BECAUSE I WAS IN MY clericals, the jail staff allowed me to meet with John privately. The room had all the charm of a utility closet, and was about as large, constructed of cinderblocks. There was one metal table, bolted to the floor, and two chairs. A heavy door with a window was in one wall. The lights were harsh, incandescent.
I waited for a few moments, then John was brought in by one of the guards. I had seen prisoners on TV with wrists and ankles shackled, wearing orange jumpsuits. John wore a khaki jumpsuit and was unshackled.
The guard seated him in the chair. “Father,” he said, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine. We’re old friends.” The guard looked at me, then at John, then left the room, closing the door behind him. He took his position outside s
