Law America, the Devil's Agent

Chapter 73: The Declaration of War Begins (4K, Fourth Update, Please Subscribe)

The meeting place was set in the reading room of a private library near Jefferson Hospital.

Link had no objection to the fact that Nathaniel had chosen this place.

The other party is not any type of person I have known or acquainted before.

He was neither a hoodlum nor a high-ranking official.

For this type of religious person, it's best not to try to understand them completely.

Such a quiet and secluded place is undoubtedly a place where one cannot make a mistake.

Nathaniel had a long-term library card at this library, which was usually empty at this time of day.

Link arrived ahead of schedule.

He chose a seat by the window, with his back to the window and facing the door.

On the table were two cups of tea, a table lamp, and a file folder containing Alex's paintings and medical reports.

A few minutes later, Patrick Costello pushed open the door to the reading room right on time.

He looked to be around fifty years old, a white male, wearing a dark gray casual coat without a Roman collar.

But when Link looked up, he could still see that he was different from others:

Perhaps because of his position in a special department within the church, his every move still carried a certain unique restraint.

When shaking hands, the pressure is moderate; when sitting down, the hem of the coat is adjusted first; before speaking, there is a pause as if weighing the weight of each word.

He didn't use any clerical titles, simply stating his name, and then said that Nathaniel had mentioned Link to him—

The lawyer who exonerated Nathaniel.

When he said this, there was something between wariness and curiosity in his tone, as if he were sizing up a stranger he had long admired but was unsure whether he could be trusted.

Cautious, conservative, and with a sliver of a sense of justice.

This was Link's first impression of him in a short period of time.

Similar to—ascetic?

With this in mind, an idea slowly began to sprout in his heart.

This might be good news.

"Mr. Costello!"

Link pushed the teacup towards him: "Thank you for taking the time to see me."

"I will take Nathaniel's request seriously."

Costello took the teacup with both hands, but did not drink it: "However, I must make it clear beforehand that I do not know what I can do for you."

The office I work in mainly handles internal church affairs. Unless you have a case involving church personnel, my authority is probably not applicable.

Furthermore, I'm unsure to what extent an outside lawyer can get involved.

  

"You're right, I don't understand the internal workings of the church, which is why I need to meet with you."

I heard from Nathaniel that you worked in the Philadelphia Parish’s investigation office for many years and handled a lot of complaints.

I'm here today simply to seek your professional advice.

Costello nodded, his guarded posture relaxing slightly.

"After Nathaniel's case concluded, was there any discussion within the church regarding issues such as the misuse of psychiatric diagnoses or the whistleblower being framed?"

Link picked up his teacup and asked casually, as if he were talking about an old story that had already been turned over.

Costello was silent for a few seconds, then gave a wry smile.

"There have been some private discussions. But to be honest, no formal resolution has been reached."

The scope of A0I's responsibilities is to investigate the individual conduct of clergy members, not to examine structural flaws in the entire church. The line between these two is sometimes deliberately blurred.

"Then let's talk about the core function of AOI."

Link put down his teacup and leaned forward slightly: "If a parent complains to you that their child has been abused by clergy at school, what is the AI's procedure?"

"Upon receiving a complaint, the investigation office will conduct a preliminary review to determine whether the complaint meets the criteria for filing a case."

If a case is filed, a specific person will be assigned to be responsible for the investigation, and an investigation report will usually be issued within ninety days.

If no case is filed, the complaint materials will be archived and kept, but will not be subject to investigation.

"What happens after archiving?"

"After archiving————"

Costello repeated those words, as if the question had struck a nerve with him: "It's just archiving."

In your experience, how many complaints actually pass the initial review?

Costello looked up from his teacup and gazed at the darkening sky outside the window.

Very few. The vast majority of complaints are rejected at the initial review stage.

There are many reasons for rejection:

The evidence was insufficient, the statute of limitations for filing a complaint had expired, and the complainant refused to cooperate with the subsequent investigation.

But if you ask me the real reason...

He paused for a moment: "Protecting the church's reputation is, in most cases, assumed to be the first priority."

I've been in this industry for so long that I no longer know anyone who doesn't need it, but I know far too many children who have been sacrificed for it.

Link didn't ask any further questions.

He took the paintings out of the file bag and placed them on the table one by one.

The first image shows a windowless gray building with a row of thin, black figures without facial features. At the very front is a tiny blue figure whose mouth and eyes have been painted over. In the second image, the figures are closer to the tiny figure.

In the third image, the black figure's hand is already on the shoulder of the blue figure.

In the fourth image, the entire scene is engulfed by a vortex of deep red and black, with a huddled shadow in the center. A button, a robe, and a stand-up collar have been added to the blue figure.

Costello looked down at the paintings.

His expression didn't change much, but he picked up the paintings with slow, deliberate movements, as if touching something that would break.

"This boy's name is Alex Kate, he is seven years old, and he had congenital heart disease surgery."

Link's voice gradually rose: "He enrolled at Sacred Heart Elementary School this year. He started getting bruises on his body during his first month there."

Starting in the second month, he refused to go to school, making excuses every morning that he had a stomachache, headache, or felt nauseous.

His mother found multiple bruises on his arms and back while bathing him. He hid his drawing board under the bed at night, saying he never wanted to paint again.

His mother contacted the school three times. The first time she was given the runaround, the second time she was warned, and the third time the school directly suggested that she transfer her child to another school.

She contacted the media, but the only response she received was a short message—

If your child wants to live and go to school, take those things back.

She reported it to the police, but they said there was no evidence.

He placed the medical report next to the painting.

"This is a physical examination I had at Jefferson Hospital the day before yesterday."

Multiple old soft tissue contusions on the arms, back, and back of the thighs ruled out the possibility of accidental falls.

Semen stains were found in the interosseous spaces and on the body surface; there were obvious old wounds on the genitals, some of which were infected.

The reading room remained quiet for a long time.

The occasional sound of wind blowing outside the window was faint and distant, and the halo of the lamplight swayed gently in the silence between the two.

Costello carefully placed the paintings back on the table, his fingertips lightly touching the edge of the top painting as he lowered his hand.

"I have already handled four similar complaints this year."

He spoke, his voice much lower than before, as if confessing: "Two of the victims were younger than Alex."

Those two complaints are still locked in my office drawer because my direct supervisor refused to sign them off on filing.

He said there was insufficient evidence.

Insufficient evidence means that the victim's family is unwilling to come forward and testify publicly, and the church cannot launch an investigation without clear accusations.

That's obviously an excuse.

But every time, this excuse works.

Have you ever thought about taking these things out one day?

Not as archives, but as evidence.

Costello did not answer the question.

His expression appeared particularly contradictory in the dim light—

His brows were furrowed, his lips were slightly pursed, and the tips of his fingers, clasped tightly together on the table, were slightly white from the force.

Link lowered his eyelids, and a subtle change occurred deep within his pupils.

In a field of vision unseen by others, the black pupils silently tore open to the sides, transforming into a pair of cold, amber-colored horizontal pupils.

A line of text slowly appeared above Costello's head.

[The Scales of Repentance (Half-Demon, Half-Holy Spirit):]

His soul was being fought over by two forces at the same time.

Half of them are immersed in the silence and collusion of the church system, trapped in the gray swamp of compromise and shared responsibility, gradually breeding a numb demonic power.

His other half, however, still held onto the lingering light of the Holy Spirit that he had carried in his youth when he stood up for the weak.

He wavered between the two for many years. Every time his conscience was touched, he would step to the scales, but every time the system remained silent, he lost the strength to stand up for himself.

He longed to be reminded that he was still a believer with a sense of honor, and that he wanted someone to tell him that he stood up not because he was betraying the church, but because he was defending its doctrine.

(Patrick Costello:)

The way this lawyer looked at me was different from the ones before.

He didn't seem to be interrogating me, nor did he seem to be begging me; he was just waiting.

Does he know what I keep locked in my drawer?

No, he couldn't possibly know.

But the way he looked at me made it seem like he had already seen me in court.

Ghosts!

Why am I thinking about my first confession at this moment?

That was decades ago, when I said I would dedicate my life to justice and righteousness.

I have my two children's files locked in my drawer, and I don't even have the courage to open them.

If the lawyer wasn't lying—

If the boy really did point out the priest with the drawing!

So what's the difference between my current silence and that of those who remained silent about Nathaniel back then?

The horizontal pupils in Link's eyes faded away.

He has seen what he needed to see.

He looked away, picked up the now-cold teacup on the table, and took a sip.

"Mr. Costello, what I am about to say is not as a lawyer, but as an observer."

He put down his teacup, leaned forward slightly, and lowered his voice, but there was no coercion in his tone, only a quiet candor, almost like a conversation in a confessional.

"You've been in this position for so many years, you know better than anyone else—"

Those complaint materials locked in drawers, those files of rejected cases, will one day be opened. Either within the church or on a federal court summons.

Those who will stand in the witness stand and be questioned will be the superiors who refused to sign, and also the people who locked the drawers themselves.

I know you're not protecting the perpetrators; you're waiting for someone who can convince themselves to stand up.

He paused for a moment, then gently pushed Alex's drawing of the little blue figure in front of Costello.

"This person is my client."

He was harmed by the evil deeds of the church and subsequently trapped within his own body.

His soul and body are almost dead.

He spent countless dark nights huddled in his school dormitory, covered in bruises and suffering from a genital infection.

And those perpetrators are still standing on the podium.

Costello looked at the painting, his gaze flickering violently.

Link leaned back in his chair and spoke his last words in a softer, lower voice.

"I don't need you to stand up and testify publicly."

I only need you to do one thing for me—

Please help me retrieve the list of all clergy members of the Sacred Heart Church who have been the subject of internal complaints over the past five years.

No case needs to be filed, no investigation needs to be conducted, just a list is needed.

Then I'll take care of the rest.

If this matter is made public one day, no one will know that you helped me, unless you choose to be known.

But if you choose to be known—

I will let everyone know that you are the one standing on the side of justice.

The long silence lasted for so long that one of the lights in the reading room automatically dimmed, and the sensors mistakenly thought that no one was in the room.

Costello picked up the teacup on the table and found it was empty, but he just held the cup unconsciously.

Then he looked up, put the empty cup back on the table, and spoke in a low, almost whispered voice.

How serious are the child's injuries?

Besides bruises, is there anything else?

What was that priest's name?

"Multiple old soft tissue contusions, semen stains found in the interosseous spaces, old trauma to the genitals, some of which are infected."

There is more than one clergyman in the painting with buttons and collars added.

The priest's name is not yet known, but Alex takes the school bus to Sacred Heart Church every Saturday and Sunday to attend services.

My people are already checking the school bus schedule.

Costello closed his eyes, his lips moving silently, like a prayer no one could hear.

Then he reopened his eyes, and the scales in those eyes finally tilted to one side.

"I need a few days."

The data was scattered in different filing cabinets, some of which may have been destroyed, but backups still exist in certain specific locations.

I can't just bring them out directly; I need to find a way to avoid being tracked.

I cannot directly hand over any confidential information to you; doing so would be too dangerous for both of us.

But I can tell you which directions to look, who has been the subject of complaints, which cases have been suppressed, and which file numbers correspond to which year and which batch of complaints.

He stood up, straightened his coat collar, and extended his hand to Link.

When he grasped Link's hand, the grip was more substantial than when they had met earlier.

"Mr. Link, do you know what you're declaring war on?"

"I know.

A demonic fortress with its church doors open but no windows.

I've never fought a battle like this before, but I believe that with your help, I will not lose.

Costello looked him in the eyes and nodded.

"Then I will trust you this time."

",