All language subtitles for Bull.S03E10

Last one to the mailbox?

Whoo!

Morgan, move!

Morgan!

Morgan!

All units be on the lookout

for a white church van

with heavy frontal damage.It's long gone.

Whoa. Forget I said anything.

Come to Papa.Unit 1-5-2,

we are northbound on River Road
just past Cannon.

Show us following a vehicle

possibly involved in felony
hit-and-run 45 minutes ago.

White Ford van
with license plate

nine, Eddie, three, seven,
Larry, Peter. Requesting backup.

Lower the window, then place
your hands back on the wheel.

Have you fellas found the woman?
Is she okay?

Sir, I smell alcohol.
Have you been drinking?

Oh, well...

I...Sir, I'm gonna need you
to step out of the vehicle.

Keep your hands
in front of you.

But what about the girl?

Step out of the vehicle, now.

You can set
your watch to it.

9:52, each and every
Sunday morning.

Benjamin Colón,
Attorney at Law emerges

from 9:00 mass looking

renewed and refreshed.

Monsignor Espinoza! Wow!
Ah, I see you're slumming it.

Huh, what,
they bump you

back down to
parish priest?

Aren't you supposed
to be working the door

at St. Patrick's
Cathedral?
Hey, hey.

Do not be a wise guy.
Remember who I work for?

Ah, indeed, indeed.

So good to
see you, Father.

What brings you back down here?

You.

Your church needs
your help, Benny.

Mm. Promise you,
Monsignor,

I'm putting every dime
I can spare in that plate.

I mean professionally.

One of our parish priests
out on the end of Long Island,

Father Andy Tincher,

has been charged
in a hit-and-run.

Victim was a young woman
out jogging with her sister.

Yeah, I read about that.
Absolutely tragic.

But, I mean, what can I do?

I have to believe the diocese's
attorneys have it all covered,

and frankly,
from everything I've read,

the best move, maybe,
is to get your guys in there

and have them work out

a plea deal.

It's-it's a bit more
complicated than that.

They hit someone,

drove right to this church,
and then went to confession?

No, no, it was
a church van.

Whoever it was,
was driving a church van,

so they drove straight
back to the church,

Father Andy saw whoever it was,
saw that they were upset,

got them to
confess to him,

then tried to get
them to call 911.

And they wouldn't?Nope.

Worse still, the driver
didn't even know

if the victim was alive or dead.

So Father Andy did
the only thing he could do.

So why didn't the
priest call 911?

Well, the Confessional Seal
demands that a priest

never reveal anything disclosed
to him during confession.

Father Andy thought
the victim might be

suffering on the side
of some dark road,

so he got back in
the van to find her

and see if
he could help.

With a blood alcohol
count of .09.

Fine, he-he's guilty
of drunk driving,

no one is disputing that, but
the rest of it is exactly why

Monsignor Espinoza
needs our help.

He knows how this is
gonna sound to a jury.

Oh, Benny.
No, Bull,

you're not, you're not
hearing me.

This isn't just about
a hit-and-run.

This is about the Church--
the Roman Catholic Church,

the largest Christian church
in the world--

going to court to protect
the sanctity of confession,

one of the bedrock principles

of the religion,
and they want you and me

to make that case for them.

I feel terribly for
the poor woman's family.

I mean, trying to grieve
with all of this going on?

I think it's just best we
focus on the defense, Father.

As I'm sure
you know, Father,

as officers of the court,
there are any number

of privileges
that we deal with.

Attorney-client.
Doctor-patient.

But the Confessional Seal
is considerably broader

than what we've
worked with before.

So I just need to get a sense
of how big a blind spot it is

we're dealing
with here.

Of course, of course. Fire away.

So this someone, whose
name you can't share,

hits the woman
with the church van,

comes back here
and confesses.

Yeah.

And after that,
how did they leave?

Excuse me? I don't follow.

I-I think what

Dr. Bull is asking is,
what occurred

after the sacrament
of confession was performed?

Maybe there are some things
that you can tell us,

without violating the Seal,
that can help us

find the person
who actually did this.

I mean, wouldn't that
be the best

outcome for all of us?

I don't think I'm
gonna be much help here.

I mean...

if this had occurred

in the confessional booth,

I couldn't divulge information
about the confessor

as they left the church

because they're on the
other side of the curtain.

It's designed that way
on purpose.

I'm not supposed to see
who's offering the confession.

But this confession

didn't take place
in a confessional booth.

It was in the church driveway.

I don't think where you confess
makes a difference to God.

Have you had any contact
with the driver

since he or she
made the confession?

It feels like these questions
are really all just an effort

to get to the identity
of the confessor,

which you have to understand,

I'm not at liberty to disclose.

I mean, not without
violating the spirit

of the Confessional Seal.

Father Andy, I don't know
what to tell you.

You were caught

in the van with
the victim's blood on it.

You were drunk.

You're being charged
with vehicular manslaughter,

leaving the scene
of an accident,

and driving under the influence.

The prosecution
has a very strong case.

Now, I'm not asking you
to break your vows

or the Confessional Seal,

but I can't defend you if you
won't help defend yourself.

Huh?

You just-- you got to give me
something to work with.

I'll understand
if you can't help me.

Will you really?

You're willing to spend
15 or 20 years in prison

for something you didn't do?

Do you believe in God, Dr. Bull?

Well, when I'm on a plane

and there's a lot of turbulence,

I sometimes wish I'd gone
to church a bit more,

but day in and day out?

Confession is a...
is a gift of grace

and a way back to God
for those who are lost.

It saves lives and souls.

I understand.

This is not a choice
for me, gentlemen.

I mean, confession's
not an obstacle to overcome

so you can catch
whoever did this.

It's-it's an essential step
on the path to redemption

for that tortured soul
who killed that woman.

So, no.

I can't give you
something to work with.

I'm doing the only thing

I know how.

I'm putting my trust in God.

Thing that makes
turbulence so frightening

is you never
see it coming.

Mr. Colón and I would be pleased
to represent you, Father.

♪

Ah. Don't think I've ever
tried a case in Suffolk County.

Well, that's the judge,
uh, there's the jury,

and we sit here.
Mm.

All right. So what's the plan?

Win.

Well, we need to make sure
whoever ends up in that jury box

understand the only reason
Father Andy was in that van

was because he made a solemn vow
he could not break.

Well, that doesn't
sound so tough.

People understand vows.

Marriage vows...

Well, you would
be surprised.

For most people, the idea
of going to prison

just to keep a promise,
that's gonna be a tough sell.

And it's not like we can put
Father Andy on the stand.

Why not? I can't imagine
a more trustworthy witness.

Well, the problem is he's
not gonna be able to answer

the questions the other
side is gonna ask,

and the jury's gonna
hold that against him.

They're gonna feel like he's
hiding something, which he is.

Even if it's for
the right reasons?

Trust me, it's human nature.

If someone's got a secret,
we want to know what it is.

What about these jurors?

I'm assuming we're
looking for Catholics,

or at the very least,
regular churchgoers?

Not necessarily.
Believe it or not,

church attendance is not always
such a great indicator

of a person's spiritual life.

I see that you attend
Hope Baptist Church?

17 years. Every Sunday.

That may be what she's doing

on Sundays,
but the rest of the week,

she's having an
"emotional affair" via text

with a man from Albuquerque
she's never met,

and who her husband
is totally unaware of.

What we want are
moral objectivists.

Jurors with a strong
internal code

that doesn't change
with societal whims

and bureaucratic rules.

They're duty bound,
they know the value of a secret,

and more importantly, expect
everyone to keep their word.

Good morning, sir.

I see, from your
jury questionnaire

that you have
a 14-year-old daughter.

I do.

By any chance,
does she keep a diary?

She calls it a journal.Ah.

You ever think
about looking at it?

Reading it?

No. That's not...

What if

you were worried about her?

Something going on behaviorally

and she won't
talk to you about?

No. I couldn't.

It's hers.

Your Honor,

this juror is acceptable
to the defense.

And this is my domain.

Is this where someone would come

if they wanted
to check out the van?

If we still had one,

and you wanted to use it,
this is where you would come.

And the drivers?

Well, there's Father Andy,
of course,

and me, and eight others
are authorized to take it.

I'll get you the names.

How do you keep track of who
has the van at any given time?

Oh, well, every trip is entered
on the calendar.

We don't want our choir stranded

because someone decided to get
groceries for the kitchen.

And the key?

We keep it in here.

Only authorized drivers
are given the combination.

And we have this log,

which is where they're supposed
to sign out

whenever they take the key.

Unfortunately,
no one signed out

the night of the accident.

Oh, my gosh!

There he is.

Jacob. Harvard?

Oh, that is amazing.

I have been praying
you would hear good news.

Thanks.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

In the meantime,
we're all starving here.

Pizza should be
arriving any minute.

I'll get you your petty cash.

Oh. Give me a second.

I understand you also had
an opportunity to examine

the vehicle involved,
the St. Bernadine's church van?

Yes, I did.

And this wasn't
your first encounter

with this particular vehicle,
was it?

No.

Can you
tell us about it?

I stopped to assist Father Andy
two years ago.

He was in the same van

on the side of the road
with a flat tire.

Was there anything unusual
about this interaction?

He had clearly been drinking.

Your Honor?

May we approach?

Your Honor,

this is impermissible
character evidence.

We all know that
the prosecution isn't permitted

to prove conduct
through a prior bad act.

Defense counsel asserted
in his opening statement

that the defendant
never would have driven drunk

but for the alleged confession.

He opened the door to this.

We're permitted--
in fact, we're obligated--

to refute that defense.

I'm gonna allow it.

And did you arrest the defendant
at that time? Cite him?

No.

He was a priest,
and I felt sorry for him,

so I drove him
back to the church.

No further questions,
Your Honor.

So how bad is it?

How bad would you like it?

We've lost them all.

Not a single green in the bunch.

I never
put it together.

Not even when the
officer took the stand.

I-It's not like he, he asked me
if I'd been drinking, or...

It's not like he gave me

a breathalyzer test.

I-I was trying to change a tire
and he came over to help.

And, like, a
minute in, he said,

"How about I just give you
a ride back to the church?"

I'm guessing he could
smell it on you.

It's not like that.
I-I'd come from a wedding.

No. Sorry. It is like that.

You're on trial for murder,
for killing a young woman

while driving
under the influence.

I wasn't drunk.

I think I'd had two glasses
of wine. Maybe three...

Father Andy,
we really need to know,

are there gonna be
any other surprises?

No. I'm certain of it. No.

Unfortunately, Officer Avery's
testimony made it sound

like this was
a pattern of behavior.

I'm gonna need you
to take the stand.

Uh... what would be the point?

I mean, what would
you want me to say?

The truth.

I need you to talk about
the night of the flat tire.

There's no confession involved.

You don't need to talk
about anybody but yourself.

It'll give the jurors a chance
to see who you really are.

That you're forthcoming.

That you're not afraid
to take the witness stand,

and most importantly,

that you're not someone
who normally drinks and drives.

And what happens if they start
asking about the hit-and-run?

We'll invoke
the cleric-penitent privilege.

What choice do we have?

So,

at this
particular reception,

how many drinks
would you say you had?

Two.

Maybe three-- glasses of wine.

Two? Maybe three?

You don't remember?

I mean, w-was it two or three?

Well, truthfully,
I can't be sure.

It was over two years ago.

Well, you testified that you-you
really don't drink that often.

So I would think that you would
remember if it was two or three.

Maybe I'll just answer "three"
next time.

Ask me something else.

So it's your testimony, Father,

that the only two times

that you've been stopped
by law enforcement

happened to also be the only
two times that you've drank

and then got behind
the wheel of a car?

I-I... Now, I know
how that sounds.

I've-I've heard all the stories
and all the jokes about

drunken priests.

Go to a wedding,
everybody's dressed up,

everybody's there
to have a good time.

And there I am, with my collar
and my vows and my Bible,

and I'm-I'm a-a silent reminder

to everyone, uh,
not to have too much fun.

Not to have too good a time.

And what I've discovered
over the years is that

if I'm holding
a glass of something--

i-if I'm holding
a glass of anything--

people relax a little bit.

They-they forget a little bit.

Okay. That's better.

That's warmer,
it's a touch more human.

But frankly, the jury doesn't
want to hear excuses,

or that you drink to make them
feel more comfortable.

A woman is dead.

And you know what happened
and you won't tell anyone

and you're asking for a pass.

And so what I want in return--
what, what they want in return--

is to feel that they know you.

To feel that they can trust you.

Okay. How do I do that?

Take ownership of your mistakes.

"I drank too much. Period.

"I should not have
driven myself home. Period.

"I vowed to never
do it again.

"Period.
The night of the hit-and-run

"is a completely
different thing. Period.

"There was a woman on the side
of the road who needed help

and I was determined
to help her. Period."

Is this the way
you always do it,

prepare people for court?

I mean, you
raise your voice?

You taunt them?

Or is this just for me?

No.

I have a complicated
relationship

with organized religion,

and I think I projected that
onto you.

Hmm.

Well, you're in good company.

A lot of people have problems
with organized religion.

No, I don't have a problem
with organized religion.

It has a problem with me.

Catholic?

Baptist.

Hmm.

I went every Sunday.

I started singing in the choir
in eighth grade.

Those were tough years for me.

I carried around a lot of shame.

I wasn't sure who I was,

and when I started getting
surer, I wasn't sure I liked it.

I can't count the number of
nights that I'd go to sleep

praying to God
that he would fix me.

It was pretty clear that...

I was no longer welcome.

And I got to admit...

I miss it.

But now I guess you could say

that my relationship with God
is my own.

Hmm.

Well, good for you.

I'm glad you didn't
give up on God

because your church
gave up on you.

Now, ask me another question.

I'm telling you,

anyone could have taken
that van key, authorized or not.

Well here's a crazy idea.

What if we forget about the who.

Maybe just concentrate
on the where.

I'm not following.

Well, I was thinking,
if I could just figure out

where the van had been
and where the van was heading,

it might help us
identify the driver.

You can do that?Already did.

The van has an onboard
navigation system,

which I was able
to access remotely.

The cool thing is,
any time the vehicle is on,

the system notes
and records its location

whether you're asking it
for directions or not.

We know the location
of the hit-and-run.

So what I've been doing
is looking for other trips

that used that road,
passed by that location.

And...?

And I found two others.

Both stopped
at the same address.

Do they correlate with any
other entries in the log pages?

They do not.

If you give me that address,
I'll go over and check it out,
see what I can find out.

Just e-mailed it to you.

So Officer Avery didn't actually
administer a breathalyzer test?

No. He didn't.

Or conduct any kind
of field sobriety testing?

No. Uh, but I-I still think
Officer Avery

did the right thing,
driving me home.

I'd had a few glasses of wine.

And, uh, I-I really
shouldn't have driven.

It was a mistake, and one
that I don't take lightly.

I don't make a habit
of drinking and driving.

Although, I-I do understand
how it must look.

And yet, you did drink and drive

on the night
of Ms. Newhouse's death.

Yes, I did.

And I plead guilty to that.

Father, can you please
explain to the court

how you ended up behind
the wheel of the van that night?

I was in my office.

Uh, typically,

Thursdays are
the only night that, uh,

I have any time to myself.

I have a Scotch.

I started to read.

A window was open

and I heard the parish van
drive up behind the rectory.

I didn't remember there being
anything scheduled.

To be honest, I didn't even know
that someone had taken it.

So I walked down
to see who it was.

And what did you find?

The driver-- this person--

was very upset.

Panicked.

And they confessed to me

that they had struck a woman
with the van.

And what did you do?

I gave absolution.

And then I pleaded
with the driver to call 911.

And did they?

The person-- the-the driver--

they were pretty distraught.

They were quite hysterical.

And I realized that this person

was not capable
of making that call.

So did you make it?

Did you call 911

when the driver refused to?

No.

No. The Confessional Seal
can't be broken.

So I couldn't.

And all I kept thinking about

was this woman
that I had just heard about.

And I-I had a...
only a vague description

of where all of this happened.

And the only thing
I could think to do

was to get in the van
and go look for her myself.

Father Andy...

were you driving the van

when it struck and killed
Morgan Newhouse?

When you called me up here,

you had me place my hand
on the Holy Bible.

And I swore
that I would tell the truth.

So here it is.

I was not in that van when
it struck poor Ms. Newhouse.

And I certainly was not driving
that van when it struck her.

I did get in it
and go look for her.

And I had a drink
shortly before.

I know how much it must ache

not to know
what happened.

I know
how it pains me

not to be able to tell you.

But God has a plan.

I believe that
with all my heart.

Thank you, Father.

No further questions,
Your Honor.

Drumroll, please...

They like him.

They sense
he's telling the truth.

We've won back three jurors.

Hmm.

Father Andy...

let me make sure
I understood you.

On the night in question,

you went down to the van.

This alleged driver did not
seek you out. Is that correct?

Yes, that's correct.

Okay, then.

Now that we've
cleared that up,

I have
just one question for you.

If you weren't driving the van
that killed Morgan Newhouse...

who was?Objection!

Your Honor,
as we've previously established,

this information is protected

by the cleric-penitent
privilege.

I disagree, Your Honor.

Would the attorneys please
approach the bench?

Your Honor, based on
Father Andrew's testimony

just moments ago, the privilege
doesn't apply in this case.

To meet the legal threshold,

the penitent must be
intentionally seeking

spiritual guidance
and absolution.

Your client just admitted

that it was he
who sought out the driver,

not the other way around.

Well, that's ridiculous.

It's obvious what the intent
of the law is, Your Honor.

Mr. Colón,
I understand your argument,

but since the language
of the statute

doesn't support your position,

I'm going to have to side
with Mr. Madden.

I'm sorry, but no privilege
will be granted

with regard to
your client's testimony.

I sense some turbulence coming.

The witness is instructed
to answer the question.

I'm sorry, Your Honor.

I cannot answer.

Father Andy,

the court ruled

that the clergy-penitent
privilege doesn't apply.

For the second time,

you are instructed
to answer the question.

Again-- I apologize
to the court--

but the Confessional Seal
forbids it.

My vow to the Church forbids it.

My oath to God forbids it.

This is your last chance.

If you don't
answer the question,

I will be forced to hold you
in contempt of court.

I'm sorry.

I answer to God and the Vatican.

Unfortunately for you,
this is not a court of God.

This is a court of law.

I'm holding you
in contempt of court.

And because you won't allow
yourself to be cross-examined,

your previous
testimony

is stricken from the record.

Ladies and gentlemen
of the jury,

I instruct you to disregard
the testimony of the defendant

in its entirety.

You will not consider
anything he said

in your deliberations.

Take this man into custody.

I sought out this firm's help

for one reason
and one reason only.

The Church is committed
to protecting

the sanctity
of confession.

We cannot and we will not
allow a secular court

to render 20 centuries of
Catholic sacrament irrelevant.

Monsignor...

But as this trial has commenced,

it has degenerated

from a reasoned conversation

about a treasured
Catholic sacrament

into something else entirely.

Into a spectacle.

The news is filled

with revelations
of drunk driving.

A Catholic priest

paraded before the press
in handcuffs.

A growing
public belief

that the Church
is harboring a priest

who is wielding confession
as a shield

behind which to hide
his own criminal behavior.

Well, w-we know how it looks,
but...

the trial isn't over yet.

It is.

For us.

I am sorry,
gentlemen.

I know how hard you've worked.

You're firing us.
No.

I am directing you
to negotiate a plea.

The quicker the better.

The sooner this case

is no longer a part of
the public conversation,

the better it will be
for everyone.

Except possibly Father Andy.

The man's innocent.

Really?

You still believe that,

after everything we heard
in that courtroom?

And you wonder why you don't
see me in church on Sundays.

It's guys like this.

They're with you
through thin and thin.

Don't you dare judge me.

I have

296 parishes

to worry about.

Hey, Benny.
Help your friend out.

I think he's looking
for the high side of the boat.

It's out that door,
down the elevator

and right out onto the street.

And just to be clear...

whether you pay our bill or not,

Benny and I are going to be
representing Father Andy

in court,
defending his innocence.

Because-- and this might be
a novel concept,

but when we make a promise,

when we make a pledge...

we keep it.

Oh, relax.

You're going to be fine.

It's me.

I'm going to hell.

But then again, I always was.

Yes?
Hi. Sorry
to bother you.

My name's Danny James.

I'm an investigator
working on behalf of Father Andy

from St. Bernadine Church.

I'm trying to track down some
information on a hit-and-run

that occurred a few weeks back
on River Road.

Oh, of course.
I read about that, yeah.

Have you seen this vehicle?

We have reason to
believe it was actually

parked in front of your house

a little over
a month ago.

Yeah.

Uh, Jacob drove it here.

I think that's his church's.

They let him drive it sometimes.

Jacob?

Jacob Larson.

Oh, um...

We met at church camp
last summer.

He doesn't go to my school
or anything,

but we started
hanging out after that.

Do you still see him?

No.

Not for a few weeks, actually.

It wasn't serious or anything.

Or... maybe I thought it was
more serious than he did.

So, wait. You don't
see him anymore?

He got into Harvard.

And I guess
it kinda changed him.

How so?

Well, the day he got the letter,
he called me.

He was super excited,
because he got in. He got in!

And, um, he wanted to come over
that night and celebrate.

And then he just didn't show up.

And you haven't
talked to him since?

I... called him.

I texted him.

I even DM'd him on Instagram.

And... nothing.

Whatever.

I'm over it.

...and as it happens,

the quickest route
from St. Bernadine's

to Jessica's house
is River Road.

So Jacob would have driven right
by the scene of the accident.

Taylor, when did those Harvard
early admission notices go out?

E-mail notifications went
out Thursday the 29th.

Same day
as the hit-and-run.

So...

Jacob gets into Harvard.
He's thrilled.

He's on his way over
to see his girl,

he hits Morgan.
He panics.

Turns around,
heads back to the church,

and afterwards,
he is scared and guilt-ridden,

and cuts off all contact
with Jessica.

So... we cracked the case,
right?

Still waiting for
our "attagirls."

Well, I wouldn't say
you cracked it.

More like dinged
it a little.

It's great, but not enough
to save Father Andy.

No.

No, actually, we don't.

It's just a theory.

We can't actually prove anything

other than this Jacob
got into Harvard.

What else do we know
about this Jacob?

Lives with his mom,
straight-A student.

Spends a lot of time
at church

and volunteering,
and has never been in trouble.

So he's a good kid.

Not a cold-blooded killer.

Just someone who
made a horrible mistake.

Got to be... scared.

Riddled with guilt.

Dying to talk.

So what are you thinking?

I'm thinking this kid confessed
once before;

maybe we can get him
to do it again.

Can I help you?

Funny, I was about to
ask you the same thing.

Uh, I think you might be
in the wrong place.

I'm setting up
for a youth group.

There's a bulletin board outside
in the hall

that lists everything else
that's going on.

Nope. I'm in the right place.

You're Jacob, right?

My name's Dr. Jason Bull.

I'm part of Father Andy's
legal team.

I don't know if you've heard,

but things aren't going
very well.

How do you mean?

He's a priest.

Everyone knows he would never...Everybody knows what
they're told. Hmm?

Father Andy was driving the van.

He'd had a drink,
and a woman died.

will he go to prison

for 15 years or
will it be 20?

Will he die in prison or will he
live long enough to get out

and have a few years of freedom?

My guess is
it was a horrible accident.

What's your guess?

It was an e-mail from Harvard's
Office of Admissions.

It said that I got in.

Harvard.

That's quite an accomplishment.

You must have been very excited,
very proud.

I was.

And I was really grateful.

I had got a lot of help.

Encouragement from... my mom.

People at the church.

I'm the first person
in my family to go to college.

Or, uh, would have been.

I'm guessing
you wanted to celebrate.

I was dating this girl, Jessica.

I thought maybe
we could do something.

Nothing big, you know.
Just... hang out.

I didn't have any money
for an Uber or a taxi,

or anything.

And I-- St. Bernadine's
is just down the street.

And I knew the van
would be there.

And that wasn't the first time
you borrowed the van, was it?

No, I had...

taken it twice before
to see Jessica.

And what happened
after you borrowed the van?

I was driving...

and I got a text.

It wasn't even... really for me.

It was just an ad
for some stupid game.

And there was a thud.

At first I thought
it was a deer.

But then I looked up.

And what did you do?

I didn't do anything.

I knew I should,
I should get out.

Help her, but...

I didn't.

So you just sat there.

I turned around...

and I started driving
back to the church.

I just...

I wanted to get out of that van.

I wanted to make it
not have happened.

I'd just gotten the best
news of my life.

So you got back
to the church...

And I'm standing
in the parking lot.

I'm looking at the dent.

The blood.

And there's Father Andy.

It was like
God had already told him.

He said God would
forgive me for anything,

but I needed to confess.

So I did.

And then, he tried to get me
to call the police.

But all I could think of
was my mom and my friends

and my future.

I'm... so, so sorry.

I-I never meant to hurt
your sister, your daughter.

Anyone. Not my mom.

Not Father Andy.

No further questions,
Your Honor.

Mr. Madden, any questions?

Your Honor, in light of
this testimony,

we'd like to dismiss the charges
against Father Andrew Tincher.

And we'd also like to
seek an arrest warrant

for Jacob Larson in the felony
hit-and-run of Morgan Newhouse.

So ordered.

Just so you know, we're
gonna do everything we can

to get Jacob the
best deal possible.

You'd think
after all these years,

I'd have a better grasp
on how God works.

Still a mystery.

I was watching Jacob
on the stand,

and I...
I just kept wondering

maybe I'm just supposed to
plead guilty.

You don't really
believe that.

But you were willing to
do it, weren't you?

Give up one or two
decades of your life.

Walk all alone into a prison
for someone else.

I... I wouldn't have been alone.

I envy you.

You envy me?

Had myself a little heart
attack about six months ago

on the courthouse steps.

Not this courthouse...

I never would have known.

Funny thing is,
I was lying there,

ridiculous pain,
middle of the day,

people... walking by.

Mm-hmm.

And I looked up and I
didn't see any angels,

I didn't see...

some glorious white light.

I just saw a
patch of blue sky.

I was dying in the
middle of New York City...

and I was all alone.

Ah.

Yeah, I envy you.

You're never
alone, are you?

No, I'm not.

You know, Dr. Bull,

you could have that, too.

There's always a place
at the church for you.

You know, I'd be pleased to
help you find the way.

Well, that's a very
tempting offer, Father.

The thing is, as
I'm sure you know,

God moves people
in mysterious ways.

Uh-huh.

The way he moves me,
I just cannot

drag my butt out of bed
on a Sunday morning.

But like you said...

who are we to question
how God works?

You know you're going
to hell, right?

Yup. Already
booked my suite.

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