In God's House by Ray Mouton Page A

nonpayment of rent on his apartment in the marina a week before. The only bill he had kept current was his phone bill, and that was a lucky thing for without it he wouldn’t have gotten the call from his old classmate Brent Thomas.
    When his cousins had come to his law office in Bayou Saint John and presented him with the facts regarding the sexual abuse of their sons, Brent Thomas knew he was over his head. He was nothing more than a small-time small-town lawyer. He represented the local bank his father-in-law owned and had the odd case for friends he had grown up with. His discomfort athaving to bring legal complaints against his Church was genuine, and it robbed him of sleep. As lay ministers, both Thomas and his wife distributed communion at Sunday Mass and often he did readings from the altar. But his qualms were outweighed by his desire to make a large enough legal fee to gain independence from his wife’s father, who owned him. So he had called in the hardest-bitten lawyer he knew – Ricardo Ponce.
     
    If Brent Thomas had been a puppy, his tail would have been wagging. He grinned and reached across the huge chancery desk to pump Moroux’s hand vigorously and tell him how good it was to see him again.
    Monsignor Moroux attempted to size up the two lawyers, an unlikely pair. He believed Thomas was probably dumb, and he knew it would not necessarily follow that Ponce was smart.
    “Gentlemen, Father Francis and all of his possessions were removed from Amalie exactly as you requested.”
    Brent Thomas spoke up. “What about our request that the families meet with the bishop? These families have a right to confront their bishop.”
    Monsignor Moroux did not remember having heard or read such a request.
    Inwardly, Ponce winced. He had not bothered to tell Brent that he cut Brent’s pious paragraph from the final draft of their covering letter that accompanied the legal petitions, all the drivel about reconciling the families with their faith, having their shepherd tend to wounded members of his flock. As Ricardo Ponce saw it, this was like everything else in the law, about money and nothing else. After the money was in hand, Brent Thomas could have all the meetings he wanted to have with the bishop.
    Ponce jumped in. “What about the settlement offer that is due today?”
    “The families have a right to see their bishop,” Thomas repeated.
    “I want the settlement offer,” Ponce said. “Today you are to make a good-faith offer to settle the cases. You told us seriousnegotiations are to take place this morning. There are six cases and—”
    Moroux let a slight smile sneak into the corners of his mouth as he cut Ponce off. “Let me query you, Mr. Ponce. Do you think there is a possible legal conflict of interest in you and Mr. Thomas representing six claimants – in you two deciding which children will receive what amounts? Is your idea that they all receive the same amount or is it your idea that some will receive more than others? The damage to each child cannot be identical, can it? The things described in the legal petitions are uniform to the point of being identical, but Doctor Kennison’s reports show great differences in the length and type of relationship each child had with Father Dubois, differences in the damage done to each child. Is not each victim entitled to his own legal counsel to press his claim? Would not the children benefit from each of them having their own legal counsel to represent their interests alone?”
    Moroux’s remarks were a diversion. He had studied law at the University of Notre Dame for four semesters and he believed Ponce and Thomas could be disciplined for acting as if they, rather than the judiciary, were the arbiters of which child received which amount. But their ethics were of no importance to him. Like the New Orleans lawyers, he was determined that the first court case of this kind would not happen in his diocese. He knew settlement was the only solution, but along