All language subtitles for Law and order S13E12 - Under God

NARRATOR:
In the criminal justice system

the people are represented by two
separate yet equally important groups,

the police who investigate crime

and the district attorneys
who prosecute the offenders.

These are their stories.

I thought you
said you had a room?

I said I had a place.

Seriously, I've got just enough
for you and then cab fare.

No watch, no jewelry, nothing.

You think I wanna rob you?

I know I'm not
going near that bridge.

Then here.

Come on.
It's freezing out.

I'll get you warm.

Like I said, half and half.

(UNZIPPING)

(SIGHS) Mmm.

Oh, God! That's all right, baby.
That's okay.

No, it's not.
(GASPS)

MARTINEZ: Says he was partying at some
club nearby. Took a wrong turn home.

I'd find that more convincing
if his fly was zipped.

So what's his story?

Well, I don't want to touch
him until the M.E. Shows up,

but there's some blood
on the picnic table.

Looks like he bopped his head.

His head bump is the least of his troubles.
This guy's got lead poisoning.

Any of the neighbors hear shots?

We just started
knocking on doors.

All right. Tape off
the area and start

a canvass for the murder weapon.

You got it.

ED: Hey, Lennie.

Whoa! High roller, huh?

Separated by denomination.

Looks like somebody just
knocked off a street dealer.

Yeah, what a shame.

The vic was Scott Giddins.

That's supposed
to mean something?

BCI had his prints on file.
Five arrests

in three years.
All narcotics related.

He could have won
gold for skating.

Not a drop of time.
Any witnesses?

One woman heard two shots.

Well, I, for one, admire
the shooter's restraint.

VAN BUREN: How's that?

It's pretty hard to get worked
up over a dead drug dealer.

How many times do
I have to remind you,

Detective Briscoe?
All life is sacred.

Not when it peddles the kind of
crap our Mr. Giddins peddled.

Giddins lived around the
corner from where he was shot.

Maybe we should
check out his place.

Lennie, you wanna take
a walk through the projects?

GINA: I said go away.

Ed, I think we've got a problem.

Yeah, I need a bus.
Breathing's shallow.

Possible overdose.
Tell them it's a rush.

Look, I'm not a crack whore, if
that's what you're thinking.

BRISCOE: How old are you?

Old enough to
party with who I want.

Like Scott Giddins?
That's right.

Hey, I don't care
one way or the other.

He probably doesn't either,
being as how he's dead.

Look, I don't know
what's going down here.

A few days ago, my friend Ron
introduced me to this guy.

And you shacked up with him?

I needed a fix.
He was dealing.

But the problem is, Gina,
when we knocked

on your door,
you told us to go away.

Which tells me you thought
you knew who was knocking.

ED: What you wasting
your time for, Lennie?

Just book her on
possession and move on.

GINA: Okay.

A guy came around. Maybe a couple of
days ago. He kept banging on the door.

You get a look at this guy?

Through the peephole.

He was Puerto Rican
or something.

He had this thing
on his face. Like a blotch.

What do you mean, blotch?

On his skin. There was
this big, red thing.

He kept saying
he was owed money.

These were found in
your boyfriend's apartment.

The E.R. Doctor didn't know
what they were. Do you?

Only he told me if I touched
them, he'd break my legs.

It's Nazi speed,
also known as Ya Ba.

Oh, like the Sisterhood.

That's Ya-Ya. "Ya Ba" is
Thai for "crazy medicine."

You ask me, you gotta be crazy to take it.
One bad dose and...

(EXCLAIMS) You're
flatlined for sure.

Hey, you seen this guy
on any of your lists?

Scottie! What happened?
He must have

moved up in the world. Ya Ba's not
the easiest to lay your hands on.

BRISCOE: So, there's probably
a short list of suppliers?

Yeah, and I'll be damned
if I know who they are.

Well, actually, you'll
be damned if you don't.

I heard a rumor
about some people scoring

some at a club on
the Lower East Side.

Other than that, I don't
know how to help you.

Well, it's a good thing
you're not Narcotics.

Oh! Wait a minute,
you are Narcotics!

Hey, don't blame me,
all right? Blame the Mayor.

Blame Osama. Half my
unit's been redeployed.

Anyway, this spot on
the Lower East Side,

is that off
the Williamsburg Bridge?

Yeah, in a place
called Gammaville.

Smack in the middle
of the Latin Playboy turf.

They have a thriving
protection business.

Gang unit should have
a file on these guys.

A red blotch on the face, that
ain't no gang ID I ever seen.

Good thing you don't
stick out in a crowd, Juan.

Might've taken us more than
ten minutes to find you.

Find me for what?

Murder of a dealer
named Scott Giddins.

Sorry. Never met the guy.

We have an eyewitness who says
you been banging on his door.

I doubt you were collecting
for the March of Dimes, Juan.

Giddins owed you money for
dealing on Playboy turf,

then he ends up dead. Now, if you don't
want to connect the dots, we will.

I'm not saying nothing.

Suit yourself, bro.

No, come on. No. Why you gotta
move so fast? Okay, okay.

Look, G was stalling me.

But nobody from my house
laid a finger on the guy.

He paid up.

Why would we pop G over rent? The dude
was a seller. He printed money, man.

The only reason why G got popped
is because he's a pendejo.

Didn't always think.
Pissed people off.

What people?
Local yokels.

This guy with a lead pipe
chases him for three blocks.

He sold some bad stuff to his
kid, and the kid OD'd. Kicked.

ED: This guy with the pipe
have a name?

Yeah, something Parker. Dives
a Greyhound or something.

Hey! Where you
guys going?

You gonna give me a lift
back to my place, right?

Takes 900 calls,
and finally you show up!

Excuse me?

Those kids across
the street. Can't sleep.

That damn boom box
playing day and night.

What do I have to pay taxes for?
I'm sorry, ma'am.

We're not patrolmen.
We're looking

for Bill Parker.
We heard he lives here.

Sure, drag off the good guys.

Your tax dollars at work.

I'm sorry about the mess.

Hey, I've been there. So
when's your little girl due?

In May. How did you
know it was a girl?

Our nursery had candy stripes.

This used to be
my son's room, but...

I know. You lost him
about a year ago.

Are you here about David?

No, this man was shot a few
blocks away from here.

Do you recognize him?

Could be anybody.
Any reason why I should?

Take a closer look,
Mr. Parker.

I hope to God he's dead.

BRISCOE: Sometimes the Big
Guy answers your prayers.

You think I had
something to do with this?

In a perfect world,
I'd hold him down

while you smacked him with
that pipe you chased him with.

In a perfect world,
Davie wouldn't be dead.

In a perfect world, the police
would have arrested that bastard

and locked him up forever.

I may have lost my temper once,

but I didn't have
anything to do with this.

Well, just for the record, where
were you on Wednesday night?

At our weekly meeting down the block. St.
Weston's. The Neighborhood Watch.

Unfortunately, people
don't join the Watch

until after they've
been affected personally.

It took Davie's death
to get Bill involved.

So, what, you guys just roam
the streets with weapons?

Flashlights. We're
prophylactic, not punitive.

So what do you discuss at these meetings,
what kind of batteries to use?

Scheduling,
who's available when.

Bill Parker was
at the last meeting?

He brought the soft drinks.

Good old Bill.

Do you know what kind of
hell he's gone through?

His son died,
and the man who killed him

was still out on the corner,
selling poison.

Well, maybe instead of carrying
flashlights, you should carry cell phones.

Uh-huh, and call who? You?

We've tried that, thank you.

You people seem to
have raised the white flag

on that war on drugs. Well, we can't.
We live on the battlefield.

Do you remember what time this
meeting broke up on Wednesday?

Um... Around 11:00.

I mean, why?
What's this about?

Well, let's just say that when
the prophylactic doesn't work,

we're the punitive.

ED: How long do you
think it's gonna take

before Father Hogan
calls Bill Parker?

Isn't that his job?

To cover up a murder?

No. To offer consolation.

Consolation or congratulations?

I mean, I got the feeling
this guy didn't mind

if his parishioners ignored
the Fifth Commandment.

Well, I'm just wondering
if Moses would have

had the great good sense
to turn the other cheek

in a case of somebody
like Mr. Giddins.

Thou shalt not kill,
except drug dealers?

Ones who sell to kids, yeah.

Well, that rewrite
might be okay to Moses,

but it ain't to Pataki.

We should go see
if Bill Parker owned a piece.

Why don't you go ahead? I've got a
couple of calls I want to make.

All right, man. Don't forget,
Moses don't sign your paycheck.

What is this? Get me drunk, I'll
confess to something I didn't do.

I just thought we'd be
more comfortable here.

I got a problem, Bill. I mean, the
cards are stacking up against you.

Now, my partner wants to bring
you in for questioning, but...

You're looking out for me.

Well, the thing is, maybe I
understand the situation

a little better than he does.

Maybe you know wallpaper,
but you don't

know anything
about my situation.

I know the world's
a better place,

now that Scott Giddins
isn't in it.

And where were you
before Davie died?

Where was anybody after?

Knowing and proving it in court
are two different things.

She was 24. A guy
like Giddins killed her.

Did he go to jail?

Yeah.

The thing is, I get up every
morning, I brush my teeth, I shave,

and I kick myself for not
putting a.38 between his eyes.

Maybe then...

Do not say "closure."
No such thing.

This is great. My kid dies,
and no one lifts a finger.

Somebody kills this creep, here you
are with a thousand questions.

Not a thousand, Bill.
Just one.

I'm telling you,
this guy wants to confess.

He wants to call
a press conference

and shout, "I killed the
bastard." I almost had him.

Yeah, and if you did, it would send
our case directly down the crapper.

Come on, we were just
two guys sitting at a bar.

Yeah, but when one of those guys is
a detective investigating a murder,

the other guy gets to have
his rights read to him.

Unless...
Unless what, Ed?

You think I tried to dump
the case against Parker?

I wasn't going to
say that, Lennie,

but since we're
on the topic, a bar?

A first-year legal aid
can get that confession

tossed out for I can think of at least
ten reasons off the top of my head.

Well, then I guess
I'm lucky he didn't confess.

Do you want this guy to walk?

No. But I can't blame him
for taking care

of the scum we didn't do
anything about for a year.

Well, why do you suppose
Parker waited so long?

Hey, he tried the good citizen route.
It didn't work.

You know,
maybe something happened

at that Neighborhood Watch
meeting that set him off.

It was pretty routine.

Talked about patrol shifts, scraping
together money for a set of Nextels,

some gang tags spotted over
at Jefferson Middle School.

Nothing that would
make Bill blow a gasket.

Jefferson Middle School, isn't
that where David Parker went?

Our boys played hoops together.

Davie had a hell
of an outside shot.

Look, I know
where you're headed,

but there's nothing there. No way Bill
could have killed that lowlife dealer.

And you're so positive because
you're tight with him?

I'm positive because after the meeting
broke up, I walked Bill home.

Funny, he didn't mention that.

Yeah, well,
maybe you didn't ask.

If this guy did his job
as bad as he lies,

he wouldn't be able
to pick his nose.

Anyway, I'm thinking
that the mention

of Davie's old school might
have stirred up some memories.

A couple of weeks ago, I'm sitting
in this joint on the east side

having a hamburger.

A guy sits down at the table next
to me, and I blurt out, "Ron."

Who you talking about?
Lichtenstein from the 16?

Ron Darling from the '86 Mets.

Do you know what my first thought was?
I've gotta call Cathy.

She always had a thing for him.

She's been gone six years.
I don't know.

You lose a kid,
everything stirs up memories.

So, if we find one person
from that meeting

who contradicts
Mr. Locksmith,

we can threaten him with
obstruction, force him to flip.

Yeah, but he probably
speed dialed every member

of the Watch before
we even hit the street.

Meaning 25 more versions
of the same damn story.

So, we find one non-member
who saw Parker come home.

Between 11:00 and midnight? Most
people are watching Leno or asleep.

Not with that damn boom box
going day and night.

Why would we remember what
happened last Wednesday?

Because some old lady couldn't
sleep on account of this boom box.

Now, being public servants,

we can confiscate this thing
as a public nuisance.

What time we talking
about Wednesday?

ED: It was between
11:00 and 11:30.

Can't help you.

All right, Ed,
read the box its rights.

Whoa, whoa. Hold on, hold on!
Wait a minute. What he means is,

we can't help you because, you
know, we went to get some eats.

Didn't get back till
around, like, midnight.

Davie's dad, he's a bus
driver or something, right?

Yeah.

We saw him when
we got back from the bodega.

At midnight?

Yeah, midnight.
That's why I remember.

I saw him walking
some priest out.

All right.

That's funny, Father Hogan never
mentioned a midnight house call.

Confessions 'R Us.
We deliver.

I'm sure you know I'm
not at liberty to discuss

conversations I have
with my parishioners.

Does that include
lying about whether

the conversations
ever took place?

You asked me when Bill
left, not whether

I had seen him
later that evening.

You sure you want to be splitting
hairs with the police, Father?

Oh, no, I respect
the law, Detective.

But until the Vatican
tells me otherwise,

any conversation
I have with a congregant

remains between them,
me, and God.

All right. Well, if God happens to
tell you how Bill Parker got a gun,

would you please give us a call?

'Cause however he got it, it wasn't legal.
Thank you, Father.

The other day,
I took a cab to the squad.

What's that,
40 bucks from your place?

I didn't say I was at my place.

Anyway, the point is,
the driver had a piece

right out in the open,
on the seat next to him.

And you're thinking bus
drivers do the same thing?

Hey, what country
do you live in?

Port Authority policy
prohibits drivers

from carrying
firearms of any kind.

So what would you do if you
found a driver was packing?

I wouldn't.

Well, what about passengers? Is
it like boarding an airplane?

Some bus companies search
passengers at random.

Guy sees that happening,
he ditches the gun

in the men's room,
in the garbage, whatever.

You know, you could
take on all of al-Qaeda

with the crap
these companies find.

What do you do with the
weapons they confiscate?

Evidence locker.

Suppose I'm a driver,
could I get into that locker?

Only way in is if you had one of
these special-issue, non repro keys.

Or a friend who
could pick a lock.

The fact is, we had a hiccup last week.
A.44 was misplaced.

Sounds like
probable cause to me.

You get out of my boy's room.

I'm sorry, Mr. Parker, this
search warrant authorizes us

to search the entire apartment.

What could you possibly think
that you'll find in here?

A revolver?

Do you really think that I would
hide a gun in David's room?

Hey, Ed, remember what this
looked like two days ago?

Ours took a week to finish.

(HOLLOW SOUND)

Officer, we're gonna need to
break through this sheet rock.

More insulation...

(EXCLAIMS)

The.44 caliber kind.

William Parker,
you're under arrest

for the murder of Scott Giddins.

You have the right
to remain silent.

Anything you say can be used
against you in a court of law.

I understand why you lied to me before,
Bill. Nobody wants to go to jail.

Not with a little girl
on the way.

But you gotta know, if the slug that
we took from that dealer's body

came from that gun,

you're gonna miss your
little girl's first steps,

her first communion,
her confirmation.

If I was you,
I'd try to help myself.

He killed Davie.

That's right, he did,

but guys like him, they don't
stop with just one death.

Guys like Giddins, they've been
known to get violent, get physical.

Been known to
threaten innocent citizens.

Judges know that.

So do juries and D.A.'s.

Hell, Bill, people get let off on
self-defense every day of the week.

You can take the cop
out of the father, but...

The problem is, Giddins wasn't
armed when we found him.

(KNOCK ON DOOR)

Lieutenant,
there's some priest here

named Hogan. Says he's got
information on the Giddins homicide.

Send him in.

ED: Father.
Yeah.

You have the wrong
suspect in custody.

All due respect, Father, it's not
looking that way. My detectives found

the murder weapon
in his apartment.

I can explain that.

ED: Be careful, Father Hogan.

We have witnesses
that put you with

the Parkers on
the night of the murder.

So, if he confessed to you

and you're lying to protect
him, that's obstruction.

I'm not lying. Bill Parker
didn't confess to me.

I confessed to him.
I killed Scott Giddins.

Bill Parker was a sculptor.
Did you know that? Metalwork.

He would take these pieces of
industrial steel, this junk really,

and turn them into
works of great beauty.

When David died, he stopped.

It was as if Scott Giddins
had ripped out his soul

and stomped on it.

I understand
why he'd seek vengeance.

I reminded him that he still had
a wife and a baby on the way,

but still he felt
that if he did nothing,

he would be
tortured in this life.

And if he acted, he would
be damned in the next.

That's why I told him to
give me the gun.

Hold on, Richard.
No.

I appreciate your help, Jim.
This is something I have to do.

Bill Parker gave me his gun.

This conversation is over.

A week later, I used it
to kill Mr. Giddins.

Where did it happen, Father?

North of the Williamsburg
Bridge underpass.

Do you recall what Mr.
Giddins was wearing?

A leather jacket.
Brown. Blue jeans.

A gray shirt.
I shot him in the stomach.

The police showed him photos.

This man was
a plague on the earth,

a drug pusher whose
poison killed children.

The police could arrest him,
but nobody could convict him.

Why did you return
the gun to the Parkers?

I went to the Parkers to tell
them justice had been done.

He hid the gun to protect me.

You stop. That's enough.

Now, you and Parker may think you're
being clever, but I'm not gonna sit

in the front row
while you commit suicide.

I'm still his counsel, and I'm
ending this interview right now.

Father Hogan is
looking for martyrdom,

or sainthood, or whatever
other ridiculous thing

you get these days
for being entirely selfless.

In the secular world
I believe they call

what he's looking for
"reasonable doubt."

And this bogus confession raises

more than enough
for an acquittal.

Unless we don't
charge Bill Parker.

You want to indict Father Hogan?

Why not?

He did confess.

Oh, come on, Jack.
Whatever problems

you might personally
have with the Church...

Have nothing to do with this.

I'm just proposing
that if the two of you

are right and this is all a
scheme to confuse a jury,

let's do an end run of our own.
One confession. One defendant.

No doubt.

He's got a point. My guess, by
confessing to something he didn't do,

the Padre's already
scored enough points

to impress the pants
off Saint Peter.

And what if he doesn't
feel the same way?

We've got about 20 hours before we
have to charge them or let them go.

Now, if you want to come up
with another plan, be my guest.

If you think I'm gonna turn
on my husband, you're crazy.

That's not why I'm here.

Actually,
I'm here for Father Hogan.

He sent you?

In a way.
He confessed to the crime.

So, why is Bill still in jail?

Because it's obvious to us that
Father Hogan is lying to protect him.

Did Bill say he killed Giddins?

He's scared.
He hasn't said anything.

But he didn't say
Father Hogan did it.

No.

So I can't do
anything then, can I?

You can help me to
convince Father Hogan

that there is a better way
to help your husband

than by throwing
his own life away.

I'm sure you don't want the
wrong man to be convicted.

I'm not asking you
to incriminate

your husband, but if you
could just tell me anything.

You bastards! Bastards!

If only you did your job, a good
man like that wouldn't have to...

He did it for us, you know. He
did it so Bill wouldn't have to.

Wait a minute.
Are you saying

that Father Hogan
did kill Scott Giddins?

You'll be happy to know that
we released Bill Parker.

(EXCLAIMS) Thank God!

Come on, Jack. I'm not
going to fall for that.

None of us here
wants a trial, Father.

We're prepared to accept your
confession and offer you a...

I will not accept a deal.

Richard, please.
Just go ahead and tell them

how you made up the whole thing.

I don't think
he can do that, Jim.

We found this jacket in the
Father's closet at the rectory.

So he has bad taste in clothes?
That's not a crime.

The people in
the Neighborhood Watch

wear them when
they go out at night.

The sleeve tested positive
for gunshot residue.

I can offer you
ten years, Father.

WHEELER: Give us a minute.
That won't be necessary.

JACK: You should listen
to your lawyer, sir.

With the coat and the confession, you
don't stand a chance with a jury.

I will not pled guilty.

Then you're looking
at 25-years-to-life.

I confessed to
killing Scott Giddins.

I did not confess to
committing a crime.

Killing is not a crime,
when it's God's will.

BRANCH: Is he serious?

Here's Wheeler's Notice of
Affirmative Defense to prove it.

Justification?

"Yes, I killed.
But God told me to."

Well, you gotta admit,
it's a lot more creative

than "The Devil
made me do it."

Next up, virgin sacrifice.

The fact is,
this country could use

a double dose of whatever
God's got on special today.

Perhaps.
But not in a courtroom.

Why not?

Aren't we "One
nation under God"?

Don't tell me you believe Father
Hogan's "orders from above" defense?

On the contrary, it goes against
everything I do believe.

The law recognizes situations
where killing is justified.

Self-defense, defense of
others, the death penalty...

And in all of those instances,
the use of deadly force

must be in response to an imminent
threat and be reasonable.

Here comes the part where he tells
you belief in God isn't reasonable.

A priest claiming he heard God?

How does a jury
determine credibility?

We ask juries to dive into deeper
deductive waters all the time.

We don't ask them to ponder
the existence of God.

But we don't have to. The court
already acknowledges His existence.

"In God we trust."

That's the building,
not the law.

My point is,
how can both the court

and the legislature acknowledge
the existence of God,

yet deny a defense
premised on that existence?

If a layperson tried to assert
a "God told me to" defense,

the court would render him
incompetent to stand trial.

So if you talk to God,
you're pious,

and if he talks back,
you're crazy?

You said it, I didn't.

Well, then let's give Father
Hogan an Article 730 exam

and see if he's
competent to stand trial.

God bless.

Do you believe in God,
Dr. Olivet?

Yes.

And yet, you question
whether I'm crazy

for claiming
I received His guidance.

I'm simply doing my job.

I'm sure the Roman
soldiers said that, too,

when nailing Jesus to the cross.

Do you think of
yourself as Jesus?

(LAUGHS) No.

No, no.

I'm just noting a parallel.

Jesus could return tomorrow

and people would write him off as an
illusionist, the next David Blaine.

Society has a habit
of explaining away miracles,

and then saying God must not exist
because there are no miracles.

And you're going
to prove them wrong?

I'm not on a crusade,
Dr. Olivet.

A man was destroying my community,
poisoning my neighbors.

I prayed for guidance, and the guidance
I received was that I should kill him.

At the time, did you know that
it's wrong to kill someone?

I knew that
killing is usually wrong.

I knew that my actions were
against the laws of man. And I...

I knew that they were against
every instinct I have

as a human being.

Then why did you do it?

Because that's
what God asked of me.

And you had no choice but
to follow His instructions?

We all have a choice.

We all know
what God expects of us.

The question is,
are we strong enough

to do it?

He understands
the charges against him

and is capable of
aiding in his defense.

But he doesn't
seem to understand

the difference
between right and wrong.

On the contrary,
he understands perfectly.

It can't be wrong if God
told him to do it.

SERENA: And that's not crazy?

Father Hogan believes he gains
enlightenment through prayer.

If that's crazy, then half the
world should be committed.

One man's delusion is
another man's faith.

And we're supposed to
convince a bunch ofjurors

that they were delusional all those
Sundays that they went to church?

No. You need to convince Father
Hogan to look reality in the eye.

I understand your
predicament, Mr. McCoy.

Do you understand mine?

Actually, I do.

I'd think it would include
willingness to accept punishment.

I'm willing to be punished,

but what I'm not willing
to do is to plead guilty.

Are you sure
you want to do this, Father?

Do you really want to
put religion on trial?

Religion is already on trial.

Islam is being
tainted by fanatics,

Judaism is being threatened
by the recent rise

in anti-Semitism, the Catholic
Church is crippled by a sex scandal.

For the first time in
the world's history,

three major faiths
are in crisis.

Then perhaps that makes this the worst time
in history to challenge their validity.

No, on the contrary,
maybe now more than ever

God wants us to
reexamine our faith.

And if those are the
consequences of my defense...

Amen.

And if you lose?

Where did your faith go,
Ms. Southerlyn?

You contact Bishop Durning?

He'll be more than
happy to testify.

Of course he will. He can't have
murder added to the mounting list

of priestly iniquities.

You're really enjoying this,
aren't you?

There's nothing
quite like walking

into a trial with
an uncontested confession.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Smile, Serena.
This is our Inherit the Wind.

This is where we get to
prove in a court of law

that there is
no big guy up there

with a white beard,
pulling invisible strings.

So what did
those nuns do to you?

That's irrelevant.

Anybody who knows that
he knows gets my hair up.

If you want my advice, Jack, I think
you should just let Father Hogan's

confession speak for itself.

No good can come out
of debating religion.

Maybe I should have
told that to the nuns.

I thought he just took my gun to
stop me from doing something stupid.

I had no idea that he would take
matters into his own hands.

So, he didn't tell you
beforehand what his plans were?

No.

I never would have let him.

Because even through your grief, you
realized that killing is wrong.

I lost a child, Mr. McCoy.

Do you have any idea
how much that hurts?

It's like a knife in your
heart that won't go away.

I'm sorry, Mr. Parker,
but I have to.

I know.

Please, tell us about the night
Scott Giddins was murdered.

It was late. Father Hogan
came to my apartment.

That's when I noticed

there were specks of blood
on his fingers.

JACK: Did he tell you
where the blood came from?

No. He didn't have to.
I knew.

Did Father Hogan tell you
why he killed Scott Giddins?

He said that God wanted him
to do what man refused to do.

That God wanted that child
killer off the streets.

That he wanted to keep
our neighborhood safe.

He wanted to ease the grief that
Scott Giddins caused my wife and me.

WHEELER:
And you believed him?

Do I believe in God,
Mr. Wheeler?

Yes, I do.

That's not what I asked,
Mr. Parker.

What I want to know is,
if you actually believe

God put the gun
in Father Hogan's hand

and told him to shoot.

Nobody can prove to me
that He didn't.

Although the Church
doesn't condone violence,

God has historically been
used to justify murder,

from the Crusades to 9 l 11,

by men who believed they were
instruments of His will.

But this belief is usually a
product of either mental illness,

geopolitical ambition,
or misinterpretation.

Did you hear Dr. Olivet testify
that Father Hogan was sane?

Yes.

Do you have any
evidence to the contrary?

No.

Any evidence that
he's a political zealot?

No. He's a good man.

So, under your paradigm,

if Father Hogan
received a message

from the Almighty,
he misinterpreted it.

That's correct.
The Almighty teaches us

to save the sinner,
not kill him.

JACK: He also teaches you
to pray for His guidance.

Yes, but if that guidance calls

for an act like murder,
we should be skeptical.

I should hope so.

But that's what
confuses me, Bishop Durning.

When it comes to
something as important

as murder, don't you think that

God would be as specific
as he could possibly be

to eliminate
any margin for error?

Of course He would. Otherwise,
what kind of God would he be?

JUDGE: Mr. Wheeler?

Nothing, Your Honor.

It looks to me like the
Bishop just made our case.

Really? Then
why do you suppose

Wheeler didn't
cross-examine him?

What could he possibly ask?

The top gun in the local church

just said Father Hogan
made a mistake.

Yeah, that's one explanation.
The other is

that he realized your tactics
were turning off the jury.

Why? How?

Because an imperfect God
is no God at all.

Did it ever cross your mind

that the triers of fact
in a murder case

might not want to hear you air
your disrespect of their faith?

That's not
what I was doing at all.

I can't beat this sanctimonious
defense by tiptoeing around.

Besides, how do you know
they wouldn't like it?

If nobody's watching, they can cheat
on their wives, cheat on their taxes,

impose the death penalty,

all without remorse, all without
worrying about redemption.

Most people want comfort, hope.

They want to believe in something
bigger than themselves.

You know what I believe?

I believe that Father
Hogan's pious platitudes

and calm certainties
ain't necessarily so.

I believe that anyone who wraps
themselves in the flag or in the cloth

to excuse themselves
from the rules

the rest of us mortals
have to obey

is pulling a fast one. It pisses me
off no end. "I know what God wants."

Come on, Serena. It's ego
or hubris or narcissism.

So, "God's dead"?

I'm proud to say I don't know.

But I do know this,
that Father Hogan's

right to his convictions stopped
at Scott Giddins' nose.

The first shot missed.
My hand was shaking.

I never held a gun before.

But you managed to hit Mr.
Giddins with the second shot?

When I saw him fall back,

I couldn't help but think,
"God steadied my hand."

WHEELER: God steadied it?

God gave me the strength
to follow His guidance.

But He wasn't the one who
pulled the trigger, was He?

No.

Scott Giddins was a drug dealer
who terrorized a neighborhood

for no other reason
than his own greed.

He was a sinner.

What happened to the Fifth
Commandment, Father?

Scott Giddins caused
the death of a young boy.

Exodus 20:13 may say,
"Thou shalt not kill,"

but Exodus 21:12 says,

"He that smiteth a man so that he
die shall surely be put to death."

Just to be clear,
you killed Scott Giddins?

Yes.

So under oath you're admitting
you're guilty of breaking the law?

Man's law, not God's.

And you believe that the law of
God should trump the law of man?

That's how I live my life.

That's why I couldn't
ignore His wishes.

You heard his voice, did you?

It wasn't a person to
person call, Mr. McCoy.

I acted upon the enlightenment
that I received through prayer.

That's all? No burning bush,
no pillar of fire?

If you're asking for proof,
I can't give you any.

That's the very essence
of faith, Mr. McCoy.

Belief,
despite absence of proof.

And God wanted
Scott Giddins killed?

Mr. Giddins caused
a lot of suffering.

You thought he should be
punished for his sins, did you?

Yes.

Well, that's
certainly convenient,

your desires
matching those of God!

Objection. I'm just wondering
who spoke to whom.

Enough, Counselor.

After you received
your marching orders,

did you think about
getting a second opinion?

I mean, you know, check with
your superiors at the Church?

To doubt God?
That would be hubris.

On the other hand, some might
think it hubris not to.

WHEELER: Objection.
Counsel is testifying.

Withdrawn.

Did your lawyer tell you that an
insanity defense was available to you?

He told me a lot of things,
but I know

in my heart that
I am not guilty.

I also know in my heart
that a jury will believe me.

Then why did you
hide the murder weapon?

Mr. Parker said...
JACK: Oh, I see.

Seeking the advice of man is wrong
when it comes to committing a crime,

but it's okay when it
comes to covering one up?

Is there any chance you simply
wanted to avoid man's punishment

for breaking his laws?

Maybe we can come back to that.
Tell me this, Father Hogan,

this suffering
you said Scott Giddins

caused the people
in your neighborhood,

specifically, you're
talking about the Parkers?

That's correct.

And in your mind murdering Scott
Giddins would ease the pain

of losing their only son?

In God's mind.

Now, that's interesting.

Because if I remember correctly,

Mr. Parker testified
that losing his son

was like a knife through his
heart which would not go away!

A knife through the heart
hurts, Father Hogan.

Your Honor...

So, if God wanted to ease the Parkers' pain,
he really screwed the pooch on this one.

JUDGE: All right.
That's enough.

JACK: Tell me, Father Hogan,

isn't it your job to
comfort your parishioners?

Yes.

But you couldn't
do it, could you?

You were impotent to
ease the Parkers' pain.

Maybe it wasn't God who screwed
the pooch, Father Hogan.

Maybe it was you.

JACK: It's your meeting,
Mr. Parker.

We have to be in court, sir.

No. Call it off.

It's a little late for that.

But I did it.

Father Hogan didn't do anything.
He shouldn't be punished.

This is very noble of you,
Mr. Parker, but...

He confessed and you believed him.
Now why won't you believe me?

The gun was in my house!

Excuse me,
this is a private meeting.

This is stupid, Bill.

I will not let you take
responsibility for what I did.

Don't listen to him.
I am ready to go to jail.

Bill!

BILL: Don't you see
what he is doing to you?

He is mocking everything
that you believe.

Now, if the jury...
They won't.

If they lose faith...

Then, we still have ours.

What if that's not good enough?

I prayed for the strength...

And your prayer was
answered through me, Bill.

Well, this certainly
makes things interesting.

Hey, you don't
really believe him?

It's not my call.
It's up to a jury.

Eight-and-a-third-to-25.

WHEELER: Richard, don't.

This gives us reasonable doubt.

I can't let this man put
himself in harm's way for me.

Going, going...

Fine. I accept.

Are you staying?

Can I ask you something?

Tommy Suiter.

He lived two doors down
from us on Damon Avenue.

He was a couple of years
older than me, and

as far back as I can remember, I
followed him around like a puppy.

A VA hospital in 1968
was no place for a puppy.

It was pretty grizzly
and it smelled bad.

The boy in the bed beside Tommy's
had already passed away.

Tommy's right leg was
somewhere in the basement.

What was left of his face
was tar paper.

I squeeze in beside
a priest who's urging Tommy

to make a deathbed
recantation of his sins.

Tommy smiles with the part of his
mouth that still works and says,

"What difference
would it make?"

The Priest moves on to the next bed.
Tommy says to me,

"God forgive me if I'm wrong."

I think that's
the last thing he ever said.

It took a lot of guts.

I thought it was right.

Me? I'm still
tagging along after Tommy.