Change of Heart Read online

  Beside me, Shay sat in handcuffs and ankle cuffs, linked to a belly chain. "Thanks to the forefathers who crafted the Constitution, everyone in this country has the freedom to practice his own religion--even a prisoner on death row in New Hampshire. In fact, Congress went so far as to pass a law about it. The Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act guarantees an inmate the opportunity to worship whatever he likes as long as it doesn't impede the safety of others in the prison or affect the running of the prison. Yet Shay Bourne's constitutional right to practice his religion has been denied by the State of New Hampshire."

  I looked up at the judge. "Shay Bourne is not a Muslim, or a Wiccan; he's not a secular humanist or a member of the Baha'i faith. In fact, his system of beliefs may not be familiar to any common world religion you can name off the top of your head. But they are a system of beliefs, and they include the fact that--to Shay--salvation depends on being able to donate his heart after his execution to the sister of his victim ... an outcome that's not possible if the state uses lethal injection as a method of execution."

  I walked forward. "Shay Bourne has been convicted of possibly the most heinous crime in the history of this state. He has appealed that conviction, and those appeals have been denied--yet he is not contesting that decision. He knows he is going to die, Your Honor. All he asks is that, again, the laws of this country be upheld--in particular, the laws that say anyone has the right to practice their religion, wherever, whenever, however. If the state agrees to his execution by hanging, and provides for the subsequent donation of his organs, the safety of other inmates isn't impeded; the running of the prison isn't affected--but it would offer a very significant personal outcome for Shay Bourne: to save a little girl's life, and in the process, to save his own soul."

  I sat back down and glanced at Shay. He had a legal pad in front of him. On it, he'd doodled a picture of a pirate with a parrot on his shoulder.

  At the defense table, Gordon Greenleaf was seated beside the New Hampshire commissioner of corrections, a man with both hair and complexion the color of a potato. Greenleaf tapped his pencil twice on the desk. "Ms. Bloom brought up the founding fathers of this country. Thomas Jefferson, in fact, coined a phrase in a letter in 1789--'a wall of separation between church and state.' He was explaining the First Amendment--in particular the clauses about religion. And his words have been used by the Supreme Court many times--in fact, the Lemon test, which the high court has used since 1971, says that for a law to be constitutional, it must have a secular purpose, must neither advance nor inhibit religion, and must not result in excessive government entanglement with religion. That last part's an interesting bit--since Ms. Bloom is both crediting the forefathers of this nation with the noble division of church and state ... and yet simultaneously asking Your Honor to join them together."

  He stood up, walking forward. "If you were to take her claim seriously," Greenleaf said, "you'd see that what she's really asking for is a legally binding sentence to be massaged, because of a loophole called religion. What's next? A convicted drug dealer asking that his sentence be overturned because heroin helps him reach nirvana? A murderer insisting that his cell door face Mecca?" Greenleaf shook his head. "The truth is, Judge, this petition has been filed by the ACLU not because it's a valid and troublesome concern--but because it will purposefully create a three-ring circus during the state's first execution in sixty-nine years." He waved his arm around the crowded gallery. "And all of you are proof that it's already working."

  Greenleaf glanced at Shay. "Nobody takes the death penalty lightly, least of all the commissioner of corrections in the State of New Hampshire. The sentence in Shay Bourne's case was death by lethal injection. That's exactly what the state has prepared and intends to carry out--with dignity and respect for all parties involved.

  "Let's look at the facts here. No matter what Ms. Bloom says, there is no organized religion that mandates organ donation after death as a means of reaching the afterlife. According to his records, Shay Bourne was raised in foster homes, so he can't claim that he was reared in one religious tradition that fostered organ donation. If he's converted to some religion that is now claiming that organ donation is part of its tenets, we submit to this court that it's pure bunk." Greenleaf spread his hands. "We know you'll listen carefully to the testimony, Your Honor, but the reality is that the Department of Corrections is not required to submit to the whim of every misguided prisoner that comes through its doors--especially one who has committed the monstrous torture and murders of two New Hampshire citizens, a child and a police officer. Don't let Ms. Bloom and the ACLU take a grave matter and turn it into a spectacle. Allow the state to impose the penalty that was set forth by the court, in as civilized and professional a manner as possible."

  I glanced at Shay. On his legal pad, he'd added his initials, and the logo for the band AC/DC.

  The judge pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at me. "Ms. Bloom," he said, "you may call your first witness."

  MICHAEL

  |||||||||||||||||||||||||

  As soon as I was asked to approach the witness stand, I locked my gaze on Shay's. He stared back at me, silent, blank. The clerk approached, holding a Bible. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

  The leather cover of the book was finely grained and black, worn smooth by the palms of thousands who'd recited a vow just like this one. I thought of all the times I'd held a Bible for comfort, a religious man's security blanket. I used to think it contained all the answers; now I wondered whether the right questions had even been asked. So help me God, I thought.

  Maggie's hands were clasped lightly in front of her. "Can you state your name and address for the record?"

  "Michael Wright," I said, clearing my throat. "Thirty-four twenty-two High Street, in Concord."

  "How are you employed?"

  "I'm a priest at St. Catherine's."

  "How does one become a priest?" Maggie asked.

  "You go to seminary for a certain number of years, and then you become a member of the transitional deaconate ... learning the ropes under the guidance of a more experienced parish priest. Finally, you get ordained."

  "How long ago did you take your vows, Father?"

  "It's been two years," I said.

  I could still remember the ordainment ceremony, my parents watching from the pews, their faces lit as if they had stars caught in their throats. I had been so certain, then, of my calling--of serving Jesus Christ, of who Jesus Christ was. Had I been wrong then? Or was it simply that there was more than one kind of right?

  "As part of your duties at St. Catherine's, Father, have you been a spiritual advisor for an inmate named Shay Bourne?"

  "Yes."

  "And is Shay here in the courtroom today?"

  "He is."

  "In fact," Maggie said, "he's the plaintiff in this case who was sitting beside me at that table, isn't that correct?"

  "Yes." I smiled at Shay, who looked down at the table.

  "During the course of your training to become a priest, did you speak with parishioners about their religious beliefs?"

  "Of course."

  "Is it part of your duty as a priest to help others become familiar with God?"

  "Yes."

  "How about deepening their faith in God?"

  "Absolutely."

  She turned to the judge. "I'm going to offer up Father Michael as an expert on spiritual advice and religious beliefs, Your Honor."

  The other attorney shot up. "Objection," he said. "With all due respect, is Father Michael an expert on Jewish beliefs? Methodist beliefs? Muslim ones?"

  "Sustained," the judge said. "Father Michael may not testify as an expert on religious beliefs outside of the Catholic faith, except in his role as a spiritual advisor."

  I had no idea what that meant, and from the looks on their faces, neither did either attorney. "What's the role of a spiritual advisor in the prison?" Maggie asked.