Twelve
“I’M ON YOUR SIDE, FATHER Leonard, I really am,” an exasperated Angela Jenkins says, “but I can’t help you unless you’re honest with me.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Father Leonard mutters. “I don’t want your help. No one can help me.”
She sits back and sighs. We’re in my office; she is in the chair next to Father Leonard, I’m behind the desk. We’ve been at it for an hour. In that entire time, Father Leonard has added almost nothing to his statement at the police station. This, despite repeated assurances from his lawyer that it’s necessary for his defense.
Jenkins shakes her head and looks at the legal pad propped on her lap. “Okay, let’s go over this again,” she says. “You called Rachel Watson at 4:30 p.m.”
He nods.
“So where were you when you called?”
“The overlook off o
