' Michael said. 'Isn't that right?'

'A priest with ticket stubs wouldn't need to lie,' Father Bobby said, putting a hand into his jacket pocket and pulling out three torn tickets. 'And I always keep the stubs.'

'Why's that, Father?' Michael asked, standing next to him. 'Why do you keep them?'

'Because you never know,' Father Bobby said, looking straight at Michael, 'when someone will want more than your word.'

'Has anyone questioned your word before today?'

'No,' Father Bobby said. 'No one ever has. But there's a first time for most things in this world.'

'Yes, Father,' Michael Sullivan said. 'I guess there is.'

Michael turned from Father Bobby and looked up at Judge Weisman.

'I have no further questions at this time,' Michael said. 'Witness is free to go.'

The spectators applauded as Father Robert Carillo, a Catholic priest from Hell's Kitchen, stepped down from the stand.

EIGHTEEN