ROBERT Crowther, the real estate broker from Bryan & Crowther, opened the door with a flourish and announced, "Here's the terrace. You can look down on Coit Tower from here."
He watched the young husband and wife step outside and walk over to the balustrade. The view from there was magnificent, the city of San Francisco spread out far below them in a spectacular panorama. Robert Crowther saw the couple exchange a glance and a secret smile, and he was amused. They were trying to bide their excitement. The pattern was always the same: Prospective buyers believed that if they showed too much enthusiasm, the price would go up.
For this duplex penthouse, Crowther thought wryly, the price is high enough already. He was concerned about whether the couple could afford it. The man was a lawyer, and young lawyers did not make that much.
They were an attractive couple, obviously very much in love. David Singer was in his early thirties, blond and intelligent-looking, with an engaging boyishness about him. His wife, Sandra, was lovely looking and warm.
Robert Crowther had noticed the bulge around her stomach and had said, "The second guest room would be perfect for a nursery. There's a playground a block away and two schools in the neighborhood." He had watched them exchange that secret smile again.
The duplex penthouse consisted of an upstairs master bedroom with a bath and a guest room. On the first floor was a spacious living room, a dining room, a library, a kitchen, a second guest bedroom and two bathrooms. Almost every room had a view of the city.
Robert watched the two of them as they walked through the apartment again. They stood in a corner whispering.
"I love it," Sandra was saying to David. "And it would be great for the baby. But, darling, can we afford it? It's six hundred thousand dollars!"
"Plus maintenance," David added. "The bad news is that we can't afford it today. The good news is that we're going to be able to afford it on Thursday. The genie is coming out of the magic bottle, and our lives are going to change."
"I know," she said happily. "Isn't it wonderful!"
"Should we go ahead with it?" Sandra took a deep breath. "Let's go for it."
David grinned, waved a hand and said, "Welcome home. Miss. Singer."
Arm in arm, they walked over to where Robert Crowther was waiting. "We'll take it," David told him.
"Congratulations. It's one of the choicest residences in San Francisco. You're going to be very happy here."
"I'm sure we are."
"You're lucky. I have to tell you, we have a few other people who are very interested in it."
"How much of a down payment will you want?"
"A deposit of ten thousand dollars now will be fine. I'll have the papers drawn up. When you sign, we'll require another sixty thousand dollars. Your bank can work out a schedule of monthly payments on a twenty-or thirty-year mortgage." David glanced at Sandra. "Okay."
"I'll have the papers prepared."
"Can we look around once more?" Sandra asked eagerly.
Crowther smiled benevolently. "Take all the time you want, Mrs. Singer. It's yours."
"It all seems like a wonderful dream, David. I can't believe it's really happening."
"It's happening." David took her in his arms. "I want to make all your dreams come true."
"You do, darling."
They had been living in a small, two-bedroom apartment in the Marina District, but with the baby coming, it was going to be crowded. Until now, they could never have afforded the duplex on Nob Hill, but Thursday was partnership day at the international law firm of Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley, where David worked. Out of a possible twenty-five candidates, six would be chosen to enter the rarefied air of the firm's partnership, and everyone agreed that David was one of those who would be selected. Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley, with offices in San Francisco, New York, London, Paris and Tokyo, was one of the most prestigious law firms in the world, and it was usually the number one target for graduates of all the top law schools.
The firm used the stick-and-carrot approach on their young associates. The senior partners took merciless advantage of them, disregarding their hours and illnesses and handing the younger lawyers the donkey's work that they themselves did not want to be bothered with. It was a heavy pressure, twenty-four-hour-a-day job. That was the stick. Those who stayed on did so because of the carrot. The carrot was the promise of a partnership in the firm. Becoming a partner meant a larger salary, a piece of the huge corporate-profit pie, a spacious office with a view, a private washroom, assignments overseas and myriad other perks.
David had practiced corporate law with Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley for six years, and it had been a mixed blessing. The hours were horrific and the stress was enormous, but David, determined to hang in there for the partnership, had stayed and had done a brilliant job. Now the day was finally at hand.
When David and Sandra left the real estate agent, they went shopping. They bought a bassinet, highchair, stroller, playpen and clothes for the baby, whom they were already thinking of as Jeffrey. "Let's get him some toys," David said. "There's plenty of time for that." Sandra laughed. After shopping, they wandered around the city, walking along the waterfront at Ghirardelli Square, past the Cannery to Fisherman's Wharf. They had lunch at the American Bistro.
It was Saturday, a perfect San Francisco day for monogrammed leather briefcases and power ties, dark suits and discreetly monogrammed shirts, a day for power lunches and penthouses. A lawyer's day.
David and Sandra had met three years earlier at a small dinner party. David had gone to the party with the daughter of a client of the firm. Sandra was a paralegal, working for a rival firm. At dinner, Sandra and David had gotten into an argument about a decision that had been rendered in a political case in Washington. As the others at the dinner table watched, the argument between the two of them had become more and more heated. And in the middle of it, David and Sandra realized that neither of them cared about the court's decision. They were showing off for each other, engaged in a verbal mating dance.
David telephoned Sandra the next day. "I'd like to finish discussing that decision," David said. "I think it's important."
"So do I," Sandra agreed. "Could we talk about it at dinner tonight?" Sandra hesitated. She had already made a dinner date for that evening. "Yes," she said. "Tonight will be fine."
They were together from that night on. One year from the day they met, they were married.
Joseph Kincaid, the firm's senior partner, had given David the weekend off.
David's salary at Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley was $45,000 a year. Sandra kept her job as a paralegal. But now, with the baby coming, their expenses were about to go up.
"I'll have to give up my job in a few months," Sandra said. "I don't want a nanny bringing up our baby, darling. I want to be here for him." The sonogram had shown that the baby was a boy.
"We'll be able to handle it," David assured her. The partnership was going to transform their lives.
David had begun to put in even longer hours. He wanted to make sure that he was not overlooked on partnership day.
Thursday morning, as David got dressed, he was watching the news on television.
An anchorman was saying breathlessly, "We have a breaking story.... Ashley Patterson, the daughter of the prominent San Francisco doctor Steven Patterson, has been arrested as the suspected serial killer the police and the FBI have been searching for...." David stood in front of the television set, frozen. "... last night Santa Clara County Sheriff Matt Dowling announced Ashley Patterson's arrest for a series of murders that included bloody castrations. Sheriff Dowling told reporters, 'There's no doubt that we have the right person. The evidence is conclusive.' "
Dr. Steven Patterson. David's mind went back, remembering the past...
He was twenty-one years old and just starting law school. He came home from class one day to find his mother on the bedroom floor, unconscious. He called 911, and an ambulance took his mother to San Francisco Memorial Hospital. David waited outside the emergency room until a doctor came to talk to him. "Is she—Is she going to be all right?" The doctor hesitated. "We had one of our cardiologists examine her. She has a ruptured cord in her mitral valve."
"What does that mean?" David demanded. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do for her. She's too weak to have a transplant, and mini heart surgery is new and too risky."
David felt suddenly faint "How—how long can she—?"
"I'd say a few more days, maybe a week. I'm sorry, son."
David stood there, panicky. "Isn't there anyone who can help her?"
"I'm afraid not. The only one who might have been able to help is Steven Patterson, bat he's a very—"
"Who's Steven Patterson?"
"Dr. Patterson pioneered minimally invasive heart surgery. But between his schedule and his research, there's no chance that—" David was gone.
He called Dr. Patterson's office from a pay phone in the hospital corridor. "I'd like to make an appointment with Dr. Patterson. It's for my mother. She—"
"I'm sorry. We're not accepting any new appointments. The first available time would be six months from now."
"She doesn't have six months," David shouted. "I'm sorry. I can refer you to—" David slammed down the phone. The following morning David went to Dr. Patterson's office. The waiting room was crowded. David walked up to the receptionist. "I'd like to make an appointment to see Dr. Patterson. My mother's very ill and—"
She looked up at him and said, "You called yesterday, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"I told you then. We don't have any appointments open, and we're not making any just now."
"I'll wait," David said stubbornly. "You can't wait. The doctor is—" David took a seat. He watched the people in the waiting room being called into the inner office one by one until finally he was the only one left.
At six o'clock, the receptionist said, "There's no point in waiting any longer. Dr. Patterson has gone home."
David went to visit his mother in intensive care that evening.
"You can only stay a minute," a nurse warned him. "She's very weak."
David stepped inside the room, and his eyes filled with tears. His mother was attached to a respirator with tubes running into her arms and through her nose. She looked whiter than the sheets she lay on. Her eyes were closed.
David moved close to her and said, "It's me, Mom. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You're going to be fine." Tears were running down his cheeks. "Do you hear me? We're going to fight this thing. Nobody can lick the two of us, not as long as we're together. I'm going to get you the best doctor in the world. You just hang in there. I'll be back tomorrow." He bent down and gently kissed her cheek. Will she be alive tomorrow?
The following afternoon, David went to the garage in the basement of the building where Dr. Patterson had his offices. An attendant was parking cars. He came up to David. "May I help you?"
"I'm waiting for my wife," David said. "She's seeing Dr. Patterson." The attendant smiled. "He's a great guy."
"He was telling us about some fancy car that he owns." David paused, trying to remember. "Was it a Cadillac?" The attendant shook his head. "No." He pointed to a Rolls-Royce parked in the corner. "It's that Rolls over there."
David said, "Right. I think he said he has a Cadillac, too."
"Wouldn't surprise me," the attendant said. He hurried off to park an incoming car.
David walked casually toward the Rolls. When he was sure no one was watching, he opened the door, slipped into the backseat and got down on the floor. He lay there, cramped and uncomfortable, willing Dr. Patterson to come out
At 6:15, David felt a slight jar as the front door of the car opened and someone moved into the driver's seat. He heard the engine start, and then the car began to move. "Good night. Dr. Patterson."
"Good night, Marco."
The car left the garage, and David felt it turn a corner. He waited for two minutes, then took a deep breath and sat up.
Dr. Patterson saw him in the rearview mirror. He said calmly, "If this is a holdup, I have no cash with me."
"Turn onto a side street and pull over to the curb." Dr. Patterson nodded. David watched warily as the doctor turned the car onto a side street, pulled over to the curb and stopped.
"I'll give you what cash I have on me," Dr. Patterson said. "You can take the car. There's no need for violence. If—"
David had slid into the front seat. "This isn't a holdup. I don't want the car."
Dr. Patterson was looking at him with annoyance. "What the hell do you want?"
"My name is Singer. My mother's dying. I want you to save her."
There was a flicker of relief on Dr. Patterson's face, replaced by a look of anger. "Make an appointment with my—"
"There's no time to make a goddamn appointment" David was yelling. "She's going to die, and I'm not going to let that happen." He was fighting to control himself. "Please. The other doctors told me you're the only hope we have."
Dr. Patterson was watching him, still wary. "What's her problem?"
"She has a—a ruptured cord in her mitral valve. The doctors are afraid to operate. They say that you're the only one who can save her life." Dr. Patterson shook his head. "My schedule—"
"I don't give a shit about your schedule! This is my mother. You've got to save her! She's all have...."
There was a long silence. David sat there, his eyes tightly shut. He heard Dr. Patterson's voice.
"I won't promise a damn thing, but I'll see her. Where is she?"
David turned to look at him. "She's in the intensive care unit at San Francisco Memorial Hospital."
"Meet me there at eight o'clock tomorrow morning." David had difficulty finding his voice. "I don't know how to—"
"Remember, I'm not promising anything. And don't appreciate being scared out of my wits, young man. Next time, try the telephone."
David sat there, rigid. Dr. Patterson looked at him. "What?"
"There's another problem."
"Oh, really?"
"I—I don't have any money. I'm a law student, and I'm working my way through law school." Dr. Patterson was staring at him. David said passionately, "I swear I'll find a way to pay you back. If it takes all my life, I'll see that you get paid know how expensive you are, and I—"
"I don't think you do, son."
"I have no one else to torn to, Dr. Patterson. I—I'm begging you." There was another silence. "How many years of law school have you had?"
"None. I'm just starting."
"But you expect to be able to pay me back?"
"I swear it."
"Get the hell out."
When David got home, he was certain he was going to be picked up by the police for kidnapping, threatening bodily harm, God only knew what. But nothing happened. The question in his mind was whether Dr. Patterson was going to show up at the hospital.
When David walked into the intensive care ward the next morning. Dr. Patterson was there, examining David's mother.
David watched, his heart pounding, his throat dry.
Dr. Patterson turned to one of a group of doctors standing there. "Get her up to the operating room, Al. Stat!"
As they started to slide David's mother onto a gurney, David said hoarsely, "Is she—?"
"We'll see."
Six hours later, David was in the waiting room when Dr. Patterson approached him.
David jumped to his feet. "How is—?" He was afraid to finish the question.
"She's going to be fine. Your mother's a strong lady."
David stood there, filled with an overpowering sense of relief. He breathed a silent prayer. Thank you, God.
Dr. Patterson was watching him. "I don't even know your first name."
"David, sir."
"Well, David sir, do you know why decided to do this?"
"No…"
"Two reasons. Your mother's condition was a challenge for me. I like challenges. The second reason was you."
"I—I don't understand."
"What you did was the kind of thing I might have done myself when I was younger. You showed imagination. Now"—his tone changed—"you said you were going to repay me." David's heart sank. "Yes, sir. One day—"
"How about now?" David swallowed. "Now?"
"I'll make you a deal. Do you know how to drive?"
"Yes, sir..."
"All right. I get tired of driving that big car around. You drive me to work every morning and pick me up at six or seven o'clock every evening for one year. At the end of that time, I'll consider my fee paid...."
That was the deal. David drove Dr. Patterson to the office and back home every day, and in exchange. Dr. Patterson saved the life of David's mother.
During that year, David learned to revere Dr. Patterson. Despite the doctor's occasional outbursts of temper, he was the most selfless man David had ever known. He was heavily involved in charity work and donated his spare time to free clinics. Driving to and from the office or hospital, he and David had long talks. "What kind of law are you studying, David?"
"Criminal law."
"Why? So you can help the damn scoundrels get off scot-free?"
"No, sir. There are a lot of honest people caught up in the law who need help want to help them."
When the year was up. Dr. Patterson shook David's hand and said, "We're even...."
David had not seen Steven Patterson in years, but he kept coming across his name.
"Dr. Steven Patterson opened a free clinic for babies with AIDS...."
"Dr. Steven Patterson arrived in Kenya today to open the Patterson Medical Center...."
"Work on the Patterson Charity Shelter began today... "
He seemed to be everywhere, donating his time and his money to those who needed him.
Sandra's voice shook David out of his reverie. "David. Are you all right?"
He turned away from the television set "They've just arrested Steven Patterson's daughter for those serial killings."
Sandra said, "That's terrible! I'm so sorry, darling."
"He gave Mother seven more years of a wonderful life. It's unfair that anything like that should happen to a man like him. He's the greatest gentleman I've ever known, Sandra. He doesn't deserve this. How could he have a monster like that for a daughter?" He looked at his watch. "Damn! I'm going to be late."
"You haven't had breakfast."
"I'm too upset to eat." He glanced toward the television set. "This... and today's partnership day...."
"You're going to get it. There's no question about."
"There's always a question about it, honey. Every year, someone who's supposed to be a shoo-in winds up in the loser's box."
She bugged him and said, "They'll be lucky to have you."
He leaned over and kissed her. "Thanks, baby. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'll never have to. You'll call me as soon as you get the news, won't you, David?"
"Of course I will. We'll go out and celebrate." And the words reverberated in his mind. Years ago, he had said to someone else, "We'll go out and celebrate. " And he had lolled her.
The offices of Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley occupied three floors in the TransAmerica Pyramid in downtown San Francisco. When David Singer walked through the doors, he was greeted with knowing smiles. It seemed to him that there was even a different quality in the "good mornings." They knew they were addressing a future partner in the firm.
On the way to his small office, David passed the newly decorated office that would belong to one of the chosen partners, and he could not resist looking inside. It was a large, beautiful office with a private washroom, a desk and chairs facing a picture window with a magnificent view of the Bay. He stood there a moment, drinking it in.
When David walked into his office, his secretary, Holly, said, "Good morning, Mr. Singer." There was a lilt in her voice. "Good morning, Holly."
"I have a message for you."
"Yes?"
"Mr. Kincaid would like to see you in his office at five o'clock." She broke into a broad smile.
So it was really happening. "Great!"
She moved closer to David and said, "I think I should also tell you, I had coffee with Dorothy, Mr. Kincaid's secretary, this morning. She says you're at the top of the list."
David grinned. "Thanks, Holly."
"Would you like some coffee?"
"Love it."
"Hot and strong, coming up." David walked over to his desk. It was heaped with briefs and contracts and files.
Today was the day. Finally. "Mr. Kincaid would like to see you in his office at five o'clock.... You're at the top of the list."
He was tempted to telephone Sandra with the news. Something held him back. I'll wait until it happens, he thought.
David spent the next two hours dealing with the material on his desk. At eleven o'clock. Holly came in. "There's a Dr. Patterson here to see you. He has no app—"
He looked up in surprise. "Dr. Patterson is here?"
"Yes."
David rose. "Send him in."
Steven Patterson came in, and David tried to conceal his reaction. The doctor looked old and tired.
"Hello, David."
"Dr. Patterson. Please, sit down." David watched him slowly take a chair. "I saw the news this morning. I—can't tell you how very sorry I am."
Dr. Patterson nodded wearily. "Yes. It's been quite a blow." He looked up. "I need your help, David."
"Of course," David said eagerly. "Anything I can do. Anything."
"I want you to represent Ashley." It took a moment for the words to sink in. "I—I can't do that I'm not a criminal defense lawyer."
Dr. Patterson looked him in the eye and said, "Ashley's not a criminal."
"I—You don't understand, Dr. Patterson. I'm a corporate lawyer. I can recommend an excellent—"
"I've already had calls from half a dozen top criminal defense lawyers. They all want to represent her." He leaned forward in his chair. "But they're not interested in my daughter, David. This is a high-profile case, and they're looking for the limelight. They don't give a damn about her. I do. She's all I have."
"I want you to save my mother's life. She's all I have." David said, "I really want to help you, but—"
"When you got out of law school, you went to work for a criminal law firm."
David's heart began to beat faster. ' "That's true, but—" "You were a criminal defense lawyer for several years."
David nodded. "Yes, but I—I gave it up. That was a long time ago and—"
"Not that long ago, David. And you told me how much you loved it. Why did you quit and go into corporate law?"
David sat there, silent for a moment. "It's not important."
Dr. Patterson took out a handwritten letter and banded it to David. David knew what it said, without reading it.
Dear Dr. Patterson,
There are no words that can ever express bow much I owe you and how much I appreciate your great generosity. If there's ever anything at all that I can do for you, all you have to do is ask me, and it shall be done without question.
David stared at the letter without seeing it. "David, will you talk to Ashley?" David nodded. "Yes, of course I'll talk to her, but-"
Dr. Patterson rose. "Thank you." David watched him walk out the door.
"Why did you quit and go into corporate law?"
Because I made a mistake, and an innocent woman I loved is dead. I swore I would never take anyone's life in my hands again. Ever.
I can't defend Ashley Patterson.
David pressed down the intercom button. "Holly, would you ask Mr. Kincaid if he can see me now?"
"Yes, sir."
Thirty minutes later, David was walking into the elaborate offices of Joseph Kincaid. Kincaid was in his sixties, a gray monochrome of a man, physically, mentally and emotionally.
"Well," he said as David walked in the door, "you're an anxious young fellow, aren't you? Our meeting wasn't supposed to be until five o'clock."
David approached the desk. "I know. I came here to discuss something else, Joseph." Years ago, David had made the mistake of calling him Joe, and the old man had had a fit. "Don't you ever call me Joe."
"Sit down, David."
David took a seat.
"Cigar? They're from Cuba."
"No, thanks."
"What's on your mind?"
"Dr. Steven Patterson was just in to see me."
Kincaid said, "He was on the news this morning. Damned shame. What did he want with you?"
"He asked me to defend his daughter."
Kincaid looked at David, surprised. "You're not a criminal defense lawyer."
"I told him that."
"Well, then." Kincaid was thoughtful for a moment "You know. I'd like to get Dr. Patterson as a client. He's very influential. He could bring a lot of business to this firm. He has connections with several medical organizations that—"
"There's more."
Kincaid looked at David, quizzically. "Oh?"
"I promised him I'd talk to his daughter."
"I see. Well, I suppose there's no harm in that. Talk to her, and then we'll find a good defense attorney to represent her."
"That's my plan."
"Good. We'll be building up some points with him. You go ahead." He smiled. "I'll see you at five o'clock."
"Right. Thank you, Joseph."
As David walked back to his office, he wondered to himself. Why in the world would Dr. Patterson insist on having me represent his daughter?
AT the Santa Clara County Jail, Ashley Patterson sat in her cell, too traumatized to try to make sense of how she got there. She was fiercely glad that she was in jail because the bars would keep out whoever was doing this to her. She wrapped the cell around herself like a blanket, trying to ward off the awful, inexplicable things that were happening to her. Her whole life had become a screaming nightmare. Ashley thought of all the mysterious events that had been happening: Someone breaking into her apartment and playing tricks on her... the trip to Chicago... the writing on her mirror... and now the police accusing her of unspeakable things she knew nothing about. There was some terrible conspiracy against her, but she had no idea who could be behind it or why.
Early that morning one of the guards had come to Ashley's cell. "Visitor."
The guard had led Ashley to the visitors' room, where her father was waiting for her.
He stood there, looking at her, his eyes grief stricken. "Honey...I don't know what to say."
Ashley whispered, "I didn't do any of the terrible things they said I did."
"I know you didn't. Someone's made an awful mistake, but we're going to straighten everything out."
Ashley looked at her father and wondered how she could have ever thought he was the guilty one.
"... don't you worry," he was saying. "Everything's going to be fine. I am getting a lawyer for you. David Singer. He's one of the brightest young men I know. He'll be coming to see you. I want you to tell him everything."
Ashley looked at her father and said hopelessly, "Father, I—I don't know what to tell him. I don't know what's happening."
"We'll get to the bottom of this, baby. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. No one! Ever! You mean too much to me. You're all I have, honey."
"And you're all I have," Ashley whispered.
Ashley's father stayed for another hour. When he left, Ashley's world narrowed down to the small cell she was confined in. She lay on her cot, forcing herself not to think about anything. This will be over soon, and I'll find that this is only a dream.... Only a dream... Only a dream... She slept.
The voice of a guard awakened her. "You have a visitor."
She was taken to the visitors' room, and Shane Miller was there, waiting. He rose as Ashley entered. "Ashley..." Her heart began to pound. "Oh, Shane!" She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Somehow she had known that he would come and free her, that he would arrange for than to let her go. "Shane, I'm so glad to see you!"
"I'm glad to see you," Shane said awkwardly. He looked around the drab visitors' room. "Although I must say, not under these circumstances. When I heard the news, I—I couldn't believe it. What happened? What made you do it, Ashley?"
The color slowly drained from her face. "What made me—? Do you think that I—?"
"Never mind," Shane said quickly. "Don't say any more. You shouldn't talk to anyone but your attorney."
Ashley stood there, staring at him. He believed she was guilty. "Why did you come here?"
"Well, I—I hale to do this now, but under—under the circumstances, I—the company—is terminating you. I mean... naturally, we can't afford to be connected with anything like this. It's had enough that the newspapers have already mentioned that you work for Global. You understand, don't you? There's nothing personal in this."
* * *
Driving down to San Jose, David Singer decided what he was going to say to Ashley Patterson. He would find oat what he could from her and then turn the information over to Jesse Quiller, one of the best criminal defense lawyers in the country. If anyone could help Ashley, it was Jesse.
David was ushered into the office of Sheriff Dowling. He handed the sheriff his card. "I'm an attorney. I'm here to see Ashley Patterson and—"
"She's expecting you." David looked at him in surprise. "She is?"
"Yeah." Sheriff Dowling turned to a deputy and nodded.
The deputy said to David, "This way." He led David into the visitors' room, and a few minutes later, Ashley was brought in from her cell.
Ashley Patterson was a complete surprise to David. He had met her once years ago, when he was in law school, chauffeuring her father. She had struck David as being an attractive, intelligent young girl. Now, he found himself looking at a beautiful young woman with frightened eyes. She took a seat across from him. "Hello, Ashley. I'm David Singer."
"My father told me you would be coming." Her voice was shaky.
"I just came to ask a few questions." She nodded.
"Before I do, I want you to know that anything you tell me is privileged. It will just be between the two of us. But I need to know the truth." He hesitated. He had not intended to go this far, but he wanted to be able to give Jesse Quiller all the information he could, to persuade him to take the case. "Did you kill those men?"
"No!" Ashley's voice rang with conviction. "I'm innocent!"
David pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and glanced at it "Were you acquainted with a Jim Cleary?"
"Yes. We—we were going to be married. I would have had no reason to harm Jim. I loved him."
David studied Ashley a moment, then looked at the sheet of paper again. "What about Dennis Tibble?"
"Dennis worked at the company I worked for. I saw him the night he was murdered, but I had nothing to do with that. I was in Chicago." David was watching Ashley's face. "You have to believe me. I—I had no reason to kill him."
David said, "All right." He glanced at the sheet again. "What was your relationship with Jean Claude Parent?"
"The police asked me about him. I had never even heard of him. How could I have killed him when I didn't even know him?" She looked at David pleadingly. "Don't you see? They have the wrong person. They've arrested the wrong person." She began to weep. "I haven't killed anyone."
"Richard Melton?"
"I don't know who he is either."
David waited while Ashley regained control of herself. "What about deputy Blake?"
Ashley shook her head. "Deputy Blake stayed at my apartment that night to watch over me. Someone had been stalking me and threatening me. I slept in my bedroom, and he slept on the couch in the living room. They—they found his body in the alley." Her lips were trembling. "Why would I kill him? He was helping me!"
David was studying Ashley, puzzled. Something's very wrong here, David thought, Either she's telling the truth or she's one hell of an actress. He stood up. "I'll be back. I want to talk to the sheriff." Two minutes later, he was in the sheriff's office. "Well, did you talk to her?" Sheriff Dowling asked. "Yes. I think you've gotten yourself in a box. Sheriff."
"What does that mean. Counselor?"
"It means you might have been too eager to make an arrest Ashley Patterson doesn't even know two of the people you're accusing her of killing."
A small smile touched Sheriff Dowling's lips. "She fooled you, too, hub? She sure as hell fooled us."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'll show you, mister." He opened a file folder on his desk and handed David some papers. "These are copies of coroner's reports, FBI reports, DNA reports and Interpol reports on the five men who were murdered and castrated. Each victim had had sex with a woman before he was murdered. There were vaginal traces and fingerprints at each of the murder scenes. There were supposed to have been three different women involved. Well, the FBI collated all this evidence, and guess what they came up with? The three women turned out to be Ashley Patterson. Her DNA and fingerprints are positive on every one of the murders."
David was staring at him in disbelief. "Are—are you sure?"
"Yeah. Unless you want to believe that Interpol, the FBI and five different coroner's offices are out to frame your client. It's all there, mister. One of the men she killed was my brother-in-law. Ashley Patterson's going to be tried for first-degree murder, and she's going to be convicted. Anything else?"
"Yes." David took a deep breath. "I'd like to see Ashley Patterson again."
They brought her back to the visitors' room. When she walked inside, David asked angrily, "Why did you lie to me?"
"What? I didn't lie to you. I'm innocent. I—"
"They have enough evidence against you to bum you a dozen times over. I told you I wanted the truth."
Ashley looked at him for a full minute, and when she spoke, she said in a quiet voice, "I told you the truth. I have nothing more to say."
Listening to her, David thought. She really believes what she's saying. I'm talking to a nut case. What am I going to tell Jesse Quiller? "Would you talk to a psychiatrist?"
"I don't—Yes. If you want me to."
"I'll arrange it." On his way back to San Francisco, David thought, I kept my end of the bargain. I talked to her. If she really thinks she's telling the truth, then she's crazy. I'll get her to Jesse, who will plead insanity, and that will be the end of it.
His heart went out to Steven Patterson.
At San Francisco Memorial Hospital, Dr. Patterson was receiving the condolences of his fellow doctors.
"It's a damn shame, Steven. You sure don't deserve anything like this...."
"It must be a terrible burden for you. If there's anything I can do..."
"I don't know what gets into kids these days. Ashley always seemed so normal...."
And behind each expression of condolence was the thought: Thank God it's not my kid.
When David returned to the law firm, he hurried in to see Joseph Kincaid.
Kincaid looked up and said, "Well, it's after six o'clock, David, but I waited for you. Did you see Dr. Patterson's daughter?"
"Yes, I did."
"And did you find an attorney to defend her?" David hesitated. "Not yet, Joseph. I'm arranging for a psychiatrist to see her. I'll be going back in the morning to talk to her again."
Joseph Kincaid looked at David, puzzled. "Oh? Frankly, I'm surprised that you're getting this involved. Naturally, we can't have this firm associated with anything as ugly as this trial is going to be."
"I'm not really involved, Joseph. It's just that I owe a great deal to her father. I made him a promise."
"There's nothing in writing, is there?"
"No."
"So it's only a moral obligation?" David studied him a moment, started to say something, then stopped. "Yes. It's only a moral obligation."
"Well, when you're through with Miss Patterson, I come back and we'll talk."
Not a word about the partnership.
When David got home that evening, the apartment was in darkness.
"Sandra?"
There was no answer. As David started to turn on the lights in the hallway, Sandra suddenly appeared from the kitchen, carrying a cake with lit candles.
"Surprise! We're having a celebration—" She saw the look on David's face and stopped. "Is something wrong, darling? Didn't you get it, David? Did they give it to someone else?"
"No, no," he said reassuringly. "Everything's fine." Sandra put down the cake and moved closer to him. "Something's wrong."
"It's just that there's been a... a delay."
"Wasn't your meeting with Joseph Kincaid today?"
"Yes. Sit down, honey. We have to talk." They sat down on the couch, and David said, "Something unexpected has come up. Steven Patterson came to see me this morning."
"He did? What about?"
"He wants me to defend his daughter."
Sandra looked at him in surprise. "But, David... you're not—"
"I know. I tried to tell him that. But I have practiced criminal law."
"But you're not doing that anymore. Did you tell him you're about to become a partner in your firm?"
"No. He was very insistent that I was the only one who could defend his daughter. It doesn't make any sense, of course I tried to suggest someone like Jesse Quiller, but he wouldn't even listen."
"Well, he'll have to get someone else."
"Of course. I promised to talk to his daughter, and I did."
Sandra sat back on the couch. "Does Mr. Kincaid know about this?"
"Yes. I told him. He wasn't thrilled." He mimicked Kincaid's voice. " 'Naturally, we can't have this firm associated with anything as ugly as this trial is going to be.'"
"What's Dr. Patterson's daughter like?"
"In medical terms, she's a fruitcake."
"I'm not a doctor," Sandra said. "What does that mean?"
"It means that she really believes she's innocent."
"Isn't that possible?"
"The sheriff in Cupertino showed me the file on her. Her DNA and fingerprints are all over the murder scenes."
"What are you going to do now?"
"I've called Royce Salem. He's a psychiatrist that Jesse Quiller's office uses. I'm going to have him examine. Ashley and turn the report over to her father. Dr. Patterson can bring in another psychiatrist if he likes, or turn the report over to whichever attorney is going to handle the case."
"I see." Sandra studied her husband's troubled face. "Did Mr. Kincaid say anything about the partnership, David?" He shook his head. "No."
Sandra said brightly, "He will. Tomorrow's another day."
Dr. Royce Salem was a tall, thin man with a Sigmund Freud beard.
Maybe that's just a coincidence, David told himself. Surely he's not trying to look like Freud.
"Jesse talks about you often," Dr. Salem said. "He's very fond of you."
"I'm fond of him. Dr. Salem."
"The Patterson case sounds very interesting. Obviously the work of a psychopath. You're planning an insanity plea?"
"Actually," David told him, "I'm not handling the case. Before I get an attorney for her. I'd like to get an evaluation of her mental state." David briefed Dr. Salem on the facts as he knew them. "She claims she's innocent, but the evidence shows she committed the crimes."
"Well, let's have a look at the lady's psyche, shall we?"
The hypnotherapy session was to take place in the Santa Clara County Jail, in an interrogation room. The furniture in the room consisted of a rectangular wooden table and four wooden chairs.
Ashley, looking pale and drawn, was led into the room by a matron.
"I'll wait outside," the matron said, and withdrew. David said, "Ashley, this is Dr. Salem. Ashley Patterson."
Dr. Salem said, "Hello, Ashley." She stood there, nervously looking from one to the other, without speaking. David had the feeling that she was ready to flee the room.
"Mr. Singer tells me that you have no objection to being hypnotized." Silence.
Dr. Salem went on. "Would you let me hypnotize you, Ashley?"
Ashley closed her eyes for a second and nodded. "Yes."
"Why don't we get started?"
"Well, I'll be running along," David said. "If—"
"Just a moment." Dr. Salem walked over to David. "I want you to stay."
David stood there, frustrated. He regretted now that he had gone this far. I'm not going to get in any deeper, David resolved. This will be the end of it.
"All right," David said reluctantly. He was eager to have it over with so he could get back to the office. The coming meeting with Kincaid loomed large in his mind.
Dr. Salem said to Ashley, "Why don't you sit in this chair?" Ashley sat down.
"Have you ever been hypnotized before, Ashley?" She hesitated an instant, then shook her head. "No."
"There's nothing to it. All you have to do is relax and listen to the sound of my voice. You have nothing to worry about. No one's going to hurt you. Feel your muscles relax. That's it. Just relax and feel your eyes getting heavy. You've been through a lot. Your body is tired, very tired. All you want to do is to go to sleep. Just close your eyes and relax. You're getting very sleepy... very sleepy...."
It took ten minutes to put her under. Dr. Salem walked over to Ashley. "Ashley, do you know where you are?"
"Yes. I'm in jail." Her voice sounded hollow, as though coming from a distance. "Do you know why you're in jail?"
"People think I did something bad."
"And is it true? Did you do something bad?"
"No."
"Ashley, did you ever kill anyone?"
"No."
David looked at Dr. Salem in surprise. Weren't people supposed to tell the truth under hypnosis?
"Do you have any idea who could have committed those murders?"
Suddenly, Ashley's face contorted and she began breathing hard, in short, raspy breaths. The two men watched in astonishment as her persona started changing. Her Ups tightened and her features seemed to shift. She sat up straight, and there was a sudden liveliness in her face. She opened her eyes, and they were sparkling. It was an amazing transformation. Unexpectedly, she began to sing, in a sultry voice with an English accent:
"Half a pound of tupenny rice,
Half a pound of treacle,
Mix it up and make it nice,
Pop! goes the weasel."
David listened in astonishment. Who does she think she's fooling? She's pretending to be someone else. "I want to ask you some more questions, Ashley." She tossed her head and said in an English accent, "I'm not Ashley."
Dr. Salem exchanged a look with David, then turned back to Ashley. "If you're not Ashley, who are you?"
"Toni. Toni Prescott."
And Ashley is doing this with a straight face, David thought How long is she going to go on with this stupid charade? She was wasting their time.
"Ashley," said Dr. Salem.
"Toni."
She's determined to keep it up, David thought "All right, Toni. What I'd like is—"
"Let me tell you what I'd like. I'd like to get out of this bloody place. Can you get us out of here?"
"That depends," Dr. Salem said. "What do you know about—?"
"—those murders that little Goody Two-shoes is in here for? I can tell you things that—"
Ashley's expression suddenly started to change again. As David and Dr. Salem watched, Ashley seemed to shrink in her chair, and her face began to soften and go through an incredible metamorphosis until she seemed to become another distinct personality.
She said in a soft voice with an Italian accent, "Toni... don't say any more, per piacere."
David was watching in bewilderment.
"Toni?" Dr. Salem edged closer.
The soft voice said, "I apologize for the interruption, Dr. Salem."
Dr. Salem asked, "Who are you?"
"I am Alette. Alette Peters."
My God, it's not an act, David thought. It's real. He turned to Dr. Salem.
Dr. Salem said quietly, "They're alters."
David stared at him, totally confused. "They're what?"
"I'll explain later."
Dr. Salem turned back to Ashley. "Ashley... I mean Alette... How—how many of you are in there?"
"Beside Ashley, only Toni and me," Alette answered. "You have an Italian accent."
"Yes. I was born in Rome. Have you ever been to Rome?"
"No, I've never been to Rome."
I can't believe I'm hearing this conversation, David thought.
"E molto bello."
"I'm sure. Do you know Toni?"
"Si, naturalmente."
"She has an English accent."
"Toni was born in London."
"Right Alette, I want to ask you about these murders. Do you have any idea who—?"
And David and Dr. Salem watched as Ashley's face and personality changed again before their eyes. Without her saying a word, they knew that she had become Toni.
"You're wasting your time with her, luv."
There was that English accent.
"Alette doesn't know anything. I'm the one you're going to have to talk to."
"All right, Toni. I'll talk to you. I have some questions for you."
"I'm sure you do, but I'm tired." She yawned. "Miss Tight Ass has kept us up all night I've got to get some sleep."
"Not now, Toni. Listen to me. You have to help us to—"
Her face hardened. "Why should I help you? What has Miss Goody Two-shoes done for Alette or me? All she ever does is keep us from having fun. Well, I'm sick of it, and I'm sick of her. Do you hear me?" She was screaming, her face contorted.
Dr. Salem said, "I'm going to bring her out of it."
David was perspiring. "Yes."
Dr. Salem leaned close to Ashley. "Ashley... Ashley... Everything is fine. Close your eyes now. They're very heavy, very heavy. You're completely relaxed. Ashley, your mind is at peace. Your body is relaxed. You're going to wake up at the count of five, completely relaxed. One..." He looked over at David and then back at Ashley. "Two..."
Ashley began to stir. They watched her expression start to change.
"Three..."
Her face softened.
"Tour..."
They could sense her returning, and it was an eerie feeling.
"Five."
Ashley opened her eyes. She looked around the room.
"I feel— Was I asleep?"
David stood there, staring at her, stunned.
"Yes," Dr. Salem said.
Ashley turned to David. "Did I say anything? I mean... was helpful?"
My God, David thought. She doesn't know! She really doesn't know! David said, "You did fine, Ashley. I'd like to talk to Dr. Salem alone."
"All right."
"I'll see you later."
The men stood there, watching the matron lead Ashley away. David sank into a chair.
"What—what the hell was that all about?"
Dr. Salem took a deep breath. "In all the years that I've been practicing, I've never seen a more clear-cut case."
"A case of what?"
"Have you ever heard of multiple personality disorder?"
"What is it?"
"It's a condition where there are several completely different personalities in one body. It's also known as dissociatve identity disorder. It's been in the psychiatric literature for more than two hundred years. It usually starts because of a childhood trauma. The victim shuts out the trauma by creating another identity. Sometimes a person will have dozens of different personalities or alters."
"And they know about each other?"
"Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. Toni and Alette know each other. Ashley is obviously not aware of either of them. Alters are created because the host can't stand the pain of the trauma. It's a way of escape. Every time a fresh shock occurs, a new alter can be born. The psychiatric literature on the subject shows that alters can be totally different from one another. Some alters are stupid, while others are brilliant. They can speak different languages. They have varied tastes and personalities."
"How—how common is this?"
"Some studies suggest that one percent of the entire population suffers from multiple personality disorder, and that up to twenty percent of all patients in psychiatric hospitals have it."
David said, "But Ashley seems so normal and—"
"People with MPD are normal... until an alter takes over. The host can have a job, raise a family and live a perfectly ordinary life, but an alter can take over at any time. An alter can be in control for an hour, a day or even weeks, and then the host suffers a fugue, a loss of time and memory, for the period that the alter is in charge."
"So Ashley—the host—would have no recollection of anything that the alter does?"
"None." David listened, spellbound.
"The most famous case of multiple personality disorder was Bridey Murphy. That's what first brought the subject to the public's attention. Since then, there have been an endless number of cases, but none as spectacular or as well publicized."
"It—it seems so incredible."
"It's a subject that's fascinated me for a long time. There are certain patterns that almost never change. For instance, frequently, alters use the same initials as then-host—Ashley Patterson... Alette Peters... Toni Prescott....
"Toni—?" David started to ask. Then he realized, "Antoinette?"
"Right. You've heard the expression 'alter ego.' "
"Yes."
"In a sense, we all have alter egos, or multiple personalities. A kind person can commit acts of cruelty. Cruel people can do kind things. There's no limit to the incredible range of human emotions. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is fiction, but it's based on fact."
David's mind was racing. "If Ashley committed the murders..."
"She would not be aware of it. It was done by one of her alters."
"My God! How can I explain that in court?" Dr. Salem looked at David curiously. "I thought you said you weren't going to be her attorney."
David shook his head. "I'm not. I mean, don't know. I—At this point, I'm a multiple personality myself." David was silent for a moment. "Is this curable?"
"Often, yes."
"And if it can't be cured, what happens?" There was a pause. "The suicide rate is quite high."
"And Ashley knows nothing about this?"
"No."
"Would—would you explain it to her?"
"Yes, of course."
"No!" It was a scream. She was cowering against the wall of her cell, her eyes filled with terror. "You're lying! It's not true!"
Dr. Salem said, "Ashley, it is. You have to face it. I've explained to you that what happened to you is not your fault. I—"
"Don't come near me!"
"No one's going to hurt you."
"I want to die. Help me die!" She began sobbing uncontrollably.
Dr. Salem looked at the matron and said, "You'd better give her a sedative. And put a suicide watch on her."
David telephoned Dr. Patterson. "I need to talk to you."
"I've been waiting to hear from you, David. Did you see Ashley?"
"Yes. Can we meet somewhere?"
"I'll wait in my office for you."
* * *
Driving back to San Francisco, David thought. There's no way that I can take this case. I have too much to lose.
I'll find her a good criminal attorney and that will be the end of it.
Dr. Patterson was waiting for David in his office. "You talked to Ashley?"
"Yes."
"Is she all right?"
How do I answer that question? David took a deep breath. "Have you ever heard of multiple personality disorder?"
Dr. Patterson frowned. "Vaguely..."
"It's when one or more personalities—or alters—exist in a person and take control from time to time, and that person is not aware of it. Your daughter has multiple personality disorder."
Dr. Patterson was looking at him, stunned. "What? I—can't believe it. Are you sure?"
"I listened to Ashley while Dr. Salem had her under hypnosis. She has two alters. At various times, they possess her." David was talking more rapidly now. "The sheriff showed me the evidence against your daughter. There's no doubt that she committed the murders."
Dr. Patterson said. "Oh, my God! Then she's—she's guilty?"
"No. Because I don't believe she was aware that she committed the murders. She was under the influence of one of the alters. Ashley had no reason to commit those crimes. She had no motive, and she was not in control of herself. I think the state may have a difficult time proving motive or intent."
"Then your defense is going to be that—" David stopped him. "I'm not going to defend her. I'm going to get you Jesse Quiller. He's a brilliant trial lawyer. I used to work with him, and he's the most—"
"No." Dr. Patterson's voice was sharp. "You must defend Ashley."
David said patiently, "You don't understand. I'm not the right one to defend her. She needs—"
"I told you before that you're the only one I trust. My daughter means everything in the world to me, David. You're going to save her life."
"I can't. I'm not qualified to—"
"Of course you are. You were a criminal attorney."
"Yes, but I—"
"I won't have anyone else." David could see that Dr. Patterson was trying to keep his temper under control.
This makes no sense, David thought. He tried again. "Jesse Quiller is the best—"
Dr. Patterson leaned forward, the color rising in his face. "David, your mother's life meant a lot to you. Ashley's life means as much to me. You asked for my help once, and you put your mother's life in my hands. I'm asking for your help now, and I'm putting Ashley's life in your hands. I want you to defend Ashley. You owe me that."
He won't listen, David thought despairingly. What's the matter with him? A dozen objections flashed through David's mind, but they all faded before that one line: "You owe me that." David tried one last time. "Dr. Patterson—"
"Yes or no, David."
WHEN David got home, Sandra was waiting for him. "Good evening, darling."
He took her in his arms and thought. My God, she's lovely. What idiot said that pregnant woman weren't beautiful?
Sandra said excitedly, "The baby lacked again today." She took David's band and put it on her belly. "Can you feel him?"
After a few moments, David said, "No. He's a stubborn little devil."
"By the way, Mr. Crowther called."
"Crowther?"
"The real estate broker. The papers are ready to be signed." David felt a sudden sinking feeling. "Oh."
"I want to show you something," Sandra said eagerly. "Don't go away."
David watched her hurry into the bedroom and thought. What am I going to do? I have to make a decision.
Sandra came back into the room holding up several samples of blue wallpaper. "We're doing the nursery in blue, and we'll do the living room of the apartment in blue and white, your favorite colors. Which color wallpaper do you like, the lighter shade or the darker?"
David forced himself to concentrate. "The lighter looks good."
"I like it, too. The only problem is that the rug is going to be a dark blue. Do you think they should match?"
I can't give up the partnership. I've worked too hard for it. It means too much.
"David. Do you think they should match?"
He looked at her. "What? Oh. Yes. Whatever you think, honey."
"I'm so excited. It's going to be beautiful."
There's no way we can afford it tf I don't get the partnership.
Sandra looked around the little apartment. "We can use some of this furniture, but I'm afraid we're going to need a lot of new things." She looked at him anxiously. "We can handle it, can't we, darling? I don't want to go overboard."
"Right," David said absently.
She snuggled against his shoulder. "It's going to be like a whole new life, isn't it? The baby and the partnership and the penthouse went by there today wanted to see the playground and the school. The playground's beautiful. It has slides and swings and jungle gyms want you to come with me Saturday to look at it. Jeffrey's going to adore it."
Maybe I can convince Kincaid that this would be a good thing for the firm.
"The school looks nice. It's just a couple blocks from our condo, and it's not too large think that's important."
David was listening to her now and thought, I can't let her down can't take away her dreams. I'll tell Kincaid in the morning that I'm not taking the Patterson case. Patterson will have to find someone else.
"We'd better get ready, darling. We're due at the Quillers' at eight o'clock."
This was the moment of truth. David felt himself tense. "There's something we have to talk about."
"Yes?"
"I went to see Ashley Patterson this morning."
"Oh? Tell me about it. Is she guilty? Did she do those terrible things?"
"Yes and no."
"Spoken like a lawyer. What does that mean?"
"She committed the murders... but she's not guilty."
"David—!"
"Ashley has a medical condition called multiple personality disorder. Her personality is split, so that she does things without knowing she's doing them."
Sandra was staring at him. "How horrible."
"There are two other personalities. I've heard them."
"You've heard them?"
"Yes. And they're real. I mean, she's not faking."
"And she has no idea that she—?"
"None."
"Then is she innocent or guilty?"
"That's for the courts to decide. Her father won't talk to Jesse Quiller, so I'll have to find some other attorney."
"But Jesse's perfect. Why won't he talk to him?" David hesitated. "He wants me to defend her."
"But you told him you can't, of course."
"Of course."
"Then—?"
"He won't listen."
"What did he say, David?"
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter."
"What did he say?"
David replied slowly, "He said that I trusted him enough to put my mother's life in his hands, and he saved her, and now he was trusting me enough to put his daughter's life in my hands, and he is asking me to save her." Sandra was studying his face. "Do you think you could?"
"I don't know. Kincaid doesn't want me to take the case. If I did take it, I could lose the partnership."
"Oh." There was a long silence.
When he spoke, David said, "I have a choice. I can say no to Dr. Patterson and become a partner in the firm, or I can defend his daughter and probably go on an unpaid leave, and see what happens afterward."
Sandra was listening quietly.
"There are people much better qualified to handle Ashley's case, but for some damn reason, her father won't hear of anyone else. I don't know why he's so stubborn about it, but he is. If I take the case and I don't get the partnership, we'll have to forget about moving. We'll have to forget about a lot of our plans, Sandra."
Sandra said softly, "I remember before we were married, you told me about him. He was one of the busiest doctors in the world, but he found time to help a penniless young boy. He was your hero, David. You said that if we ever had a son, you would want him to grow up to be like Steven Patterson."
David nodded.
"When do you have to decide?"
"I'm seeing Kincaid first thing in the morning." Sandra took his hand and said, "You don't need that much time. Dr. Patterson saved your mother. You're going to save his daughter." She looked around and smiled. "Anyway, we can always do this apartment over in blue and white."
Jesse Quiller was one of the top criminal defense attorneys in the country. He was a tall, rugged man with a homespun touch that made jurors identify with him. They felt that he was one of them, and they wanted to help him. That was one of the reasons he seldom lost a case. The other reasons were that he had a photographic memory and a brilliant mind.
Instead of vacationing, Quiller used his summers to teach law, and years earlier David had been one of his pupils. When David graduated, Quiller invited him to join his criminal law firm, and two years later, David had become a partner. David loved practicing criminal law and excelled at it. He made sure that at least 10 percent of his cases were pro bono. Three years after becoming a partner, David had abruptly resigned and gone to work for Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley to practice corporate law.
Over the years, David and Quiller had remained close friends. They, and their wives, had dinner together once a week.
Jesse Quiller had always fancied tall, sylphlike, sophisticated blondes. Then he had met Emily and fallen in love with her. Emily was a prematurely gray dumpling of a woman, from an Iowa farm—the exact opposite of other women Quiller had dated. She was a caretaker, mother earth. They made an unlikely couple, but the marriage worked because they were deeply in love with each other.
Every Tuesday, the Singers and the Quillers had dinner and then played a complicated card game called Liverpool.
When Sandra and David arrived at the Quillers' beautiful home on Hayes Street, Jesse met them at the door. He gave Sandra a bug and said, "Come in. We've got the champagne on ice. It's a big day for you, hub? The new penthouse and the partnership. Or is it the partnership and the penthouse?"
David and Sandra looked at each other. "Emily's in the kitchen fixing a celebration dinner." He looked at their faces. "I think it's a celebration dinner. Am I missing something?"
David said, "No, Jesse. It's just that we may have a— a little problem."
"Come on in. Fix you a drink?" He looked at Sandra.
"No, thanks. I don't want the baby to get into bad habits."
"He's a lucky kid, having parents like you," Quiller said warmly. He turned to David. "What can I get for you?"
"I'm fine," David said.
Sandra started toward the kitchen. "I'll go see if I can help Emily."
"Sit down, David. You look serious."
"I'm in a dilemma," David admitted.
"Let me guess. Is it the penthouse or the partnership?"
"Both."
"Both?"
"Yes. You know about the Patterson case?"
"Ashley Patterson? Sure. What's that got to do with—?" He stored. "Wait a minute. You told me about Steven Patterson, in law school. He saved your mother's life."
"Yes. He wants me to defend his daughter. I tried to torn the case over to you, but he won't hear of anyone but me defending her."
Quiller frowned. "Does he know you're not practicing criminal law anymore?"
"Yes. That's what's so damn strange. There are dozens of lawyers who can do a hell of a lot better job than I can."
"He knows that you were a criminal defense lawyer?"
"Yes."
Quiller said carefully, "How does he feel about his daughter?"
What a strange question, David thought "She means more to him than anything in the world."
"Okay. Suppose you took her case. The downside is that—"
"The downside is that Kincaid doesn't want me to take it. If I do, I have a feeling that I'll lose the partnership."
"I see. And that's where the penthouse comes in?" David said angrily, "That's where my whole god-damn future comes in. It would be stupid for me to do this, Jesse. I mean really stupid!"
"What are you getting mad about?" David took a deep breath. "Because I'm going to do it."
Quiller smiled. "Why am I not surprised?" David ran his hand across his forehead, "if I turned him down, and his daughter was convicted and executed, and I did nothing to help, I—I couldn't live with myself."
"I understand. How does Sandra feel about this?" David managed a smile. "You know Sandra."
"Yeah. She wants you to go a bead with it."
"Right."
Quiller leaned forward. "I'll do everything I can to help you, David."
David sighed. "No. That's part of my bargain. I have to handle this alone."
Quiller frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."
"I know. I tried to explain that to Dr. Patterson, but he wouldn't listen."
"Have you told Kincaid about this yet?"
"I'm having a meeting with him in the morning."
"What do you think will happen?"
"I know what's going to happen. He's going to advise me not to take the case and, if I insist, he'll ask me to take a leave of absence without pay."
"Let's have lunch tomorrow. Rubicon, one o'clock." David nodded. "Fine."
Emily came in from the kitchen wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. David and Quiller rose.
"Hello, David." Emily hustled up to him, and he gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"I hope you're hungry. Dinner's almost ready. Sandra's in the kitchen helping me. She's such a dear." She picked up a tray and hurried back into the kitchen.
Quiller turned to David. "You mean a great deal to Emily and me. I'm going to give you some advice. You've got to let go." David sat there, saying nothing. "That was a long time ago, David. And what happened wasn't your fault. It could have happened to anyone."
David looked at Quiller. "It happened to me, Jesse. I killed her."
* * *
It was deja vu. All over again. And again. David sat there, transported back to another time and another place.
It had been a pro bono case, and David had said to Jesse Quiller, "I'll handle it."
Helen Woodman was a lovely young woman accused of murdering her wealthy stepmother. There had been bitter public quarrels between the two, but all the evidence against Helen was circumstantial. After David had gone to the jail and met with her, he was convinced she was innocent. With each meeting, he had become more emotionally involved. In the end, he had broken a basic rule: Never fall in love with a client.
The trial had gone well. David had refuted the prosecutor's evidence bit by bit, and he had won the jury over to his client's side. And unexpectedly, a disaster had occurred. Helen's alibi was that at the time of the murder she had been at the theater with a friend. Under questioning in court, her friend admitted that the alibi was a lie, and a witness had come forward to say that he had seen Helen at her stepmother's apartment at the time of the murder. Helen's credibility was completely gone. The jury convicted her of first-degree murder, and the judge sentenced her to be executed. David was devastated.
"How could you have done this, Helen?" he demanded. "Why did you lie to me?"
"I didn't kill my stepmother, David. When I got to her apartment, I found her on the floor, dead. I was afraid you wouldn't believe me, so I—I made up the story about being at the theater."
He stood there, listening, a cynical expression on his face.
"I'm telling you the truth, David."
"Are you?" He turned and stormed out. Sometime during the night, Helen committed suicide. One week later, an ex-convict caught committing a burglary confessed to the murder of Helen's stepmother.
The next day, David quit Jesse Quiller's firm. Quiller had tried to dissuade him.
"It wasn't your fault, David. She lied to you and—"
"That's the point. I let her. I didn't do my job. I didn't make sure she was telling me the truth. I wanted to believe her, and because of that, I let her down."
Two weeks later, David was working for Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley.
"I'll never be responsible for another person's life," David had sworn. And now he was defending Ashley Patterson.
AT ten o'clock the following morning, David walked into Joseph Kincaid's office. Kincaid was signing some papers and he glanced up as David entered.
"Ah. Sit down, David. I'll be through in a moment." David sat down and waited.
When Kincaid had finished, he smiled and said, "Well! You have some good news, I trust?"
Good news for whom? David wondered.
"You have a very bright future here, David, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to do anything to spoil that. The firm has big plans for you."
David was silent, trying to find the right words.
Kincaid said, "Well? Have you told Dr. Patterson that you'd find another lawyer for him?"
"No. I've decided that I'm going to defend her." Kincaid's smile faded. "Are you really going to defend that woman, David? She's a vicious, sick murderer. Anyone who defends her will be tarred with the same brush."
"I'm not doing this because I want to, Joseph. I'm obligated. I owe Dr. Patterson a great deal, and this is the only way I can ever repay him."
Kincaid sat there, silent. When he finally spoke, he said, "If you've really decided to go ahead with this, then I suggest that it would be appropriate for you to take a leave of absence. Without pay, of course."
Good-bye, partnership.
"After the trial, naturally, you'll come back to us and the partnership will be waiting for you."
David nodded. "Naturally."
"I'll have Collins take over your workload. I'm sure you'll want to begin concentrating on the trial."
Thirty minutes later, the partners of Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley were in a meeting.
"We can't afford to have this firm be involved in a trial like that," Henry Turner objected.
Joseph Kincaid was quick to respond. "We're not really involved, Henry. We're giving the boy a leave of absence."
Albert Rose spoke up. "I think we should cut him loose."
"Not yet. That would be shortsighted. Dr. Patterson could be a cash cow for us. He knows everybody, and he'll be grateful to us for letting him borrow David. No matter what happens at the trial, it's a win-win situation. If it goes well, we get the doctor as a client and make Singer a partner. If the trial goes badly, we'll drop Singer and see if we can't keep the good doctor. There's really no downside."
There was a moment of silence, then John Ripley grinned. "Good thinking, Joseph."
When David left Kincaid's office, he went to see Steven Patterson. He had telephoned ahead, and the doctor was waiting for him.
"Well, David?"
My answer is going to change my life, David thought. And not for the better. "I'm going to defend your daughter, Dr. Patterson."
Steven Patterson took a deep breath. "I knew it I would have bet my life on it." He hesitated a moment. "I'm betting my daughter's life on it."
"My firm has given me a leave of absence. I'm going to get help from one of the best trial lawyers in the—"
Dr. Patterson raised a hand. "David, I thought I made it clear to you that I don't want anyone else involved in this case. She's in your hands and your hands only."
"I understand," David said. "But Jesse Quiller is—"
Dr. Patterson got to his feet. "I don't want to hear anything more about Jesse Quiller or any of the rest of them. I know trial lawyers, David. They're interested in the money and the publicity. This isn't about money or publicity. This is about Ashley."
David started to speak, then stopped. There was nothing he could say. The man was fanatic on the subject.
I can use all the help I can get, David thought. Why won't he let me?
"Have I made myself clear?"
David nodded. "Yes."
"I'll take care of your fee and your expenses, of course."
"No. This is pro bono."
Dr. Patterson studied him a moment then nodded. "Quid pro quo?"
"Quid pro quo." David managed a smile. "Do you drive?"
"David, if you're on a leave of absence, you'll need some expense money to keep you going. I insist."
"As you wish," David said.
At least we'll eat during the trial.
Jesse Quiller was waiting for David at Rubicon.
"How did it go?"
David sighed. "It was predictable. I'm on a leave of absence, no salary."
"Those bastards. How can they—?"
"I can't blame them," David interrupted. "They're a very conservative firm."
"What are you going to do now?"
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean? You're handling the trial of the century. You don't have an office to work in anymore; you don't have access to research files or case files, criminal law books or a fax machine, and I've seen that outdated computer that you and Sandra have. It won't be able to run the legal software you'll need or get you on the Internet."
"I'll be all right," David said.
"You're damn right you will. There's an empty office in my suite that you're going to use. You'll find everything you need there."
It took David a moment to find his voice. "Jesse, I can't—"
"Yes, you can." Quiller grinned. "You'll find a way to pay me back. You always pay people back, don't you, and Saint David?" He picked up a menu. "I'm starved." He looked up. "By the way, lunch is on you."
David went to visit Ashley in the Santa Clara County Jail.
"Good morning, Ashley."
"Good morning." She looked even paler than usual. "Father was here this morning. He told me that you're going to get me out of here."
I wish I were that optimistic, David thought. He said carefully, "I'm going to do everything I can, Ashley. The trouble is that not many people are familiar with the problem you have. We're going to let them know about it. We're going to get the finest doctors in the world to come here and testify for you."
"It scares me," Ashley whispered.
"What does?"
"It's as though two different people are living inside me, and I don't even know them." Her voice was trembling. "They can take over anytime they want to, and I have no control over them. I'm so frightened." Her eyes filled with tears.
David said quietly, "They're not people, Ashley. They're in your mind. They're part of you. And with the proper treatment, you're going to be well."
When David got home that evening, Sandra gave him a hug and said, "Did I ever tell you how proud I am of you?"
"Because I'm out of a job?" David asked.
"That, too. By the way, Mr. Crowther called. The real estate broker. He said the papers are ready to sign. They want the down payment of sixty thousand dollars. I'm afraid we'll have to tell him we can't afford—"
"Wait! I have that much in the company pension plan. With Dr. Patterson giving us some expense money, maybe we can still swing this."
"It doesn't matter, David. We don't want to spoil the baby with a penthouse, anyway."
"Well, I have some good news. Jesse is going to let me—"
"I know. I talked to Emily. We're moving into Jesse's offices."
David said, "We?"
"You forget, you married a paralegal. Seriously, darling, I can be very helpful. I'll work with you until"— she touched her stomach—"Jeffrey comes along, and then we'll see."
"Mrs. Singer, do you have any idea how much I love you?"
"No. But take your time. Dinner's not for another hour."
"An hour isn't enough time," David told her.
She put her arms around him and murmured, "Why don't you get undressed, Tiger?"
"What?" He pulled back and looked at her, worried. "What about the—What does Dr. Bailey say?"
"The doctor says if you don't get undressed in a hurry, I should attack you."
David grinned. "His word's good enough for me."
The following morning, David moved into the back office of Jesse Quiller's suite. It was a serviceable office, part of a five-office suite.
"We've expanded a little since you were here," Jesse explained to David. "I'm sure you'll find everything. The law library is next door; you've got faxes, computers, everything you need. If there's anything you don't see, just ask."
"Thanks," David said. "I—I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Jesse."
Jesse smiled. "You're going to pay me back. Remember?"
Sandra arrived a few minutes later. "I'm ready," she said. "Where do we begin?"
"We begin by looking up every case we can find on multiple personality trials. There's probably a ton of stuff on die Internet. We'll try the California Criminal Law Observer, the Court TV site and some other criminal law links, and we'll gather whatever useful information we can get from Westlaw and Lexis-Nexis. Next, we get hold of doctors who specialize in multiple personality problems, and we contact them as possible expert witnesses. We'll need to interview them and see if we can use their testimony to strengthen our case. I'll have to brush up on criminal court procedures and get ready for voir dire. We've also got to get a list of the district attorney's witnesses and the witnesses' statements. I want his whole discovery package."
"And we have to send him ours. Are you going to call Ashley to the stand?"
David shook his head. "She's much too fragile. The prosecution would tear her apart." He looked up at Sandra. "This is going to be a hard one to win."
Sandra smiled. "But you're going to win it. I know you are."
David put in a call to Harvey Udell, the accountant at Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley.
"Harvey. David Singer."
"Hello, David. I hear you're leaving us for a little while."
"Yes."
"That's an interesting case you're taking on. The papers are full of it. What can I do for you?"
David said, "I have sixty thousand dollars in my pension plan there, Harvey. I wasn't going to take it out this early, but Sandra and I just bought a penthouse, and I'm going to need the money for a down payment."
"A penthouse. Well, congratulations."
"Thanks. How soon can I get the money?"
There was a brief hesitation. "Can I get back to you?"
"Of course." David gave him his telephone number.
"I'll call you right back."
"Thanks."
Harvey Udell replaced the receiver and then picked up the telephone again. "Tell Mr. Kincaid I'd like to see him."
Thirty minutes later he was in Joseph Kincaid's office. "What is it, Harvey?"
"I got a call from David Singer, Mr. Kincaid. He's bought a penthouse, and he needs the sixty thousand he has in his pension fund for a down payment. In my opinion, we're not obligated to give him the money now. He's on leave, and he's not—"
"I wonder if he knows how expensive it is to maintain a penthouse?"
"Probably not. I'll just tell him we can't—"
"Give him the money."
Harvey looked at him in surprise. "But we don't have to—"
Kincaid leaned forward in his chair. "We're going to help him dig a hole for himself, Harvey. Once he puts a down payment on that penthouse... we own him."
Harvey Udell telephoned David. "I've good news for you, David. That money you have in the pension plan, you're taking it out early, but there's no problem. Mr. Kincaid says to give you anything you want."
"Mr. Crowther. David Singer."
"I've been waiting to hear from you, Mr. Singer."
"The down payment on the penthouse is on its way. You'll have it tomorrow."
"Wonderful. As I told you, we have some other folks who are anxious to get it, but I have the feeling that you and your wife are the right owners for it. You're going to be very happy there."
All it will take, David thought, is a few dozen miracles.
Ashley Patterson's arraignment took place in the Superior Court of the County of Santa Clara on North First Street in San Jose. The legal wrangling about jurisdiction had gone on for weeks. It had been complicated, because the murders had taken place in two countries and two different states. A meeting was held in San Francisco, attended by Officer Guy Pontaine from the Quebec Police Department, Sheriff Dowling from Santa Clara County, Detective Eagan from Bedford, Pennsylvania, Captain Rudford from the San Francisco Police Department, and Roger Toland, the chief of police in San Jose.
Fontaine said, "We would like to try her in Quebec because we have absolute evidence of her guilt. There's no way she can win a trial there."
Detective Eagan said, "For that matter, so do we, Officer Fontaine. Jim Cleary's was the first murder she committed, and I think that should take precedence over the others."
Captain Rudford of the San Francisco police said, "Gentlemen, there's no doubt that we can all prove her guilt. But three of these murders took place in California, and she should be tried here for all of them. That gives us a much stronger case."
"I agree," Sheriff Dowling said. "And two of them took place in Santa Clara County, so this is where the jurisdiction should lie."
They spent the next two hours arguing the merits of their positions, and in the end, it was decided that the trial for the murders of Dennis Tibble, Richard Melton and deputy Sam Blake would be held at the Hall of Justice in San Jose. They agreed that the murders in Bedford and Quebec would be put on hold.
On the day of arraignment, David stood at Ashley's side.
The judge on the bench said, "How do you plead?"
"Not guilty and not guilty by reason of insanity."
The judge nodded. "Very well."
"Your Honor, we're requesting bail at this time."
The attorney from the prosecutor's office jumped in. "Your Honor, we strongly object. The defendant is accused of three savage murders and faces the death penalty. If she were given the opportunity, she would flee the country."
"That's not true," David said. "There's no—"
The judge interrupted. "I've reviewed the file and the prosecutor's affidavit in support of no bail. Bail denied. This case is assigned to Judge Williams for all purposes. The defendant will be held in custody at the Santa Clara County Jail until trial."
David sighed. "Yes, Your Honor." He turned to Ashley.
"Don't worry. Everything's going to work out. Remember... you're not guilty."
When David returned to the office. Sandra said, "Have you seen the headlines? The tabloids are calling Ashley 'the Butcher Bitch.' The story is all over television."
"We knew this was going to be rough," David said. "And this is only the beginning. Let's go to work."
The trial was eight weeks away.
The next eight weeks were filled with feverish activity. David and Sandra worked all day and far into the night, digging up transcripts of trials of defendants with multiple personality disorder. There were dozens of cases. The various defendants had been tried for murder, rape, robbery, drug dealing, arson.... Some had been convicted, some had been acquitted.
"We're going to get Ashley acquitted," David told Sandra.
Sandra gathered the names of prospective witnesses and telephoned them.
"Dr. Nakamoto, I'm working with David Singer. I believe you testified in The State of Oregon Versus Bo-hannan. Mr. Singer is representing Ashley Patterson.... Oh, you did? Yes. Well, we would like you to come to San Jose and testify in her behalf...."
"Dr. Booth, I'm calling from David Singer's office. He's defending Ashley Patterson. You testified in the Dickerson case. We're interested in your expert testimony.... We would like you to come to San Jose and testify for Miss Patterson. We need your expertise...."
"Dr. Jameson, this is Sandra Singer. We need you to come to..."
And so it went, from morning until midnight. Finally, a list of a dozen witnesses was compiled. David looked at it and said, "It's pretty impressive. Doctors, a dean... heads of law schools." He looked up at Sandra and smiled. "I think we're in good shape."
From time to time, Jesse Quiller came into the office David was using. "How are you getting along?" he asked. "Anything can do to help?"
"I'm fine."
Quiller looked around the office. "Do you have everything you need?"
David smiled. "Everything, including my best friend."
On a Monday morning, David received a package from the prosecutor's office listing the state's discovery. As David read it, his spirits sank.
Sandra was watching him, concerned. "What is it?"
"Look at this. He's bringing in a lot of heavyweight medical experts to testify against MPD."
"How are you going to handle that?" Sandra asked.
"We're going to admit that Ashley was at the scenes when the murders took place, but that the murders were actually committed by an alter ego." Can I persuade a jury to believe that?
* * *
Five days before the trial was to begin, David received a telephone call saying that Judge Williams wanted to meet with him.
David walked into Jesse Quiller's office. "Jesse, what can you tell me about Judge Williams?"
Jesse leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "Tessa Williams... Were you ever a Boy Scout, David?"
"Yes..."
"Do you remember the Boy Scout motto,—'be prepared'?"
"Sure."
"When you walk into Tessa Williams's courtroom, be prepared. She's brilliant. She came up the hard way. Her folks were Mississippi sharecroppers. She went through college on a scholarship, and the people in her hometown were so proud of her, they raised the money to put her through law school. There's a rumor that she turned down a big appointment in Washington because she likes it where she is. She's a legend."
"Interesting," David said.
"The trial is going to be in Santa Clara County?"
"Yes."
"Then you'll have my old friend Mickey Brennan prosecuting."
"Tell me about him."
"He's a feisty Irishman, tough on the inside, tough on the outside. Brennan comes from a long line of over-achievers. His father runs a huge publishing business; his mother's a doctor; his sister is a college professor. Brennan was a football star in his college days, and he was at the top of his law class." He leaned forward. "He's good, David. Be careful. His trick is to disarm witnesses and then move in for the kill. He likes to blind-side them.... Why does Judge Williams want to see you?"
"I have no idea. The call just said she wants to discuss the Patterson case with me."
Jesse Quiller frowned. "That's unusual. When are you meeting with her?"
"Wednesday morning."
"Watch your back."
"Thanks, Jesse. I will."
The superior courthouse in Santa Clara County is a white, four-story building on North First Street. Directly inside the courthouse entrance is a desk manned by a uniformed guard; there is a metal detector, a railing alongside and an elevator. There are seven courtrooms m the building, each one presided over by a judge and staff.
At ten o'clock Wednesday morning, David Singer was ushered into the chambers of Judge Tessa Williams, in the room with her was Mickey Brennan. The leading prosecutor from the district attorney's office was in his fifties, a short, burly man with a slight brogue. Tessa Williams was in her late forties, a slim, attractive African-American woman with a crisp, authoritative manner.
"Good morning, Mr. Singer. I'm Judge Williams. This is Mr. Brennan."
The two men shook hands.
"Sit down, Mr. Singer. I want to talk about the Patterson case. According to the records, you've filed a plea of not guilty and not guilty by reason of insanity?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
Judge Williams said, "I brought you two together because think we can save a lot of time and save the state a great deal of expense. I'm usually against plea bargaining, but in this case, think it's justified."
David was listening, puzzled.
The judge turned to Brennan. "I've read the preliminary hearing transcript, and see no reason for this case to go to trial. I'd like the state to waive the death penalty and accept a guilty plea with no chance of parole."
David said, "Wait a minute. That's out of the question!"
They both turned to look at him. "Mr. Singer—"
"My client is not guilty. Ashley Patterson passed a lie detector test that proves—"
"That doesn't prove anything, and as you well know it's not admissible in court. Because of all the publicity, this is going to be a long and messy trial."
"I'm sure that—"
"I've been practicing law a long time, Mr. Singer. I've heard the whole basket of legal pleas. I've heard pleas of self-defense—that's an acceptable plea; murder by reason of temporary insanity—that's a reasonable plea; diminished capacity.... But I'll tell you what don't believe in, Counselor. 'Not guilty because didn't commit the crime, my alter ego did it.' To use a term you might not find in Blackstone, that's 'bullshit.' Your client either committed the crimes or she didn't. If you change your plea to guilty, we can save a lot of—"
"No, Your Honor, won't."
Judge Williams studied David a moment. "You're very stubborn. A lot of people find that an admirable quality." She leaned forward in her chair. "I don't."
"Your Honor—"
"You're forcing us into a trial that's going to last at least three months—maybe longer."
Brennan nodded. "I agree."
"I'm sorry that you feel—"
"Mr. Singer, I'm here to do you a favor. If we try your client, she's going to die."
"Hold on! You're prejudging this case without—"
"Prejudging it? Have you seen the evidence?"
"Yes, I—"
"For God's sake. Counselor, Ashley Patterson's DNA and fingerprints are at every crime scene. I've never seen a more clear-cut case of guilt. If you insist on going ahead with this, it could turn into a circus. Well, I'm not going to let that happen. I don't like circuses in my court. Let's dispose of this case here and now. I'm going to ask you once more, will you plead your client to life without parole?"
David said stubbornly, "No."
She was glaring at him. "Right. I'll see you next week."
He had made an enemy.
SAN Jose had quickly taken on the atmosphere of a carnival town. Media from all over the world were pouring in. Every hotel was booked, and some of the members of the press were forced to take rooms in the outlying towns of Santa Clara, Sunnyvale and Palo Alto. David was besieged by reporters.
"Mr. Singer, tell us about the case. Are you pleading your client not guilty...?"
"Are you going to put Ashley Patterson on the stand...?"
"Is it true that the district attorney was willing to plea-bargain?"
"Is Dr. Patterson going to testify for his daughter...?"
"My magazine will pay fifty thousand dollars for an interview with your client..."
* * *
Mickey Brennan was also pursued by the media.
"Mr. Brennan, would you say a few words about the trial?"
Brennan turned and smiled at the television cameras. "Yes. I can sum up the trial in five words. 'We're going to win it.' No further comment."
"Wait! Do you think she's insane...?"
"Is the state going to ask for the death penalty...?"
"Did you call it an open-and-shut case...?"
David rented an office in San Jose close to the court-house, where he could interview his witnesses and prepare them for the trial. He had decided that Sandra would work out of Quiller's office in San Francisco until the trial started. Dr. Salem had arrived in San Jose.
"I want you to hypnotize Ashley again," David said. "Let's get all the information we can from her and the alters before the trial starts."
They met Ashley in a holding room at the county detention center. She was trying hard to conceal her nervousness. To David, she looked like a deer trapped in the headlights of a Juggernaut.
"Morning, Ashley. You remember Dr. Salem?" Ashley nodded.
"He's going to hypnotize you again. Will that be all right?"
Ashley said, "He's going to talk to the... the others?"
"Yes. Do you mind?"
"No. But I—I don't want to talk to them."
"That's all right. You don't have to."
"I hate this!" Ashley burst out angrily.
"I know," David said soothingly. "Don't worry. It's going to be over soon." He nodded to Dr. Salem.
"Make yourself comfortable, Ashley. Remember how easy this was. Close your eyes and relax. Just try to clear your mind. Feel your body relaxing. Listen to the sound of my voice. Let everything else go. You're getting very sleepy. Your eyes are getting very heavy. You want to go to sleep.... Go to sleep...."
In ten minutes, she was under. Dr. Salem signaled to David. David walked over to Ashley.
"I'd like to talk to Alette. Are you in there, Alette?"
And they watched Ashley's face soften and go through the same transformation they had seen earlier. And then, that soft, mellifluous Italian accent.
"Buon giorno."
"Good morning, Alette. How do you feel?"
"Male. This is a very difficult time."
"It's difficult for all of us," David assured her, "but everything's going to be all right."
"I hope so."
"Alette, I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"Si..."
"Did you know Jim Cleary?"
"No."
"Did you know Richard Melton?"
"Yes." There was a deep sadness in her voice. "It was... it was terrible what happened to him."
David looked over at Dr. Salem. "Yes, it was terrible. When was the last time you saw him?"
"I visited him in San Francisco. We went to a museum and then had dinner. Before I left, he asked me to go to his apartment with him."
"And did you go?"
"No. I wish I had," Alette said regretfully. "I might have saved his life." There was a short silence. "We said good-bye, and drove back to Cupertino."
"And that was the last time you saw him?"
"Yes."
"Thank you, Alette."
David moved closer to Ashley and said, "Toni? Are you there, Toni? I'd like to talk to you."
As they watched, Ashley's face went through another remarkable transformation. Her persona changed before their eyes. There was a new assurance, a sexual awareness. She began to sing in that clear, throaty voice:
"Up and down the city road,
In and out of the Eagle.
That's the way the money goes,
Pop! goes the weasel. "
She looked at David. "Do you know why I like to sing that song, luv?"
"No."
"Because my mother hated it. She hated me."
"Why did she hate you?"
"Well, we can't ask her now, can we?" Toni laughed.
"Not where she is. I couldn't do anything right for her. What kind of mother did you have, David?"
"My mother was a wonderful person."
"You're lucky then, aren't you? It's really the luck of the draw, I suppose. God plays games with us, doesn't he?"
"Do you believe in God? Are you a religious person, Toni?"
"I don't know. Maybe there's a God. If there is, he has a strange sense of humor, doesn't he? Alette is the religious one. She goes to church regularly, that one."
"And do you?"
Toni gave a short laugh. "Well, if she's there. I'm there."
"Toni, do you believe it's right to kill people?"
"No, of course not."
"Then—"
"Not unless you have to."
David and Dr. Salem exchanged a look.
"What do you mean by that?"
Her tone of voice changed. She suddenly sounded defensive. "Well, you know, like if you have to protect yourself. If someone's hurting you." She was getting agitated. "If some git is trying to do dirty things to you." She was becoming hysterical.
"Toni—"
She started sobbing. "Why can't they leave me alone? Why did they have to—?" She was screaming.
"Toni—"
Silence.
"Toni..."
Nothing.
Dr. Salem said, "She's gone. I'd like to wake Ashley up."
David sighed. "All right."
A few minutes later, Ashley was opening her eyes.
"How do you feel?" David asked.
"Tired. Did it...did it go all right?"
"Yes. We talked to Alette and Toni. They—"
"I don't want to know."
"All right. Why don't you go rest now, Ashley? I'll be back to see you this afternoon."
They watched a female jailer lead her away.
Dr. Salem said, "You have to put her on the stand, David. That will convince any jury in the world that—"
"I've given it a lot of thought," David said. "I don't think I can."
Dr. Salem looked at him a moment. "Why not?"
"Brennan, the prosecuting attorney, is a killer. He would tear her apart can't take that chance."
David and Sandra were having dinner with the Quillers two days before the preliminaries of the trial were to begin.
"We've checked into the Wyndham Hotel," David said. "The manager did me a special favor. Sandra's coming down with me. The town is crowded beyond belief."
"And if it's that bad now," Emily said, "imagine what it's going to be like when the trial starts."
Quiller looked at David. "Anything can do to help?"
David shook his head. "I have a big decision to make. Whether to put Ashley on the stand or not."
"It's a tough call," Jesse Quiller said. "You're damned if you do and damned if you don't. The problem is that Brennan is going to build Ashley Patterson up as a sadistic, murdering monster. If you don't put her on the stand, that's the image the jurors will carry in then-minds when they go into the jury room to reach a verdict. On the other hand, from what you tell me, if you do put Ashley on the stand, Brennan can destroy her."
"Brennan's going to have all his medical experts there to discredit multiple personality disorder."
"You've got to convince them that it's real."
"And I intend to," David said. "Do you know what bothers me, Jesse? The jokes. The latest one going around is that wanted to ask for a change of venue, but decided not to because there are no places left where Ashley hasn't murdered someone. Do you remember when Johnny Carson was on television? He was funny and he always remained a gentleman. Now, the hosts on the late-night shows are all malicious. Then-humor at the expense of other people is savage."
"David?"
"Yes."
Jesse Quiller said quietly, "It's going to get worse."
David Singer was unable to sleep the night before he was to go into court. He could not stem the negative thoughts swirling through his head. When he finally fell asleep, he heard a voice saying. You let your last client die. What if you let this one die?
He sat up in bed, bathed in perspiration.
Sandra opened her eyes. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. No. What the hell am I doing here? All I had to do was say no to Dr. Patterson."
Sandra squeezed his aim and said softly, "Why didn't you?"
He grunted. "You're right. I couldn't."
"All right then. Now, how about getting some sleep so you'll be nice and fresh in the morning?"
"Great idea."
He was awake the rest of the night.
Judge Williams had been correct about the media. The reporters were relentless. Journalists were swarming in from around the world, avid to cover the story of a beautiful young woman being tried as a serial killer who sexually mutilated her victims.
The fact that Mickey Brennan was forbidden to bring the names of Jim Cleary or Jean Claude Parent into the trial had been frustrating, but the media had solved the problem for him. Television talk shows, magazines and newspapers all carried lurid stories of the five murders and castrations. Mickey Brennan was pleased.
When David arrived at the courtroom, the press was out in full force. David was besieged.
"Mr. Singer, are you still employed by Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley...?"
"Look this way, Mr. Singer...."
"Is it true you were fired for taking this case...?"
"Can you tell us about Helen Woodman? Didn't you handle her murder trial...?"
"Did Ashley Patterson say why she did it...?"
"Are you going to put your client on the stand...?"
"No comment," David said curtly.
When Mickey Brennan drove up to the courthouse, he was instantly surrounded by the media.
"Mr. Brennan, how do you think the trial is going to go...?"
"Have you ever tried an alter ego defense before...?" Brennan smiled genially. "No. I can't wait to talk to all the defendants." He got the laugh that he wanted. "If there are enough of them, they can have their own ball club." Another laugh. "I've got to get inside. I don't want to keep any of the defendants waiting."
The voir dire started with Judge Williams asking general questions of the potential jurors. When she had finished, it was the defense's turn and then the prosecution's.
To laymen, the selection of a jury seems simple: Choose the prospective juror who seemed friendly and dismiss the others. In fact, voir dire was a carefully planned ritual. Skilled trial lawyers did not ask direct questions that would bring yes or no answers. They asked general questions that would encourage the jurors to talk and reveal something of themselves and their true feelings.
Mickey Brennan and David Singer had different agendas. In this case, Brennan wanted a preponderance of men on the jury, men who would be disgusted and shocked at the idea of a woman stabbing and castrating her victims. Brennan's questions were meant to pinpoint people who were traditional in their thinking, who would be less likely to believe in spirits and goblins and people who claimed they were inhabited by alters. David took the opposite approach.
"Mr. Harris, is it? I'm David Singer. I'm representing the defendant. Have you ever served on a jury before, Mr. Hams?"
"No."
"I appreciate your taking the time and trouble to do this."
"It should be interesting, a big murder trial like this."
"Yes. I think it will be."
"In fact, I've been looking forward to it."
"Have you?"
"Yeah."
"Where do you work, Mr. Hams?"
"At United Steel."
"I imagine you and your fellow workers have talked about the Patterson case."
"Yes. As a matter of fact, we have."
David said, "That's understandable. Everyone seems to be talking about it. What's the general opinion? Do your fellow workers think Ashley Patterson is guilty?"
"Yeah. I have to say they do."
"And do you think so?"
"Well, it sure looks like it."
"But you're willing to listen to the evidence before making up your mind?"
"Yeah. I'll listen to it."
"What do you like to read, Mr. Hams?"
"I'm not a big reader. I like to camp out and hunt and fish."
"An outdoorsman. When you're camping out at night and you look at the stars, do you ever wonder if there are other civilizations up there?"
"You mean that crazy UFO stuff? I don't believe in all that nonsense."
David turned to Judge Williams. "Pass for cause, Your Honor."
Another juror interrogation:
"What do you like to do in your spare time, Mr. Alien?"
"Well, I like to read and watch television."
"I like to do the same things. What do you watch on television?"
"There's some great shows on Thursday nights. It's hard to choose. The damn networks put all the good shows on at the same time."
"You're right. It's a shame. Do you ever watch the X-Files?'
"Yeah. My kids love it."
"What about Sabrina, the Teenage Witch?"
"Yeah. We watch that. That's a good show."
"What do you like to read?"
"Anne Rice, Stephen King..."
Yes.
* * *
Another juror interrogation:
"What do you like to watch on television, Mr. Mayer?"
"Sixty Minutes, the News Hour with Jim Lehrer, documentaries..."
"What do you like to read?"
"Mainly history and political books."
"Thank you."
No.
Judge Tessa Williams sat on the bench, listening to the questioning, her face betraying nothing. But David could feel her disapproval every time she looked at him.
When the last juror was finally selected, the panel consisted of seven men and five women. Brennan glanced at David triumphantly. This is going to be a slaughter.
EARLY ON the morning the trial of Ashley Patterson was to begin, David went to see Ashley at the detention center. She was near hysteria.
"I can't go through with this. I can't! Tell them to leave me alone."
"Ashley, it's going to be all right. We're going to face them, and we're going to win."
"You don't know—You don't know what this is like. I feel as though I'm in some kind of hell."
"We're going to get you out of it. This is the first step."
She was trembling. "I'm afraid they're—they're going to do something terrible to me."
"I won't let them," David said firmly. "I want you to believe in me. Just remember, you're not responsible for what happened. You haven't done anything wrong. They're waiting for us."
She took a deep breath. "All right. I'm going to be fine. I'm going to be fine. I'm going to be fine."
Seated in the spectators' section was Dr. Steven Patter-son. He had responded to the barrage of reporters' questions outside the courtroom with one answer: "My daughter is innocent."
Several rows away were Jesse and Emily Quiller, there for moral support.
At the prosecutor's table were Mickey Brennan and two associates, Susan Freeman and Eleanor Tucker.
Sandra and Ashley were seated at the defendant's table, with David between them. The two women had met the previous week.
"David, you can look at Ashley and know she's innocent."
"Sandra, you can look at the evidence she left on her victims and know she killed them. But killing them and being guilty are two different things. Now all I have to do is convince the jury."
Judge Williams entered the courtroom and moved to the bench. The court clerk announced, "All rise. Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Tessa Williams presiding."
Judge Williams said, "You may be seated. This is the case of The People of the State of California Versus Ashley Patterson. Let's get started." Judge Williams looked at Brennan. "Would the prosecutor like to make an opening statement?"
Mickey Brennan rose. "Yes, Your Honor." He turned to the jury and moved toward them. "Good morning. As you know, ladies and gentlemen, the defendant is on trial, accused of committing three bloody murders. Murderers come in many disguises." He nodded toward Ashley. "Her disguise is that of an innocent, vulnerable young woman. But the state will prove to you beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant willfully and knowingly murdered and mutilated three innocent men.
"She used an alias to commit one of these murders, hoping not to get caught. She knew exactly what she was doing. We're talking calculated, cold-blooded murder. As the trial goes on, I will show you all the strands, one by one, that tie this case to the defendant sitting there. Thank you." He returned to his seat.
Judge Williams looked at David. "Does the defense have an opening statement?"
"Yes, Your Honor." David stood and faced the jury. He took a deep breath. "Ladies and gentlemen, in the course of this trial, I will prove to you that Ashley Patterson is not responsible for what happened. She had no motive for any of the murders, nor any knowledge of them. My client is a victim. She is a victim of MPD— multiple personality disorder, which in the course of this trial will be explained to you."
He glanced at Judge Williams and said firmly, "MPD is an established medical fact. It means that there are other personalities, or alters, that take over their hosts and control their actions. MPD has a long history. Benjamin Rush, a physician and signer of the Declaration of Independence, discussed case histories of MPD in his lectures. Many incidents of MPD were reported through-out the nineteenth century and in this century of people taken over by alters."
Brennan was listening to David, a cynical smile on his face.
"We will prove to you that it was an alter who took command and committed the murders that Ashley Patterson had absolutely no reason to commit None. She had no control over what happened, and therefore is not responsible for what happened. During the course of the trial, I will bring in eminent doctors who will explain in greater detail about MPD. Fortunately, it is curable."
He looked into the faces of the jurors. "Ashley Patterson had no control over what she did, and in the name of justice, we ask that Ashley Patterson not be convicted of crimes for which she is not responsible."
David took his seat.
Judge Williams looked at Brennan. "Is the state ready to proceed?"
Brennan rose. "Yes, Your Honor." He flashed a smile at his associates and moved in front of the jury box. Brennan stood there a moment and deliberately let out a loud burp. The jurors were staring at him, surprised.
Brennan looked at them a moment as though puzzled and then his face cleared. "Oh, I see. You were waiting for me to say 'excuse me.' Well, I didn't say it because I didn't do that. My alter ego, Pete, did it."
David was on his feet, furious. "Objection. Your Honor, this is the most outrageous—"
"Sustained."
But the damage had already been done.
Brennan gave David a patronizing smile and then turned back to the jury. "Well, I guess there hasn't been a defense like this since the Salem witch trials three hundred years ago." He turned to look at Ashley. "I didn't do it. No, sir. The devil made me do it."
David was on his feet again. "Objection. The—"
"Overruled."
David slammed back into his seat.
Brennan stepped closer to the jury box. "I promised you that I was going to prove that the defendant willfully and cold-bloodedly murdered and mutilated three men— Dennis Tibble, Richard Melton and deputy Samuel Blake. Three men! In spite of what the defense says"— he turned and pointed to Ashley again—"there's only one defendant sitting there, and she's the one who committed the murders. What did Mr. Singer call it? Multiple personality disorder? Well, I'm going to bring some prominent doctors here who will tell you, under oath, that there is no such thing! But first, let's hear from some experts who are going to tie the defendant to the crimes."
Brennan turned to Judge Williams. "I would like to call my first witness. Special Agent Vincent Jordan."
A short bald man stood up and moved toward the witness box.
The clerk said, "Please state your full name and spell it for the record."
"Special Agent Vincent Jordan, J-o-r-d-a-n."
Brennan waited until he was sworn in and took a seat.
"You are with the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Washington, D.C.?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what do you do with the FBI, Special Agent Jordan?"
"I'm in charge of the fingerprints section."
"How long have you had that job?"
"Fifteen years."
"Fifteen years. In all that time have you ever come across a duplicate set of fingerprints from different people?"
"No, sir."
"How many sets of fingerprints are currently on file with the FBI?"
"At last count, just over two hundred and fifty million, but we receive over thirty-four thousand fingerprint cards a day."
"And none of them matches any others?"
"No, sir."
"How do you identify a fingerprint?"
"We use seven different fingerprint patterns for identification purposes. Fingerprints are unique. They're formed before birth and last throughout one's life. Barring accidental or intentional mutilation, no two patterns are alike."
"Special Agent Jordan, you were sent the fingerprints found at the scenes of the three victims who the defendant is accused of murdering?"
"Yes, sir. We were."
"And you were also sent the fingerprints of the defendant, Ashley Patterson?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you personally examine those prints?"
"I did."
"And what was your conclusion?"
"That the prints left at the murder scenes and the prints that were taken from Ashley Patterson were identical."
There was a loud buzz in the courtroom.
"Order! Order!"
Brennan waited until the courtroom quieted down. "They were identical? Is there any doubt in your mind, Agent Jordan? Could there be any mistake?"
"No, sir. All the prints were clear and easily identifiable."
"Just to clarify this... we're talking about the fingerprints left at the murder scenes of Dennis Tibble, Richard Melton and deputy Samuel Blake?"
"Yes, sir."
"And the fingerprints of the defendant, Ashley Patterson, were found at all the scenes of the murders?"
"That is correct."
"And what would you say was the margin of error?"
"None."
"Thank you. Agent Jordan." Brennan turned to David Singer. "Your witness."
David sat there a moment, then rose and walked over to the witness box. "Agent Jordan, when you examine fingerprints, do you ever find that some have been deliberately smudged, or damaged in some way, in order for the felon to conceal his crime?"
"Yes, but we're usually able to correct them with high-intensity laser techniques."
"Did you have to do that in the case of Ashley Patterson?"
"No, sir."
"Why was that?"
"Well, like I said... the fingerprints were all clear." David glanced at the jury. "So what you're saying is that the defendant made no attempt to erase or disguise her fingerprints?"
"That is correct."
"Thank you. No further questions." He turned to the jury. "Ashley Patterson made no attempt to conceal her prints because she was innocent and—"
Judge Williams snapped, "That's enough. Counselor! You'll have your chance to plead your case later."
David resumed his seat.
Judge Williams turned to Special Agent Jordan. "You're excused." The FBI agent stepped down.
Brennan said, "I would like to call as my next witness, Stanley Clarke."
A young man with long hair was ushered into the courtroom. He walked toward the witness stand. The courtroom was still as he was sworn in and took his seat.
Brennan said, "What is your occupation, Mr. Clarke?"
"I'm with National Biotech Laboratory work with deoxyribonucleic acid."
"More commonly known to us simple nonscientists as DNA?"
"Yes, sir."
"How long have you worked at National Biotech Laboratory?"
"Seven years."
"And what is your position?"
"I'm a supervisor."
"So, in that seven years, I assume that you've had a lot of experience with testing DNA?"
"Sure. I do it every day."
Brennan glanced at the jury. "I think we're all familiar with the importance of DNA." He pointed to the spectators. "Would you say that perhaps half a dozen people in this courtroom have identical DNA?"
"Hell no, sir. If we took a profile of DNA strands and assigned it a frequency based on collected databases, only one in five hundred billion unrelated Caucasians would have the same DNA profile."
Brennan looked impressed. "One in five hundred billion. Mr. Clarke, how do you obtain DNA from a crime scene?"
"Lots of ways. We find DNA in saliva or semen or vaginal discharge, blood, a strand of hair, teeth, bone marrow..."
"And from any one of those things you can match it to a specific person?"
"That's correct."
"Did you personally compare the DNA evidence in the murders of Dennis Tibble, Richard Melton and Samuel Blake?"
"I did."
"And were you later given several strands of hair from the defendant, Ashley Patterson?"
"I was."
"When you compared the DNA evidence from the various murder scenes with the strands of hair from the defendant, what was your conclusion?"
"They were identical."
This time the reaction from the spectators was even noisier.
Judge Williams slammed down her gavel. "Order! Be quiet, or I'll have the courtroom cleared."
Brennan waited until the room was still. "Mr. Clarke, did you say that the DNA taken from every one of the three murder scenes and the DNA of the accused were identical?" Brennan leaned on the word.
"Yes, sir."
Brennan glanced over at the table where Ashley was sitting, then turned back to the witness. "What about contamination? We're all aware of a famous criminal trial where the DNA evidence was supposedly contaminated. Could the evidence in this case have been mishandled so that it was no longer valid or—?"
"No, sir. The DNA evidence in these murder cases was very carefully handled and sealed."
"So there's no doubt about it. The defendant murdered the three—?"
David was on his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. The prosecutor is leading the witness and—"
"Sustained."
David took his seat.
"Thank you, Mr. Clarke." Brennan turned to David. "Nothing further."
Judge Williams said, "Your witness, Mr. Singer."
"No questions."
The jurors were staring at David. Brennan acted surprised. "No questions?"
Brennan looked at the jurors and said, "I'm amazed that the defense is not questioning the evidence, because it proves beyond a doubt that the defendant murdered and castrated three innocent men and—"
David was on his feet. "Your Honor—"
"Sustained. You're stepping over the boundaries, Mr. Brennan!"
"Sorry, Your Honor. No more questions."
Ashley was looking at David, frightened.
He whispered, "Don't worry. It will be our turn soon."
The afternoon consisted of more witnesses for the prosecution, and their testimony was devastating.
"The building superintendent summoned you to Dennis Tibble's apartment. Detective Light man?"
"Yes."
"Would you tell as what you found there?"
"It was a mess. There was blood all over the place."
"What was the condition of the victim?"
"He had been stabbed to death and castrated."
Brennan glanced at the jury, a look of horror on his face. "Stabbed to death and castrated. Did you find any evidence at the scene of the crime?"
"Oh, yes. The victim had had sex before he died. We found some vaginal discharge and fingerprints."
"Why didn't you arrest someone immediately?"
"The fingerprints we found didn't match any that we had on record. We were waiting for a match on the prints we had."
"But when you finally got Ashley Patterson's fingerprints and her DNA, it all came together?"
"It sure did. It all came together."
Dr. Steven Patterson was at the trial every day. He sat in the spectators' section just behind the defendant's table. Whenever he entered or left the courtroom, he was besieged by reporters.
"Dr. Patterson, how do you think the trial is going?"
"It's going very well."
"What do you think is going to happen?"
"My daughter is going to be found innocent."
Late one afternoon when David and Sandra got back to the hotel, there was a message waiting for them. "Please call Mr. Kong at your bank."
David and Sandra looked at each other. "Is it time for another payment already?" Sandra asked.
"Yes. Time flies when you're having fan," he said dryly. David was thoughtful for a moment. "The trial's going to be over soon, honey. We have enough left in our bank account to give them this month's payment."
Sandra looked at him, worried. "David, if we can't make all the payments... do we lose everything we've put in?"
"We do. But don't worry. Good things happen to good people."
And he thought about Helen Woodman.
* * *
Brian Hill was sitting in the witness box after being sworn in. Mickey Brennan gave him a friendly smile.
"Would you tell us what you do, Mr. Hill?"
"Yes, sir. I'm a guard at the De Young Museum in San Francisco."
"That must be an interesting job."
"It is, if you like art. I'm a frustrated painter."
"How long have you worked there?"
"Four years."
"Do a lot of the same people visit the museum? That is, do people come again and again?"
"Oh, yes. Some people do."
"So I suppose that over a period of time, they would become familiar to you, or at least they would be familiar faces?"
"That's true."
"And I'm told that artists are permitted to come in to copy some of the museum's paintings?"
"Oh, yes. We have a lot of artists."
"Did you ever meet any of them, Mr. Hill?"
"Yes, we—You kind of become friendly after a while."
"Did you ever meet a man named Richard Melton?"
Brian Hill sighed. "Yes. He was very talented."
"So talented, in fact that you asked him to teach you to paint?"
"That's right."
David got to his feet. "Your Honor, this is fascinating, but I don't see what it has to do with the trial. If Mr. Brennan—"
"It's relevant, Your Honor. I'm establishing that Mr. Hill could identify the victim by sight and by name and tell us who the victim associated with."
"Objection overruled. You may go ahead."
"And did he teach you to paint?"
"Yes, he did, when he had time."
"When Mr. Melton was at the museum, did you ever see him with any young ladies?"
"Well, not in the beginning. But then he met somebody he was kind of interested in, and I used to see him with her."
"What was her name?"
"Alette Peters."
Brennan looked puzzled. "Alette Peters? Are you sure you have the right name?"
"Yes, sir. That's the way he introduced her."
"You don't happen to see her in this courtroom right now, do you, Mr. Hill?"
"Yes, sir." He pointed to Ashley. "That's her sitting there."
Brennan said, "But that's not Alette Peters. That's the defendant, Ashley Patterson."
David was on his feet. "Your Honor, we have already said that Alette Peters is a part of this trial. She is one of the alters who controls Ashley Patterson and—"
"You're getting ahead of yourself, Mr. Singer. Mr. Brennan, please continue."
"Now, Mr. Hill, you're sure that the defendant, who's here under the name of Ashley Patterson, was known to Richard Melton as Alette Peters?"
"That's right."
"And there's no doubt that this is the same woman?" Brian Hill hesitated. "Well... Yeah, it's the same woman."
"And you saw her with Richard Melton the day that Melton was murdered?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you." Brennan turned to David. "Your witness."
David got up and slowly walked over to the witness box. "Mr. Hill, I would think it's a big responsibility being a guard in a place where so many hundreds of millions of dollars' worth of art was being exhibited."
"Yes, sir. It is."
"And to be a good guard, you have to be on the alert all the time."
"That's right."
"You have to be aware of what's going on all the me."
"You bet."
"Would you say that you're a trained observer, Mr. Hill?"
"Yes, I would."
"I ask that because I noticed when Mr. Brennan asked you if you had any doubts about whether Ashley Patterson was the woman who was with Richard Melton, you hesitated. Weren't you sure?"
There was a momentary pause. "Well, she looks a lot like the same woman, but in a way she seems different."
"In what way, Mr. Hill?"
"Alette Peters was more Italian, and she had an Italian accent... and she seemed younger than the defendant."
"That's exactly right, Mr. Hill. The person you saw in San Francisco was an alter of Ashley Patterson. She was born in Rome, she was eight years younger—"
Brennan was on his feet, furious. "Objection."
David turned to Judge Williams. "Your Honor, was—"
"Will counsel approach the bench, please?" David and Brennan walked over to Judge Williams. "I don't want to have to tell you this again, Mr. Singer. The defense will have its chance when the prosecution rests. Until then, stop pleading your case."
Bernice Jenkins was on the stand.
"Would you tell us your occupation. Miss Jenkins?"
"I'm a waitress."
"And where do you work?"
"The cafe at the De Young Museum."
"What was your relationship with Richard Melton?"
"We were good friends."
"Could you elaborate on that?"
"Well, at one time we had a romantic relationship and then things kind of cooled off. Those things happen."
"I'm sure they do. And then what?"
"Then we became like brother and sister. I mean, I—I told him about all my problems, and he told me about all his problems."
"Did he ever discuss the defendant with you?"
"Well, yeah, but she called herself by a different name."
"And that name was?"
"Alette Peters."
"But he knew her name was really Ashley Patterson?"
"No. He thought her name was Alette Peters."
"You mean she deceived him?"
David sprang to his feet, furious. "Objection."
"Sustained. You will stop leading the witness, Mr. Brennan."
"Sorry, Your Honor." Brennan turned back to the witness box. "He spoke to you about this Alette Peters, but did you ever see the two of them together?"
"Yes, I did. He brought her into the restaurant one day and introduced us."
"And you're speaking of the defendant, Ashley Patterson?"
"Yeah. Only she called herself Alette Peters."
Gary King was on the stand.
Brennan asked, "You were Richard Melton's roommate?"
"Yes."
"Were you also friends? Did you go out with him socially?"
"Sure. We double-dated a lot together."
"Was Mr. Melton interested in any young lady in particular?"
"Yeah."
"Do you know her name?"
"She called herself Alette Peters."
"Do you see her in this courtroom?"
"Yeah. She's sitting over there."
"For the record, you are pointing to the defendant, Ashley Patterson?"
"Right."
"When you came home on the night of the murder, you found Richard Melton's body in the apartment?"
"I sure did."
"What was the condition of the body?"
"Bloody."
"The body had been castrated?"
A shudder. "Yeah. Man, it was awful."
Brennan looked over at the jury for their reaction. It was exactly what he hoped for.
"What did you do next, Mr. King?"
"I called the police."
"Thank you." Brennan turned to David. "Your witness."
David rose and walked over to Gary King.
"Tell us about Richard Melton. What kind of man was he?"
"He was great."
"Was he argumentative? Did he like to get into fights?"
"Richard? No. Just the opposite. He was very quiet, laid back."
"But he liked to be around women who were tough and kind of physical?"
Gary was looking at him strangely. "Not at all. Richard liked nice, quiet women."
"Did he and Alette have a lot of fights? Did she yell at him a lot?"
Gary was puzzled. "You've got it all wrong. They never yelled at each other. They were great together."
"Did you ever see anything that would lead you to believe that Alette Peters would do anything to harm—?"
"Objection. He's leading the witness."
"Sustained."
"No more questions," David said.
When David sat down, he said to Ashley, "Don't worry. They're building up our case for us."
He sounded more confident than he felt.
David and Sandra were having dinner at San Fresco, the restaurant in the Wyndham Hotel, when the maitre d' came up to David and said, "There's an urgent telephone call for you, Mr. Singer."
"Thank you." David said to Sandra, "I'll be right back."
He followed the maitre d' to a telephone. "This is David Singer."
"David—Jesse. Go up to your room and call me back. The goddamn roof is falling in!"
JESSE —?"
"David, I know I'm not supposed to interfere, but I think you should ask for a mistrial."
"What's happened?"
"Have you been on the Internet in the past few days?"
"No. I've been a little busy."
"Well, the trial is all over the damned Internet. That's all they're talking about in the chat rooms."
"That figures," David said. "But what's the—?"
"It's all negative, David. They're saying that Ashley is guilty and that she should be executed. And they're saying it in very colorful ways. You can't believe how vicious they are."
David, suddenly realizing, said, "Oh, my God! If any of the jurors are on the Internet—"
"The odds are pretty good that some of them are, and they'll be influenced. I would ask for a mistrial, or at the very least, to have the jurors sequestered."
"Thanks, Jesse. Will do." David replaced the receiver. When he returned to the restaurant where Sandra was waiting, she asked, "Bad?"
"Bad."
Before court convened the following morning, David asked to see Judge Williams. He was ushered into her chambers, along with Mickey Brennan. "You asked to see me?"
"Yes, Your Honor. I learned last night that this trial is the number one subject on the Internet. It's what all the chat rooms are discussing, and they've already convicted the defendant. It's very prejudicial. And since I'm sure that some of the jurors have computers with on-line access, or talk to friends who have on-line access, it could seriously damage the defense. Therefore, I'm making a motion for a mistrial."
She was thoughtful for a moment. "Motion denied."
David sat there, fighting to control himself. "Then I make a motion to immediately sequester the jury so that—"
"Mr. Singer, every day the press is at this courtroom in full force. This trial is the number one topic on television, on radio and in the newspapers all over the world. I waned you that this was going to turn into a circus, and you wouldn't listen." She leaned forward. "Well, it's your circus, if you wanted the jury sequestered, you should have made that motion before the trial. And I probably would not have granted it. Is there anything else?"
David sat there, his stomach churning. "No, Your Honor."
"Then let's get into the courtroom."
Mickey Brennan was questioning Sheriff Dowling.
"Deputy Sam Blake called to tell you that he was going to spend the night at the defendant's apartment in order to protect her? She told him that someone was threatening her life?"
"That is correct."
"When did you hear from deputy Blake again?"
"I—I didn't. I got a call in the morning that his—his body had been found in the alley in back of Miss Patterson's apartment building."
"And of course you went there immediately?"
"Of course."
"And what did you find?"
He swallowed. "Sam's body was wrapped in a bloody sheet. He had been stabbed to death and castrated like the other two victims."
"Like the other two victims. So all those murders were carried out in a similar fashion?"
"Yes, sir."
"As though they were killed by the same person?" David was on his feet. "Objection!"
"Sustained."
"I'll withdraw that. What did you do next. Sheriff?"
"Well, up until that time, Ashley Patterson wasn't a suspect. But after this happened, we took her in and had her fingerprints taken."
"And then?"
"We sent them to the FBI, and we got a positive make on her."
"Would you explain to the jury what you mean by a positive make?"
Sheriff Dowling turned to the jury. "Her fingerprints matched other fingerprints on file that they were trying to identify from the previous murders."
"Thank you. Sheriff." Brennan turned to David. "Your witness."
David got up and walked over to the witness box. "Sheriff, we've heard testimony in this courtroom that a bloody knife was found in Miss Patterson's kitchen."
"That's right."
"How was it hidden? Wrapped up in something? Stashed away where it couldn't be found?"
"No. It was right out in the open."
"Right out in the open. Left there by someone who had nothing to hide. Someone who was innocent because—"
"Objection!"
"Sustained."
"No more questions."
"The witness is dismissed." Brennan said, "If it pleases the court..." He signaled someone at the back of the courtroom, and a man in overalls came in, carrying the mirror from Ashley Patterson's medicine cabinet. On it, in red lipstick, was written YOU WILL DIE.
David rose. "What is this?" Judge Williams turned to Mickey Brennan. "Mr. Brennan?"
"This is the bait the defendant used to get deputy Blake to come to her apartment so she could murder him. I would like this marked as exhibit D. It came from the medicine chest of the defendant."
"Objection, Your Honor. It has no relevance."
"I will prove that there is a relevance."
"We'll see. In the meantime, you may proceed." Brennan placed the mirror in full view of the jury. "This minor was taken from the defendant's bathroom." He looked at the jurors. "As you can see, scrawled across it is 'You Will Die.' This was the defendant's pretext for having deputy Blake come to her apartment that night to protect her." He turned to Judge Williams. "I would like to call my next witness. Miss Laura Niven."
A middle-aged woman walking with a cane approached the witness box and was sworn in.
"Where do you work. Miss Niven?"
"I'm a consultant for the County of San Jose."
"And what do you do?"
"I'm a handwriting expert."
"How long have you worked for the county. Miss Niven?"
"Twenty-two years."
Brennan nodded toward the mirror. "You have been shown this mirror before?"
"Yes."
"And you've examined it?"
"I have."
"And you've been shown an example of the defendant's handwriting?"
"Yes."
"And had a chance to examine that?"
"Yes."
"And you've compared the two?"
"I have."
"And what is your conclusion?"
"They were written by the same person." There was a collective gasp from the courtroom. "So what you're saying is that Ashley Patterson wrote this threat to herself?"
"That is correct."
Mickey Brennan looked over at David. "Your witness."
David hesitated. He glanced at Ashley. She was staring down at the table, shaking her head. "No questions."
Judge Williams was studying David. "No questions, Mr. Singer?"
David rose to his feet. "No. All this testimony is meaningless." He turned to the jury. "The prosecution will have to prove that Ashley Patterson knew the victims and had a motive to—"
Judge Williams said angrily, "I've warned you before. It is not your place to instruct the jury on the law. If—"
"Someone has to," David exploded. "You're letting him get away with—"
"That's enough, Mr. Singer. Approach the bench."
David walked to the bench.
"I'm citing you for contempt of court and sentencing you to a night here in our nice jail the day this trial is over."
"Wait, Your Honor. You can't—" She said grimly, "I've sentenced you to one night. Would you like to try for two?"
David stood there, glaring at her, taking deep breaths. "For the sake of my client, I'll—I'll keep my feelings to myself."
"A wise decision," Judge Williams said curtly. "Court is adjourned." She turned to a bailiff. "When this trial is ended, I want Mr. Singer taken into custody."
"Yes, Your Honor."
Ashley turned to Sandra. "Oh, my God! What's happening?"
Sandra squeezed her arm. "Don't worry. You have to trust David."
Sandra telephoned Jesse Quiller.
"I heard," he said. "It's all over the news, Sandra. I don't blame David for losing his temper. She's been goading him from the beginning. What did David do to get her so down on him?"
"I don't know, Jesse. It's been horrible. You should see the faces of the jurors. They hate Ashley. They can't wait to convict her. Well, it's the defense's turn next. David will change their minds."
"Hold the thought."
"Judge Williams hates me, Sandra, and it's banning Ashley. If I don't do something about this, Ashley is going to die. I can't let that happen."
"What can you do?" Sandra asked. David took a deep breath. "Resign from the case." Both of them knew what that meant. The media would be full of his failure.
"I never should have agreed to take on the trial," David said bitterly. "Dr. Patterson trusted me to save his daughter's life, and I've—" He could not go on.
Sandra put her arms around him and held him close. "Don't worry, darling. Everything's going to turn out fine."
I've let everyone down, David thought. Ashley, Sandra... I'm going to be kicked out of the firm, I won't have a job and the baby is due soon. "Everything's going to turn out fine."
Right.
In the morning, David asked to see Judge Williams in her chambers. Mickey Brenman was there.
Judge Williams said, "You asked to see me, Mr. Singer?"
"Yes, Your Honor. I want to resign from the case." Judge Williams said, "On what grounds?" David spoke carefully. "I don't believe I'm the right lawyer for this trial. I think I'm hurting my client I would like to be replaced."
Judge Williams said quietly, "Mr. Singer, if you think I'm going to let you walk away from this and then have to start this trial all over again and waste even more time and money, you're quite mistaken. The answer is no. Do you understand me?"
David closed his eyes for an instant, forcing himself to stay calm. He looked up and said, "Yes, Your Honor. I understand you." He was trapped.
More than three months had gone by since the beginning of the trial, and David could not remember when he had last had a full night's sleep.
One afternoon, when they returned from the court-room, Sandra said, "David, I think I should go back to San Francisco."
David looked at her in surprise. "Why? We're right in the middle of—Oh, my God." He put his arms around her. "The baby. Is it coming?"
Sandra smiled. "Anytime now. I'd feel safer if I were back there, closer to Dr. Bailey. Mother said she'd come and stay with me."
"Of course. You have to go back," David said. "I lost track of time. He's due in three weeks, isn't he?"
"Yes." He grimaced. "And I can't be there with you."
Sandra took his hand. "Don't be upset, darling. This trial's going to be over soon."
"This goddamn trial is ruining our lives."
"David, we're going to be fine. My old job's waiting for me. After the baby comes, I can—" David said, "I'm so sorry, Sandra. I wish—"
"David, don't ever be sorry for doing something you believe is right."
"I love you."
"I love you."
He stroked her stomach. "I love you both." He sighed. "All right I'll help you pack. I'll drive you back to San Francisco tonight and—"
"No," Sandra said firmly. "You can't leave here. I'll ask Emily to come and pick me up."
"Ask her if she can join us here for dinner tonight."
"All right."
Emily had been delighted. "Of course I'll come to pick you up." And she had arrived in San Jose two hours later.
The three of them had dinner that evening at Chai Jane.
"It's terrible timing," Emily said. "I hate to see you two away from each other right now."
"The trial's almost over," David said hopefully. "Maybe it will end before the baby comes." Emily smiled. "We'll have a double celebration."
It was time to go. David held Sandra in his arms. "I'll talk to you every night," he said.
"Please don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I love you very much." Sandra looked at him and said, "Take care of yourself, David. You look tired."
It wasn't until Sandra left that David realized how utterly alone he was.
Court was in session. ÑÙÒ
Mickey Brennan rose and addressed the court. "I would like to call Dr. Lawrence Larkin as my next witness."
A distinguished gray-haired man was sworn in and took the stand.
"I want to thank you for being here. Dr. Larkin. I know your time is very valuable. Would you tell us a little about your background?"
"I have a successful practice in Chicago. I'm a past resident of the Chicago Psychiatric Association."
"How many years have you been in practice, Doctor?"
"Approximately thirty years."
"And as a psychiatrist, I imagine you've seen many cases of multiple personality disorder?"
"No."
Brennan frowned. "When you say no, you mean you haven't seen a lot of them? Maybe a dozen?"
"I've never seen one case of multiple personality disorder."
Brennan looked at the jury in mock dismay, then back at the doctor. "In thirty years of working with mentally disturbed patients, you have never seen a single case of multiple personality disorder?"
"That's correct."
"I'm amazed. How do you explain that?"
"It's very simple. I don't think that multiple personality disorder exists."
"Well, I'm puzzled. Doctor. Haven't cases of multiple personality disorder been reported?"
Dr. Larkin snorted. "Being reported doesn't mean they're real. You see, what some doctors believe is MPD, they're confusing with schizophrenia, depressions and various other anxiety disorders."
"That's very interesting. So in your opinion, as an expert psychiatrist, you don't believe that multiple personality disorder even exists?"
"That is correct."
"Thank you. Doctor." Mickey Brennan turned to David. "Your witness."
David rose and walked over to the witness box. "You are a past president of the Chicago Psychiatric Association, Dr. Larkin?"
"Yes."
"You must have met a great many of your peers."
"Yes. I'm proud to say that I have."
"Do you know Dr. Royce Salem?"
"Yes. I know him very well."
"Is he a good psychiatrist?"
"Excellent. One of the best."
"Did you ever meet Dr. Clyde Donovan?"
"Yes. Many times."
"Would you say that he's a good psychiatrist?"
"I would use him"—a small chuckle—"if I needed one."
"And what about Dr. Ingram? Do you know him?"
"Ray Ingram? Indeed, I do. Fine man."
"Competent psychiatrist?"
"Oh, yes."
"Tell me, do all psychiatrists agree on every mental condition?"
"No. Of course we have some disagreements. Psychiatry is not an exact science."
"That's interesting. Doctor. Because Dr. Salem, Dr. Donovan and Dr. Ingram are going to come here and testify that they have treated cases of multiple personality disorder. Perhaps none of them is as competent as you are. That's all. No further questions." Judge Williams turned to Brennan. "Redirect?" Brennan got to his feet and walked over to the witness box.
"Dr. Larkin, do you believe that because these other doctors disagree with your opinion about MPD that that makes them right and you wrong?"
"No. I could produce dozens of psychiatrists who don't believe in MPD."
"Thank you. Doctor. No more questions."
Mickey Brennan said, "Dr. Upton, we've heard testimony that sometimes what is thought to be multiple personality disorder is really confused with other disorders. What are the tests that prove multiple personality disorder isn't one of those other conditions?"
"There is no test."
Brennan's mouth dropped open in surprise as he glanced at the jury. "There is no test? Are you saying that there's no way to tell whether someone who claims he has MPD is lying or malingering or using it to excuse some crime he or she doesn't want to be held responsible for?"
"As I said, there is no test."
"So it's simply a matter of opinion? Some psychiatrists believe in it and some don't?"
"That's right."
"Let me ask you this, Doctor. If you hypnotize someone, surely you can tell whether they really have MPD or they're pretending to have it?"
Dr. Upton shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Even under hypnosis or with Sodium Amytal, there is no way of exposing someone if he or she is faking."
"That's very interesting. Thank you, Doctor. No more questions." Brennan turned to David. "Your witness."
David rose and walked over to the witness box. "Dr. Upton, have you ever had patients come to you, having been diagnosed by other doctors as having MPD?"
"Yes. Several times."
"And did you treat those patients?"
"No, I didn't."
"Why not?"
"I can't treat conditions that don't exist. One of the patients was an embezzler who wanted me to testify that he wasn't responsible because he had an alter who did it. Another patient was a housewife who was arrested for beating her children. She says that someone inside her made her do it. There were a few more like that with different excuses, but they were all trying to bide from something. In other words, they were faking."
"You seem to have a very definite opinion about this, Doctor."
"I do. I know I'm right." David said, "You know you're right?"
"Well, I mean—"
"—that everyone else must be wrong? All the doctors who believe in MPD are all wrong?"
"I didn't mean that—"
"And you're the only one who's right. Thank you, Doctor. That's all."
Dr. Simon Raleigh was on the stand. He was a short, bald man in his sixties.
Brennan said, "Thank you for coming here. Doctor. You've had a long and illustrious career. You're a doctor, you're a professor, you went to school at—"
David stood up. "The defense will stipulate to the witness's distinguished background."
"Thank you." Brennan turned back to the witness. "Dr. Raleigh, what does iatrogenicity mean?"
"That's when there's an existing illness, and medical treatment of psychotherapy aggravates it."
"Would you be more specific. Doctor?"
"Well, in psychotherapy, very often the therapist influences the patient with his questions or attitude. He might make the patient feel that he has to meet the expectations of the therapist."
"How would that apply to MPD?"
" "If the psychiatrist is questioning the patient about different personalities within him, the patient might make up some in order to please the therapist. It's a very tricky area. Amytal and hypnosis can mimic MPD in patients who are otherwise normal."
"So what you're saying is that under hypnosis the psychiatrist himself can alter the condition of the patient so that the patient believes something that is not true?"
"That has happened, yes."
"Thank you. Doctor." He looked at David. "Your witness."
David said, "Thank you." He rose and walked over to the witness box. David said disarmingly, "Your credentials are very impressive. You're not only a psychiatrist, but you teach at a university."
"Yes."
"How long have you been teaching. Doctor?"
"More than fifteen years."
"That's wonderful. How do you divide your time? By that I mean, do you spend half of your time teaching and the other half working as a doctor?"
"Now, I teach full-time."
"Oh? How long has it been since you actually practiced medicine?"
"About eight years. But I keep up on all the current medical literature."
"I have to tell you, I find that admirable. So you read up on everything. That's how you're so familiar with iatrogenicity?"
"Yes."
"And in the past, a lot of patients came to you claiming they had MPD?"
"Well, no..."
"Not a lot? In the years you were practicing as a doctor, would you say you had a dozen cases who claimed they had MPD?"
"No."
"Six?" Dr. Raleigh shook his head. "Four?" There was no answer.
"Doctor, have you ever had a patient who came to you with MPD?"
"Well, it's hard to—"
"Yes or no. Doctor?"
"No."
"So all you really know about MPD is what you've read? No further questions."
The prosecution called six more witnesses, and the pattern was the same with each. Mickey Brennan had assembled nine top psychiatrists from around the country, all united in their belief that MPD did not exist.
The prosecution's case was winding to a close.
When the last witness on the prosecution's list had been excused. Judge Williams turned to Brennan. "Do you have any more witnesses to call, Mr. Brennan?"
"No, Your Honor. But I would like to show the jury police photographs of the death scenes from the murders F—"
David said furiously, "Absolutely not".
Judge Williams turned to David. "What did you say, Mr. Singer?"
"I said"—David caught himself—"objection. The prosecution is trying to inflame the jury by—"
"Objection overruled. The foundation was laid in a pretrial motion." Judge Williams turned to Brennan.
"You may show the photographs."
David took his seat, furious.
Brennan walked back to his desk and picked up a stack of photographs and handed them out to the jurors. "These are not pleasant to look at, ladies and gentlemen, but this is what the trial is about. It's not about words or theories or excuses. It's not about mysterious alter egos killing people. It's about three real people who were savagely and brutally murdered. The law says that someone has to pay for those murders. It's up to each one of you to see that justice is done."
Brennan could see the horror on the faces of the jurors as they looked at the photographs. He turned to Judge Williams. "The State rests." Judge Williams looked at her watch. "It's four o'clock. The court will recess for the day and begin again at ten o'clock Monday morning. Court adjourned."
ASHLY Patterson was on the gallows being hanged, when a policeman ran up and said, "Wait a minute. She's supposed to be electrocuted."
The scene changed, and she was in the electric chair. A guard reached up to pull the switch, and Judge Williams came running in screaming, "No. We're going to kill her with a lethal injection."
David woke up and sat upright in bed, his heart pounding. His pajamas were wet with perspiration. He started to get up and was suddenly dizzy. He had a pounding headache, and he felt feverish. He touched his forehead. It was hot.
As David started to get out of bed, he was overcome by a wave of dizziness. "Oh, no," he groaned. "Not today. Not now." This was the day he had been waiting for, the day the defense would begin to present its case. David stumbled into the bathroom and bathed his face in cold water. He looked in the mirror. "You look like hell."
When David arrived in court, Judge Williams was already on the bench. They were all waiting for him.
"I apologize for being late," David said. His voice was a croak. "May I approach the bench?"
"Yes."
David walked up to the bench, with Mickey Brennan close behind him. "Your Honor," David said, "I'd like to ask for a one-day stay."
"On what grounds?"
"I—I'm not feeling very well, Your Honor. I'm sure a doctor can give me something and tomorrow I'll be fine."
Judge Williams said, "Why don't you have your associate take over for you?"
David looked at her in surprise. "I don't have an associate."
"Why don't you, Mr. Singer?"
"Because..."
Judge Williams leaned forward. "I've never seen a murder trial conducted like this. You're a one-man show looking for glory, aren't you? Well, you won't find it in this court. I'll tell you something else. You probably think I should refuse myself because I don't believe in your devil-made-me-do-it defense, but I'm not refusing myself. We're going to let the jury decide whether they think your client is innocent or guilty. Is there anything else, Mr. Singer?" David stood there looking at her, and the room was swimming. He wanted to tell her to go fuck herself. He wanted to get on his knees and beg her to be fair. He wanted to go home to bed. He said in a hoarse voice, "No. Thank you. Your Honor."
Judge Williams nodded. "Mr. Singer, you're on. Don't waste any more of this court's time."
David walked over to the jury box, trying to forget about he’s headache and fever. He spoke slowly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you have listened to the prosecution ridiculing the facts of multiple personality disorder. I'm sure that Mr. Brennan wasn't being deliberately malicious. His statements were made out of ignorance. The fact is that he obviously knows nothing about multiple personality disorder, and the same is true of some of the witnesses he has put on the stand. But I'm going to have some people talk to you who do know about it. These are reputable doctors, who are experts in this problem. When you have heard their testimony. I'm sure that it will cast a whole different light on what Mr. Brennan has had to say.
"Mr. Brennan has talked about my client's guilt in committing these terrible crimes. That's a very important point. Guilt. For murder in the first degree to be proved, there must be not only a guilty act, but also a guilty intention. I will show you that there was no guilty intention, because Ashley Patterson was not in control at the time the crimes occurred. She was totally unaware that they were taking place. Some eminent doctors are going to testify that Ashley Patterson has two additional personalities, or alters, one of them a controlling one." David looked into the faces of the jurors. They seemed to be swaying in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant.
"The American Psychiatric Association recognizes multiple personality disorder. So do prominent physicians around the world who have treated patients with this problem. One of Ashley Patterson's personalities committed murder, but it was a personality—an alter— over which she had no control." His voice was getting stronger. "To see the problem clearly, you must understand that the law does not punish an innocent person. So there is a paradox here. Imagine that a Siamese twin is being tried for murder. The law says that you cannot punish the guilty one because you would then have to punish the innocent one." The jury was listening intently.
David nodded toward Ashley. "In this case, we have not two but three personalities to deal with."
He turned to Judge Williams. "I would like to call my first witness. Dr. Joel Ashanti."
"Dr. Ashanti, where do you practice medicine?"
"At Madison Hospital in New York."
"And did you come here at my request?"
"No. I read about the trial, and I wanted to testify. I've worked with patients who have multiple personality disorder, and I wanted to be helpful, if I could. MPD is much more common than the public realizes, and I want to try to clear up any misunderstandings about it."
"I appreciate that, Doctor. In cases like these, is it usual to find a patient with two personalities or alters?"
"In my experience, people with MPD usually have many more alters, sometimes as many as a hundred."
Eleanor Tucker turned to whisper something to Mickey Brennan. Brennan smiled.
"How long have you been dealing with multiple personality disorder? Dr. Ashanti?"
"For the past fifteen years."
"In a patient with MPD, is there usually one alter who dominates?"
"Yes."
Some of the jurors were making notes.
"And is the host—the person who has those personalities within him or her—aware of the other alters?"
"It varies. Sometimes some of the alters know all the other alters, sometimes they know only some of them. But the host is usually not aware of them, not until psychiatric treatment."
"That's very interesting. Is MPD curable?"
"Often, yes. It requires psychiatric treatment over long periods. Sometimes up to six or seven years."
"Have you ever been able to cure MPD patients?"
"Oh, yes."
"Thank you. Doctor."
David turned to study the jury for a moment. Interested, but not convinced, he thought.
He looked over at Mickey Brennan. "Your witness."
Brennan rose and walked over to the witness box.
"Dr. Ashanti, you testified that you flew here all the way from New Yolk because you wanted to be helpful?"
"That's correct."
"Your coming here couldn't have anything to do with the fact that this is a high-profile case and that the publicity would be beneficial to—"
David was on his feet. "Objection. Argumentative."
"Overruled."
Dr. Ashanti said calmly, "I stated why I came here."
"Right. Since you've been practicing medicine. Doctor, how many patients would you say you've treated for mental disorders?"
"Oh, perhaps two hundred."
"And of those cases, how many would you say suffered from multiple personality disorder?"
"A dozen..."
Brennan looked at him in feigned astonishment. "Out of two bundled patients?"
"Well, yes. You see—"
"What I don't see. Dr. Ashanti, is how you can consider yourself an expert if you've dealt with only those few cases. I would appreciate it if you would give us some evidence that would prove or disprove the existence of multiple personality disorder."
"When you say proof—"
"We're in a court of law, Doctor. The jury is not going to make decisions based on theory and 'what if.' What if, for example, the defendant hated the men she murdered, and after killing them, decided to use the excuse of an alter inside her so that she—"
David was on his feet "Objection! That's argumentative and leading the witness."
"Overruled."
"Your Honor—"
"Sit down, Mr. Singer."
David glared at Judge Williams and angrily took his seat.
"So what you're telling us. Doctor, is that there's no evidence that will prove or disprove the existence of MPD?"
"Well, no. But—"
Brennan nodded. "That's all."
Dr. Royce Salem was on the witness stand.
David said, "Dr. Salem, you examined Ashley Patterson?"
"I did."
"And what was your conclusion?"
"Miss Patterson is suffering from MPD. She has two alters who call themselves Toni Prescott and Alette Peters."
"Does she have any control over them?"
"None. When they take over, she is in a state of fugue amnesia."
"Would you explain that? Dr. Salem?"
"Fugue amnesia is a condition where the victim loses consciousness of where he is, or what he is doing. It can last for a few minutes, days or sometimes weeks."
"And during that time would you say that that person is responsible for his or her actions?"
"No."
"Thank you. Doctor." He turned to Brennan. "Your witness."
Brennan said, "Dr. Salem, you are a consultant at several hospitals and you give lectures all around the world?"
"Yes, sir."
"I assume that your peers are gifted, capable doctors?"
"Yes, I would say they are."
"So, they all agree about multiple personality disorder?"
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"Some of them don't agree."
"You mean, they don't believe it exists?"
"Yes."
"But they're wrong and you're right?"
"I've treated patients, and I know that there is such a thing. When—"
"Let me ask you something. If there were such a thing as multiple personality disorder, would one alter always be in charge of telling the host what to do? The alter says, 'Kill,' and the host does it?"
"It depends. Alters have various degrees of influence."
"So the host could be in charge?"
"Sometimes, of course."
"The majority of times?"
"No."
"Doctor, where is the proof that MPD exists?"
"I have witnessed complete physical changes in patients under hypnosis, and I know—"
"And that's a basis of truth?"
"Yes."
"Dr. Salem, if I hypnotized you in a warm room and told you that you were at the North Pole naked in a snowstorm, would your body temperature drop?"
"Well, yes, but—"
"That's all."
David walked over to the witness stand. "Dr. Salem, is there any doubt in your mind that these alters exist in Ashley Patterson?"
"None. And they are absolutely capable of taking over and dominating her."
"And she would not be aware of it?"
"She would not be aware of it."
"Thank you."
"I would like to call Shane Miller to the stand." David watched him being sworn in. "What do you do, Mr. Miller?"
"I'm a supervisor at Global Computer Graphics Corporation."
"And how long have you worked there?"
"About seven years."
"And was Ashley Patterson employed there?"
"Yes."
"And did she work under your supervision?"
"She did."
"So you got to know her pretty well?"
"That's right."
"Mr. Miller, you've heard doctors testify that some of the symptoms of multiple personality disorder are paranoia, nervousness, distress. Have you ever noticed any of those symptoms in Miss Patterson?"
"Well, I—"
"Didn't Miss Patterson tell you that she felt someone was stalking her?"
"Yes. She did."
"And what she had no idea who it could be or why anyone would do that?"
"That's right."
"Didn't she once say that someone used her computer to threaten her with a knife?"
"Yes."
"And didn't things get so bad that you finally sent her to the psychologist who works at your company Dr Speakman?"
"Yes."
"So Ashley Patterson did exhibit the symptoms we're talking about?"
"That's right."
"Thank you, Mr. Miller." David turned to Mickey Brennan. "Your witness."
"How many employees do you have directly under you Mr. Miller?"
"Thirty."
"And out of thirty employees, Ashley Patterson is the only one you've ever seen get upset?"
"Well, no..."
"Oh, really?"
"Everyone gets upset sometimes."
"You mean other employees had to go and see your company psychologist?"
"Oh, sure. They keep him pretty busy."
Brennan seemed impressed. "Is that so?"
"Yeah. A lot of them have problems. Hey, they're all human."
"No further questions."
"Redirect."
David approached the witness stand. "Mr. Miller, you said that some of the employees under you had problems. What kind of problems?"
"Well, it could be about an argument with a boyfriend or a husband...."
"Yes?"
"Or it could be about a financial problem...."
"Yes?"
"Or their kids bugging them...."
"In other words, the ordinary kinds of domestic problems that any of us might face?"
"Yes."
"But no one went to see Dr. Speakman because they thought they were being stalked or because they thought someone was threatening to kill them?"
"No."
"Thank you."
The trial was recessed for lunch.
David got into his car and drove through the park, depressed. The trial was going badly. The doctors couldn't make up their minds whether MPD existed or not. If they can't agree, David thought, how am I going to get a jury to agree? I can't let anything happen to Ashley. I can't. He was approaching Harold's Cafe, a restaurant near the courthouse. He parked the car and went inside. The hostess smiled at him.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Singer."
He was famous. Infamous?
"Right this way, please." He followed her to a booth and sat down. The hostess handed him the menu, gave him a lingering smile and walked away, her hips moving provocatively. The perks of fame, David thought wryly.
He was not hungry, but he could hear Sandra's voice saying, "You have to eat to keep up your strength."
There were two men and two women seated in the booth next to him. One of the men was saying, "She's a hell of a lot worse than Lizzie Borden. Borden killed only two people."
The other man added, "And she didn't castrate them."
"What do you think they'll do to her?"
"Are you kidding? She'll get the death sentence."
"Too bad the Butcher Bitch can't get three death sentences."
That's the public speaking, David thought. He had the depressing feeling that if he walked around the restaurant, he would hear variations of the same comments. Brennan had built her up as a monster. He could hear Quiller's voice. "If you don't put her on the stand, that's the image the jurors will carry in their minds when they go into the jury room to reach a verdict."
I've got to take the chance. I've got to let the jurors see for themselves that Ashley's telling the truth.
The waitress was at his side. "Are you ready to order, Mr. Singer?"
"I've changed my mind," David said. "I'm not hungry." As he got up and walked out of the restaurant, he could feel baleful eyes following him. I hope they're not armed, David thought.
When David returned to the courthouse, he visited Ashley in her cell. She was seated on the little cot, staring at the floor.
"Ashley."
She looked up, her eyes filled with despair.
David sat next to her. "We have to talk."
She watched him, silent.
"These terrible things they're saying about you... none of them are true. But the jurors don't know that. They don't know you. We've got to let them see what you're really like."
Ashley looked at him and said dully, "What am I really like?"
"You're a decent human being who has an illness. They'll sympathize with that."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to get on the witness stand and testify."
She was staring at him, horrified. "I—I can't. I don't know anything. I can't tell them anything."
"Let me handle that. All you have to do is answer my questions."
A guard came up to the cell. "Court's coming into session."
David rose and squeezed Ashley's hand. "It's going to work. You'll see."
"All rise. Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Tessa Williams presiding in the case of The People of the State of California Versus Ashley Patterson."
Judge Williams took her seat on the bench. David said, "May I approach the bench?"
"You may."
Mickey Brennan walked to the bench with David.
"What is it, Mr. Singer?"
"I'd like to call a witness who's not on the discovery list."
Brennan said, "It's awfully late in the trial to introduce new witnesses."
"I would like to call Ashley Patterson as my next witness."
Judge Williams said, "I don't—"
Mickey Brennan said quickly, "The state has no objection, Your Honor."
Judge Williams looked at the two attorneys. "Very well. You may call your witness, Mr. Singer."
"Thank you. Your Honor." He walked over to Ashley and held out his hand. "Ashley..."
She sat there in a panic.
"You must."
She rose, her heart palpitating, and slowly made her way to the witness stand.
Mickey Brennan whispered to Eleanor, "I was praying that he'd call her."
Eleanor nodded. "It's over."
Ashley Patterson was being sworn in by the court cleric. "You do solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
"I do." Her voice was a whisper. Ashley took her seat in the witness box.
David walked over to her. He said gently, "I know this is very difficult for you. You've been accused of horrible crimes that you did not commit. All I want is for the jury to know the truth. Do you have any memory of committing any of those crimes?"
Ashley shook her head. "No."
David glanced at the jury, and then went on. "Did you know Dennis Tibble?"
"Yes. We worked together at Global Computer Graphics Corporation."
"Did you have any reason to kill Dennis Tibble?"
"No." It was difficult for her to speak. "I—I went to his apartment to give him some advice that he had asked me for, and that was the last time I saw him."
"Did you know Richard Melton?"
"No..."
"He was an artist. He was murdered in San Francisco. The police found evidence of your DNA and fingerprints there."
Ashley was shaking her head from side to side. "I—I don't know what to say. I didn't know him!"
"You knew deputy Sam Blake?"
"Yes. He was helping me. I didn't kill him!"
"Are you aware that you have two other personalities, alters, within you, Ashley?"
"Yes." Her voice was strained. "When did you learn this?"
"Before the trial. Dr. Salem told me about it. I couldn't believe it. I—I still can't believe it. It's—it's to awful."
"You had no previous knowledge of these alters."
"No."
"You had never heard of Toni Prescott or Alette Peters?"
"No!"
"Do you believe now that they exist within you?"
"Yes...I have to believe it. They must have done all these—these horrible things...."
"So you have no recollection of ever having met Richard Melton, you had no motive for killing Dennis Tibble or for killing deputy Sam Blake, who was at your apartment to protect you?"
"That's right." Her eyes swept over the crowded courtroom, and she felt a sense of panic.
"One last question," David said. "Have you ever been in trouble with the law?"
"Never."
David put his hand on hers. "That's all for now." He tamed to Mickey Brennan. "Your witness."
Brennan rose, a big smile on his face. "Well, Miss Patterson, we finally get to talk to all of you. Did you ever, at any time, have sexual intercourse with Dennis Tibble?"
"No."
"Did you ever have sexual intercourse with Richard Melton?"
"No."
"Did you ever, at any time, have sexual intercourse; with deputy Samuel Blake?"
"No."
"That's very interesting." Brennan glanced at the jury. "Because traces of a vaginal discharge were found on the bodies of all three men. The DNA tests matched your DNA."
"I...don't know anything about that."
"Maybe you've been framed. Maybe some fiend got hold of it—"
"Objection! It's argumentative."
"Overruled."
"—and planted it on those three mutilated bodies. Do you have any enemies who would do such a thing to you?"
"I... don't know."
"The FBI's fingerprint lab checked the fingerprints the police found at the scenes of the crimes. And I'm sure this will surprise you—"
"Objection."
"Sustained. Be careful, Mr. Brennan."
"Yes, Your Honor."
Satisfied, David slowly sat down.
Ashley was on the verge of hysteria. "The alters must have—"
"The fingerprints at the scenes of the three murders were yours, and yours alone." Ashley sat there, silent.
Brennan walked over to a table, picked up a butcher knife wrapped in cellophane and held it up. "Do you recognize this?"
"It—it could be one of... one of my—"
"One of your knives? It is. It has already been admitted into evidence. The stains on it match the blood of deputy Blake. Your fingerprints are on this murder weapon." Ashley was mindlessly shaking her head from side to side.
"I've never seen a clearer case of cold-blooded murder or a more feeble defense. Hiding behind two nonexistent, imaginary characters is the most—"
David was on his feet again. "Objection."
"Sustained. I've already warned you, Mr. Brennan."
"Sorry, Your Honor."
Brennan went on. "I'm sure that the jury would like to meet the characters you're talking about. You are Ashley Patterson, correct?"
"Yes..."
"Fine. I would like to talk to Toni Prescott."
"I...I can't bring her out."
Brennan looked at her in surprise. "You can't? Really? Well, then, how about Alette Peters?"
Ashley shook her head despairingly. "I...don't control them."
"Miss Patterson, I'm trying to help you," Brennan said. "I want to show the jury your alters who killed and mutilated three innocent men. Bring them out!"
"I...I can't." She was sobbing.
"You can't because they don't exist! You're hiding behind phantoms. You're the only one sitting in that box, and you're the only one who's guilty. They don't exist, but you do, and I'll tell you what else exists—irrefutable, undeniable proof that you murdered three men and cold-bloodedly emasculated them." He turned to Judge Williams. "Your Honor, the state rests."
David turned to look at the jury. They were all staring at Ashley and their faces were filled with repulsion. Judge Williams turned to David. "Mr. Singer?" David rose. "Your Honor, I would like permission to have the defendant hypnotized so that—"
Judge Williams said curtly, "Mr. Singer, I warned you before that I will not have this trial turned into a sideshow. You can't hypnotize her in my courtroom. The answer is no."
David said fiercely, "You have to let me do this. You don't know how important."
"That's enough, Mr. Singer." Her voice was ice. "I'm citing you a second time for contempt. Do you want to reexamine the witness or don't you?"
David stood there, frustrated. "Yes, Your Honor." He walked over to the witness box. "Ashley, you know you're under oath?"
"Yes." She was taking deep breaths, fighting to control herself.
"And everything you've said is the truth as you know it?"
"Yes."
"You know that there are two alters in your mind and body and soul who you have no control over?"
"Yes."
"Toni and Alette?"
"Yes."
"You didn't commit any of those terrible murders?"
"No."
"One of them did, and you're not responsible." Eleanor looked at Brennan questioningly, but he smiled and shook his head. "Let him hang himself," he whispered.
"Helen—" David stopped, white-faced at his slip. "I mean, Ashley...want you to have Toni come out."
Ashley looked at David and shook her head helplessly. "I—I can't," she whispered.
David said, "Yes, you can. Toni is listening to us right now. She's enjoying herself, and why shouldn't she? She got away with three murders." He raised his voice. "You're very clever, Toni. Come on out and take a bow. No one can touch you. They can't punish you because Ashley is innocent, and they'd have to punish her to get at you."
Everyone in the courtroom was staring at David. Ashley sat there, frozen.
David moved closer to her. "Toni! Toni, can you hear me? I want you to come out. Now!"
He waited a moment. Nothing happened. He raised his voice. "Toni! Alette! Come out! Come on out. We all know you're in there!"
There was not a sound in the courtroom.
David lost control. He was yelling, "Come out Show your faces.... Damn it! Now! Now!"
Ashley dissolved in tears.
Judge Williams said furiously, "Approach the bench, Mr. Singer."
Slowly, David walked over to the bench. "Are you through badgering your client, Mr. Singer? I'm going to send a report of your behavior to the state bar association. You're a disgrace to your profession, and I'm going to recommend that you're disbarred."
David had no answer.
"Do you have any more witnesses to call?"
David shook his head defeated. "No, Your Honor."
It was over. He had lost Ashley was going to die.
"The defense rests."
Joseph Kincaid was seated in the last row of the courtroom, watching, his face grim. He turned to Harvey Udell. "Get rid of him." Kincaid got up and left.
Udell stopped David as he was leaving the courtroom.
"David..."
"Hello, Harvey."
"Sorry about the way this turned out."
"It's not—"
"Mr. Kincaid hates to do this, but, well, he thinks it would be better if you didn't come back to the firm. Good luck."
The moment David stepped outside the courtroom, he was surrounded by television cameras and shouting reporters.
"Do you have a statement, Mr. Singer...?"
"We hear Judge Williams says you're going to be disbarred...."
"Judge Williams says she's going to hold you for contempt of court. Do you think you—?"
"The experts feel you've lost this case. Do you plan to appeal...?"
"Our network legal experts say that your client will get the death penalty...."
"Have you made any plans for the future...?" David got into his car without a word and drove away.
HE rewrote the scenes in his mind, over and over again, endlessly.
I saw the news this morning. Dr. Patterson. I can't tell you how very sorry I am.
Yes. It's been quite a blow. I need your help, David.
Of course. Anything I can do.
I want you to represent Ashley.
I can't do that. I'm not a criminal defense lawyer. But I can recommend a great attorney, Jesse Quitter.
That will be fine. Thank you, David....
You're an anxious young fellow, aren't you? Our meeting wasn't supposed to be until five o'clock. Well, I have good news for you. We're making you a partner.
* * *
You asked to see me?
Yes, Your Honor. They're talking about this trial on the Internet, and they've already convicted the defendant. This could seriously damage the defense. Therefore, I'm making a motion for a mistrial.
I think those are excellent grounds for a mistrial, Mr. Singer. I'm going to grant it....
The bitter-tasting game of "what if."...
The following morning, the court was in session.
"Is the prosecution ready to make its closing argument?" Brennan stood up. He walked over to the jury box and looked at the jurors one by one.
"You're in a position to make history here. If you believe that the defendant is really a lot of different people and she's not responsible for what she's done, for the terrible crimes she committed, and you let her go, then you're saying that anybody can get away with murder by simply claiming that they didn't do it, that some mysterious alter ego did it. They can rob, rape and kill, and are they guilty? No. I didn't do it. My alter ego did it.' Ken or Joe or Suzy or whatever they want to call themselves. Well, I think you're all too intelligent to fall for that fantasy. The reality is in those photographs you looked at. Those people weren't murdered by any alter egos. They were all deliberately, calculatedly, cruelly murdered by the defendant sitting at that table, Ashley Patterson. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what the defense has tried to do in this court has been tried before. In Mann Versus Teller, the decision was that a finding of MPD does not, per se, require a finding of acquittal. In United States Versus Whirley, a nurse who murdered a baby pleaded that she had MPD. The court found her guilty.
"You know, I almost feel sorry for the defendant.. All those characters living in that poor girl. I'm sure none of us would want a bunch of crazy strangers moving around inside us, would we? Going around murdering and castrating men. I'd be scared."
He turned to look at Ashley. "The defendant doesn't seem scared, does she? Not too scared to put on a pretty dress and comb her hair nicely and apply makeup. Six doesn't seem scared at all. She thinks you're going to believe her story and let her go. No one can prove whether this multiple personality disorder really exists at all, so we're going to have to make our own judgments.
"The defense claims that these characters come out and take over. Let's see—there's Toni; she was born ii England. And Alette; she was born in Italy. They're al the same person. They were just born in different countries at different times. Does that confuse you? I know it confuses me. I offered the defendant a chance to let us see her alters, but she didn't take me up on it. I wonder why? Could it be because they don't exist...? Does California law recognize MPD as a mental condition? No. Colorado law? No. Mississippi? No. Federal law? No. As a matter of fact, no state has a law confirming MPD as a legal defense. And why? Because it isn't a defense. Ladies and gentlemen, it's a fictitious alibi to punishment...."
"What the defense is asking you to believe is that are two people inside the defendant, so no one bears any responsibility for her criminal actions. But there is only one defendant sitting in this courtroom - Ashley Patterson. We have proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she is a murderer. But she claims she didn't commit the crimes. That was done by someone else, someone who borrowed her body to kill innocent people - her alters. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we all had alters, someone to carry out anything we secretly wanted done that society doesn't permit? Or maybe not. Would you like to live in a world where people could go around murdering others and say, 'You can't touch me, my alter did it' and 'You can't punish my alter because my alter is really me'?
"But this trial is not about some mythical characters who don't exist. The defendant, Ashley Patterson, is on trial for three vicious, cold-blooded murders, and the state is asking the death penalty. Thank you."
Mickey Brennan returned to his seat.
"Is the defense ready to present its closing argument?"
David rose. He walked to the jury box and looked into the faces of the jurors, and what he saw there was disheartening. "I know that this has been a very difficult case for all of us. You've heard experts testify that they've treated multiple personality disorder, and you've heard other experts testify that there is no such thing. You're not doctors, so no one expects you to make your judgment based on medical knowledge. I want to apologize to all of you if my behavior yesterday seemed boorish. I yelled at Ashley Patterson only because I wanted to force her alters to come out. I've talked to those alters. I know they exist. There really is an Alette and a Toni, and they can control Ashley anytime they want to. She has no knowledge of committing any murders.
"I told you at the beginning of this trial that for someone to be convicted of first-degree murder, there has to be physical evidence and a motive. There is no motive here, ladies and gentlemen. None. And the law says that the prosecution must prove a defendant is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. I'm sure you'll agree that in this case, there is a reasonable doubt.
"As far as proof is concerned, the defense does not question it. There are Ashley Patterson's fingerprints and traces of DNA at each of the crime scenes. But the very fact that they are there should give us pause. Ashley Patterson is an intelligent young woman. If she committed a murder and did not want to be caught, would she have been stupid enough to leave her fingerprints at each one of the scenes? The answer is no."
David went on for another thirty minutes. At the end, he looked at their faces and was not reassured. He sat down.
Judge Williams turned to the jurors. "I want to instruct you now on the applicable law to this case. I want you to listen carefully." She talked for the next twenty minutes, detailing what was admissible and allowable by law.
"If you have any questions, or want any part of the testimony read back to you, the court reporter will do so. The jury is excused to go deliberate. Court is adjourned until they return with their verdict."
David watched the jury file out of the box and into the jury room. The longer the jurors take, the better our chances, David thought. The jurors returned forty-five minutes later.
David and Ashley watched as the jurors filed in and took their seats in the jury box. Ashley was stone-faced. David found that he was perspiring.
Judge Williams turned to the jury foreman. "Have the jurors reached a verdict?"
"We have. Your Honor."
"Would you please hand it to the bailiff."
The bailiff carried the piece of paper to the judge. Judge Williams unfolded it. There was not a sound in the courtroom.
The bailiff returned the paper to the jury foreman. "Would you read the verdict, please?"
In a slow, measured tone, he read, "In the case of The People of the State of California Versus Ashley Patterson, we, the jury, in the above entitled action, find the defendant, Ashley Patterson, guilty of the murder of Dennis Tibble, a violation of Penal Code Section 187."
There was a gasp in the courtroom. Ashley shut her eyes tightly.
"In the case of The People of the State of California Versus Ashley Patterson, we, the jury, in the above entitled action, find the defendant, Ashley Patterson, guilty of the murder of deputy Samuel Blake, a violation of Penal Code Section 187.
"In the case of The People of the State of California Versus Ashley Patterson, we, the jury, in the above entitled action, find the defendant, Ashley Patterson, guilty of the murder of Richard Melton, a violation of Penal Code Section 187. We, the jury, in all the verdicts, further fix the degree at first degree."
David was finding it difficult to breathe. He turned to Ashley, but he had no words. He leaned over and put his arms around her.
Judge Williams said, "I would like to have the jury polled." One by one, each juror stood up.
"Was the verdict read, your verdict?"
And when each one had affirmed it, Judge Williams said, "The verdict will be recorded and entered into the record." She went on. "I want to thank the jury for their time and service in this case. You're dismissed. Tomorrow the court will take up the issue of sanity."
David sat there, numb, watching Ashley being led away.
Judge Williams got up and walked to her chambers without looking at David. Her attitude told David more clearly than words what her decision was going to be in the morning. Ashley was going to be sentenced to die.
Sandra called from San Francisco. "Are you all right, David?"
He tried to sound cheerful. "Yes, I'm great. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine. I've been watching the news on television. The judge wasn't fair to you. She can't have you disbarred. You were only trying to help your client."
He had no answer.
"I'm so sorry, David. I wish were with you. I could drive down and—"
"No," David said. "We can't take any chances. Did you see the doctor today?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"Very soon now. Any day." Happy birthday, Jeffrey.
Jesse Quiller called. "I bungled it," David said.
"Like hell you did. You got the wrong judge. What did you ever do to get ho: so down on you?"
David said, "She wanted me to plea-bargain. She didn't want this to go to trial. Maybe I should have listened to her."
All the television channels were full of the news of his disgrace. He watched one of the network's legal experts discussing the case.
"I've never heard of a defending attorney screaming at his own client before. I must tell you, the courtroom was stunned. It was one of the most outrageous—"
David switched off the station. Where did it all go wrong? Life is supposed to have a happy ending. Because I've bungled everything, Ashley's going to die. I'm going to be disbarred, the baby's going to be born any minute and I don't even have a job.
He sat in his hotel room in the middle of the night, staring into the darkness. It was the lowest moment of his life. Playing over and over again in his mind was the final courtroom scene. "You can't hypnotize her in my courtroom. The answer is no. "
If only she had let me hypnotize Ashley on the stand, I know she would have convinced the jury. Too late. It's all over now.
And a small, nagging voice in his mind said. Who says it's over? I don't hear the fat lady singing.
There's nothing more I can do.
Your client is innocent. Are you going to let her die?
Leave me alone.
Judge Williams's words kept echoing in his mind.
"You can't hypnotize her in my courtroom."
And three words kept repeating themselves—"in my courtroom."
At five o'clock in the morning, David made two excited, urgent phone calls. As he finished, the sun was just beginning to appear over the horizon. It's an omen, David thought. We're going to win.
A little later, David hurried into an antiques store.
The clerk approached him. "May I help you, sir?" He recognized David. "Mr. Singer."
"I'm looking for a folding Chinese screen. Do you have something like that?"
"Yes, we do. We don't have any real antique screens, but-"
"Let's see what you have."
"Certainly." He led David over to the section where there were several Chinese folding screens. The clerk pointed to the first one. "Now, this one—"
"That's fine," David said.
"Yes, sir. Where shall I send it?"
"I'll take it with me."
David's next stop was at a hardware store, where he bought a Swiss Army knife. Fifteen minutes later, he was walking into the lobby of the courthouse carrying the screen. He said to the guard at the desk, "I made arrangements to interview Ashley Patterson. I have permission to use Judge Goldberg's chambers. He's not here today."
The guard said, "Yes, sir. It's all set. I'll have the defendant brought up. Dr. Salem and another man are already up there, waiting."
"Thank you."
The guard watched David carry the Chinese screen into the elevator. Crazy as a loon, he thought.
Judge Goldberg's chamber was a comfortable-looking room with a desk facing the window, a swivel chair, and near one wall a couch and several chars. Dr. Salem and another man were standing in the room when David entered.
"Sorry I'm late," David said.
Dr. Salem said, "This is Hugh Iverson. He's the expert you asked for."
The two men shook hands. "Let's get set up fast," David said. "Ashley's on her way here."
He turned to Hugh Iverson and pointed to a corner of the room. "How's that for you?"
"Fine."
He watched Iverson go to work. A few minutes later, the door opened and Ashley entered with a guard. "I'll have to stay in the room," the guard said.
David nodded. "That's all right." He turned to Ashley. "Sit down, please."
He watched her take a seat. "First of all, I want to tell you how terribly sorry I am about the way things went."
She nodded, almost dazed.
"But it's not over yet. We still have a chance."
She looked at him with disbelieving eyes.
"Ashley, I would like Dr. Salem to hypnotize you again."
"No. What's the point in—"
"Do it for me. Will you?"
She shrugged.
David nodded to Dr. Salem.
Dr. Salem said to Ashley, "We've done this before, so you know that all you have to do is close your eyes and relax. Just relax. Feel all the muscles in your body letting go of all the tension. All you want to do is sleep. You're getting very drowsy...."
Ten minutes later. Dr. Salem looked at David and said, "She's completely under."
David moved toward Ashley, and his heart was pounding.
"I want to talk to Toni."
There was no reaction.
David raised his voice. "Toni, I want you to come out. Do you hear me? Alette...want you both to talk tome."
Silence.
David was yelling now. "What's the matter with you? Are you too frightened? That's what happened in the courtroom, isn't it? Did you hear what the jury said? Ashley's guilty. You were afraid to come out. You're a coward, Toni!"
They looked at Ashley. There was no reaction. David looked at Dr. Salem in despair. It was not going to work.
"Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Tessa Williams presiding."
Ashley was seated at the defendant's table next to David. David's hand was wrapped in a large bandage.
David rose. "May I approach the bench? Your Honor?"
"You may."
David walked toward the bench. Brennan followed him.
David said, "I would like to present new evidence to this case."
"Absolutely not," Brennan objected.
Judge Williams turned to him and said, "Let me make that decision, Mr. Brennan." She turned back to David.
"The trial is over. Your client has been convicted and-"
"This concerns the insanity plea," David said. "All I'm asking for is ten minutes of your time."
Judge Williams said angrily, "Time doesn't mean much to you, does it, Mr. Singer? You have already wasted a great deal of everyone's time." She made her decision. "All right. I hope this is the last request you'll ever be able to make in a court of law. The court is recessed for ten minutes."
David and Brennan followed the judge to her chambers.
She turned to David. "I'm giving you your ten minutes. What is it, Counselor?"
"I want to show you a piece of film. Your Honor." Brennan said, I don't see what this has to do with—"
Judge Williams said to Brennan, "I don't, either." She turned to David. "You now have nine minutes."
David hurried over to the door leading to the hallway and opened it. "Come in."
Hugh Iverson walked in, carrying a sixteen-millimeter projector and a portable screen. "Where should I set it up?"
David pointed to a corner of the room. "Over there."
They watched as the man set up the equipment and plugged in the projector.
"May I pull down the shades?" David asked.
It was all Judge Williams could do to hold back her anger. "Yes, you go right ahead, Mr. Singer." She looked at her watch. "You have seven minutes."
The projector was turned on. Judge Goldberg's chambers flickered onto the screen. David and Dr. Salem were watching Ashley, who was seated in a chair.
On the screen, Dr. Salem said, "She's completely under."
David walked up to Ashley. "I want to talk to Toni.... Toni, want you to come out. Do you hear me? Alette...want you both to talk to me."
Silence.
Judge Williams sat there, her face tight, watching the film.
David was yelling now. "What's the matter with you? Are you too frightened? That's what happened in the courtroom, isn't it? Did you hear what the jury said? Ashley's guilty. You were afraid to come out. You're a coward, Toni!"
Judge Williams got to her feet. "I've had enough of this! I've seen this disgusting performance before. Your time is up, Mr. Singer."
"Wait," David said. "You haven't—"
"It's finished," Judge Williams told him and started for the door. Suddenly, a song began to fill the room.
"A penny for a spool of thread.
A penny for a needle.
That's the way the money goes,
Pop! goes the weasel."
Puzzled, Judge Williams turned around. She looked at the picture on the screen.
Ashley's face had completely changed. It was Toni. Toni said angrily, "Too frightened to come out in court? Did you really think I would come out just because you ordered me to? What do you think I am, a trained pony?"
Judge Williams slowly moved back into the room, staring at the film.
"I listened to all those bloody gits making fools of themselves." She mimicked one of their voices. " 'I don't think that multiple personality disorder exists.' What idiots. I've never seen such—"
As they watched, Ashley's face changed again. She seemed to relax in her chair, and her face took on a shy look. In her Italian accent, Alette said, "Mr. Singer, know you did the best you could. I wanted to appear in court and help you, but Toni wouldn't let me." Judge Williams was watching, her face blank. The face and voice changed again. "You're bleeding right wouldn't," Toni said.
David said, "Toni, what do you think is going to happen to you if the judge gives Ashley the death sentence?"
"She's not going to give her the death sentence. Ashley didn't even know one of the men. Remember?"
David said, "But Alette knew them all. You committed those murders, Alette. You had sex with those men and then you stabbed them to death and castrated them...."
Toni said, "You bloody idiot! You don't know anything, do you? Alette would never have had the nerve to do that. I did it. They deserved to die. All they wanted to do was have sex." She was breathing hard. "But I made them all pay for it, didn't I? And no one can ever prove I did it. Let little Miss Goody Two-shoes take the blame. We'll all go to a nice cozy asylum and—"
In the background, behind the Chinese screen in the corner, there was a loud click.
Toni turned. "What was that?"
"Nothing," David said quickly. "It was just—"
Toni rose and started running toward the camera until her face filled the screen. She pushed against something, and the scene tilled; part of the folding Chinese screen fell into the picture. A small hole had been cut in the center.
"You've got a fucking camera behind here," Toni screamed. She turned to David. "You son of a bitch, what are you trying to do? You tricked me!"
On the desk was a letter opener. Toni grabbed it and lunged at David, screaming, "I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you!"
David tried to hold her, but he was no match for her. The letter opener sliced into his hand.
Toni raised her arm to strike again, and the guard ran to her and tried to grab her. Toni knocked him to the floor. The door opened and a uniformed officer ran in. When he saw what was happening, he lunged at Toni. She kicked him in the groin, and he went down. Two more officers came running in. It took three of them to pin Toni to the chair, and all the time she was yelling and screaming at them.
Blood was pouring from David's hand. He said to Dr. Salem, "For God's sake, wake her up."
Dr. Salem said, "Ashley... Ashley... listen to me. You're going to come out now. Toni is gone. It's safe to come out now, Ashley. I'm going to count to three."
And as the group watched, Ashley's body became quiet and relaxed.
"Can you hear me?"
"Yes." It was Ashley's voice, sounding far away.
"You'll awaken at the count of three. One... two... three... How do you feel?"
Her eyes opened. "I feel so tired. Did I say anything?"
The screen in Judge Williams' s office went blank. David walked over to the wall and turned on the lights.
Brennan said, "Well! What a performance. If they were giving out Oscars for the best—"
Judge Williams turned to him. "Shut up." Brennan looked at her, in shock. There was a momentary silence. Judge Williams turned to David. "Counselor."
"Yes?" There was a pause. "I owe you an apology."
Seated on the bench, Judge Tessa Williams said, "Both counsels have agreed that they will accept the opinion of a psychiatrist who has already examined the defendant, Dr. Salem. The decision of this court is that the defendant is not guilty by reason of insanity. She will be ordered to a mental health facility, where she can be treated. The court is now adjourned.'
David stood up, drained. It's over, he thought. It's finally over. He and Sandra could start living their lives again.
He looked at Judge Williams and said happily, "We're having a baby."
Dr. Salem said to David, "I would like to make a suggestion. I'm not sure it can be done, but if you can arrange it, I think it would be helpful to Ashley."
"What is it?"
"The Connecticut Psychiatric Hospital back east has handled more cases of MPD than any other place in the country. A friend of mine, Dr. Otto Lewison, is in charge of it. If you could arrange for the court to have Ashley sent there, I think it would be very beneficial."
"Thanks," David said. "I'll see what I can do."
Dr. Steven Patterson said to David, "I—I don't know how to thank you."
David smiled. "You don't have to. It was quid pro quo. Remember?"
"You did a brilliant job. For a while I was afraid—"
"So was I."
"But justice has been served. My daughter's going to be cured."
"I'm sure of it," David said. "Dr. Salem suggested a psychiatric hospital in Connecticut. Their doctors are trained in MPD."
Dr. Patterson was silent for a moment. "You know, Ashley didn't deserve any of this. She's such a beautiful person."
"I agree. I'll talk to Judge Williams and try to get the transfer."
Judge Williams was in her chambers. "What can I do for you, Mr. Singer?"
"I'd like to ask a favor." She smiled. "I hope I can grant it. What is it?" David explained to the judge what Dr. Salem had told him.
"Well, that's a rather unusual request. We have some fine psychiatric facilities right here in California."
David said, "All right. Thank you. Your Honor." He turned to leave, disappointed.
"I haven't said no, Mr. Singer." David stopped. "It's an unusual request, but this has been an unusual case." David waited.
"I think I can arrange for her to be transferred."
"Thank you. Your Honor. I appreciate it."
In her cell, Ashley thought. They've sentenced me to death. A long death in an asylum filled with crazy people. It would have been kinder to kill me now. She thought of the endless, hopeless years ahead of her, and she began to sob.
The cell door opened, and her father came in. He stood there a moment, looking at her, his face filled with anguish.
"Honey..." He sat down opposite her. "You're going to live," he said.
She shook her head. "I don't want to live."
"Don't say that. You have a medical problem, but it can be cured. And it's going to be. When you're better, you're going to come and live with me, and I'll take care of you. No matter what happens, we'll always have each other. They can't take that away from us."
Ashley sat there, saying nothing.
"I know how you're feeling right now, but believe me, that's going to change. My girl is going to come home to me, cured." He slowly got to his feet "I'm afraid I have to get back to San Francisco." He waited for Ashley to say something.
She was silent.
"David told me that he thinks you're going to be sent to one of the best psychiatric centers in the world. I'll come and visit you. Would you like that?"
She nodded, dully. "Yes."
"All right, honey." He kissed her on the cheek and gave her a hug. "I'm going to see to it that you have the best care in the world. I want my little girl back."
Ashley watched her father leave, and she thought, Why can't I die now? Why won't they let me die? One hour later, David came to see her. "Well, we did it," he said. He looked at her in concern. "Are you all right?"
"I don't want to go to an insane asylum. I want to die. I can't stand living like this. Help me, David. Please help me."
"Ashley, you're going to get help. The past is over. You have a future now. The nightmare is going to be finished." He took her hand. "Look, you've trusted me this far. Keep trusting me. You're going to live a normal life again."
She sat there, silent.
"Say 'I believe you, David.' "
She took a deep breath. "I—I believe you, David."
He grinned. "Good girl. This is a new beginning for you."
The moment the ruling was made public, the media went crazy. Overnight, David was a hero. He had taken an impossible case and won it. He called Sandra. "Honey, I—"
"I know, darling. I know. I just saw it on television. Isn't it wonderful? I'm so proud of you."
"I can't tell you how glad I am that it's over. I'll be coming back tonight. I can't wait to see—"
"David...?"
"Yes?"
"David... oooh..."
"Yes? What's wrong, honey?"
"... Oooh... We're having a baby...."
"Wait for me!" David shouted.
Jeffrey Singer weighed eight pounds, ten ounces, and was the most beautiful baby David had ever seen.
"He looks just like you, David," Sandra said.
"He does, doesn't he?" David beamed.
"I'm glad everything turned out so well," Sandra said.
David sighed. "There were times when I wasn't so sure".
"I never doubted you."
David bugged Sandra and said, "I'll be back, honey. I have to clean out my things at the office."
When David arrived at the offices of Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley, he was greeted warmly.
"Congratulations, David..."
"Good job..."
"You really showed them...."
David walked into his office. Holly was gone. David started cleaning out his desk.
"David—"
David turned around. It was Joseph Kincaid.
Kincaid walked up to him and said, "What are you doing?"
"I'm cleaning out my office. I was fired."
Kincaid smiled. "Fired? Of course not No, no, no. There was some kind of a misunderstanding." He beamed. "We're making you a partner, my boy. In fact, I've set up a press conference for you here this afternoon at three o'clock."
David looked at him. "Really?"
Kincaid nodded. "Absolutely."
David said, "You'd better cancel it. I've decided to go back into criminal law. I've been offered a partnership by Jesse Quiller. At least when you're dealing with that part of the law, you know who the criminals really are. So, Joey, baby, you take your partnership and shove it where the sun don't shine."
And David walked out of the office.
* * *
Jesse Quiller looked around the penthouse and said, "This is great. It really becomes you two."
"Thank you," Sandra said. She heard a sound from the nursery. "I'd better check on Jeffrey." She hurried off to the next room.
Jesse Quiller walked over to admire a beautiful sterling silver picture frame with Jeffrey's first photograph already in it. "This is lovely. Where did it come from?"
"Judge Williams sent it"
Jesse said, "I'm glad to have you back, partner."
"I'm glad to be back, Jesse."
"You'll probably want a little time to relax now. Rest up a little...."
"Yes. We thought we'd take Jeffrey and drive up Oregon to visit Sandra's parents and—"
"By the way, an interesting case came into the of this morning, David. This woman is accused of murdering her two children. I have a feeling she's innocent. Unfortunately, I'm going to Washington on another case, but I thought that you might just talk to her and see what you think...."