Capitol Offense (23 page)

“Excuse me. Can I help you?”

Loving looked up abruptly. Someone was talking to him.

“I don’t recognize you.” It was the floor nurse, who according to her name tag was Ernestine Tubbs. “Are you assigned to this wing?”

“Uh, no. Not normally.” It seemed like the smart answer. “I’m supposed to see the doctor.” He pointed through the door. “He’s, um, busy.”

“I’ll go in and get him.”

“No, no. Don’t do that.” Loving held her back. “He’s, um, havin’ a conversation. It’s pretty intense.”

Tubbs glanced through the window, saw Shaw, frowned. “I’m not surprised.”

“I’ll just wait,” Loving said, grinning. “I don’t mind. Beats scrubbin’ down the operatin’ theater.”

“We can’t have you just standing around. Who sent you?”

Loving licked his lips. “Um, who sent me?”

“Yes. Who sent you to see the doctor?”

“Um … he did.”

Tubbs blinked. “The doctor sent you to see the doctor?”

“Uh … yeah. He called for me. I came right down, but as you can see, he’s tied up. Doctors. Always think the world revolves around them.”

“Well, I’m not afraid of him. I’ll go in—”

Loving grabbed her. The mop clattered to the floor. “Please don’t.”

“I insist.”

“I really don’t want you—”

“What on earth is going on out here?”

Loving slowly pivoted. The doctor stood in the doorway behind him. The first thing Loving noticed was that he looked extremely irritated.

The second thing he noticed was the name tag on his white coat identifying him as Dr. Sentz.

Dennis’s therapist, Daniel Estevez, M.D., Ph.D., was not a man Ben would normally choose for his most important expert. He was too young, for one thing. Medical testimony usually went down better when it descended from a lot of gray hair. He also had a disturbing tendency to avoid medical and psychiatric jargon. Usually, Ben had to coach people the other way. He had to get them to simplify what they were saying so a jury could readily understand it. Estevez was largely babble-free. This made him more readily comprehensible, but Ben worried that it might also rob him of that sense of intellectual superiority that made so many medical witnesses almost unassailable.

Ben could have sought a different witness, but in the end he thought he was better off with a witness who actually knew the defendant than with one who had been hired to get to know him after the fact.

After Ben established the man’s credentials, he began the main testimony.

“When did you begin seeing Dennis?”

“Almost two years ago.”

“Why were you seeing him?”

“Dennis was suffering some anxiety. Mostly work-related. There were a few other stressors. Nothing uncommon.”

“How was the therapy going?”

“Well. He was sleeping better, being more productive at work.”

“Was he on any medications?”

“Eventually. I prefer not to start prescribing drugs until I can reliably diagnose if there’s a serious and immediate need. Initially I felt we could deal with Dennis’s problems without medication, and that of course is more desirable. Later, I prescribed a mild anti-anxiety drug.”

“Did his mental state change during the period of time you were treating him?”

“Yes.”

“And when would that be?”

“After the loss of his wife. Wait—let me change that. After his wife disappeared. I didn’t see him during the time she was trapped in that car, but I did talk to him twice on the phone, and I could tell I was speaking to a very different Dennis.”

“How so?”

“His stress levels were off the charts. He was having trouble speaking and thinking clearly.”

“What would cause such a change?”

“He was desperately searching for his wife, and he felt he was the only one doing so. He had an intuition that she was in trouble and was frustrated that he could do nothing about it. Plus I suspect he was not eating properly or getting enough rest. If any.”

“How would you describe his mental state at this time?”

“I would say he was suffering from panic attacks and an extreme anxiety disorder. Which is hardly unusual, given the circumstances.”

Ben crossed the courtroom and positioned himself closer to the jury. He knew this would encourage Dr. Estevez to look at them occasionally.

It would also block their view of Guillerman and his overt expressions of disbelief.

“Did you see him prior to the time they found his wife?”

“No. I asked him to come in, but he said he couldn’t. He was spending every night and day looking for her.”

“When did you see him next?”

“I saw him in my office two days after she died. And I have seen him since he was arrested, of course.”

“Would you describe for the jury your observations about Dennis on these occasions?”

“After Joslyn died, he was in a bad way. He had suffered a total nervous breakdown. Was barely functioning. He looked terrible physically. Red eyes, pale complexion. Was totally consumed with grief for his wife. Grief, and perhaps guilt.”

“Why guilt? He had nothing to do with his wife’s death.”

“You and I know that. But he wasn’t thinking clearly. He was suffering from a form of survivor’s guilt, even though he had not been in the car with her and had nothing to do with the accident. Nonetheless, he knew she had suffered for seven days. He tried to find her, tried everything he knew. But he failed. So he blamed himself for her suffering.”

“In your opinion, was this a normal way for a bereaved spouse to respond?”

“Obviously not. The horror of what happened, coupled with his natural predisposition to experience stress, triggered something inside him. He became irrational.”

“Thank you, Doctor. When you saw him on these occasions, did he mention the police at all?”

“Oh, yes. Many times.”

“Did he blame them for his wife’s death?”

“Not exactly. He said they could have rescued her sooner. Which is obviously true. But I don’t know that he blamed them, exactly. It was more as if …” He thought for a moment. “… as if he blamed himself for not being able to motivate them into action.”

“Did he mention Detective Sentz?”

“Yes. He seemed to think Sentz had some reason for not opening an investigation, something personal or … well, I don’t know what. He was not really making sense.”

“Were you concerned about Dennis at this point?”

“Yes. An unbalanced mental state is always a cause for concern.”

“What action did you take?”

“I gave him a prescription. For Risperdal. It’s a stronger medication I thought would help calm him down. And I told him I wanted to see him the next day.”

“Why?”

“I felt that part of his problem stemmed from his feeling of helplessness, that there was nothing he could do about the situation. We have techniques for helping someone out of that mental state. Helping them turn their grief into something positive.”

“Did he show up for the next appointment?”

“He did not. And that night, on the news, I heard what happened.”

“Have you seen Dennis since his arrest?”

“Yes. Many times.”

“Have you drawn any conclusions about what happened?”

“Yes.”

“Would you share them with the jury, please?”

Estevez straightened up. “I believe that his mental capacity was severely diminished at the time of Detective Sentz’s death.”

“Is that all?”

“No. I also believe that he was motivated by an irresistible impulse to want to harm Detective Sentz.”

“When you say he had diminished capacity, what exactly do you mean?”

“That his ability to control himself was greatly reduced. That his ability to comprehend the nature and quality of his acts was all but eradicated. That he could no longer discern the difference between right and wrong.”

“How long did this condition last?”

Estevez thought a moment before answering. “I can’t say with certainty, but after the shooting occurred, Dennis suffered a blackout. I believe this was the brain shutting down, protecting itself from the overload caused by too much stress, too much guilt. With Detective Sentz’s death, the target of all that negative energy had been eliminated.”

“Are you saying this is the result of Dennis’s actions against Detective Sentz?”

“No, and perhaps I should make that more clear. I have no idea what happened in that hotel room. Neither does Dennis. From a psychological point of view, it makes no difference who did what. What matters is that Detective Sentz did in fact die, and when that occurred, the subject of Dennis’s abnormal fixation was gone. With nothing to fixate on, the obsession began to lose its hold. The blackout signals a sort of mental changing of the guard, if you will. The brain shut down so it could begin healing itself.”

“And did it?”

“Yes. He’s been getting better ever since the incident, and now I believe he has returned to the same mental state he was in before his wife disappeared. He’s still dealing with a great deal of stress, obviously, as a result of the charges and this trial. But he’s much better than he was before.”

“Does he present a danger to others at this time?”

“Objection,” Guillerman said, undoubtedly grateful to finally have an opportunity to break up the flow. “Not relevant.”

Technically, he was correct. The defendant’s current mental state didn’t matter; what mattered was his mental state at the time he allegedly pulled the trigger. But Ben wanted the jury to hear it, just the same.

“I’ll allow this,” the judge ruled.

“No. He is not a danger to anyone. The extreme circumstances that produced this anomalous situation will not and cannot recur.”

“Thank you,” Ben said, returning to his seat. “I’ll pass the witness.” And pray to God for deliverance from the barrage he knew was soon to follow.

Guillerman strode up to the witness box without missing a beat. He was coming on strong, and clearly he wanted everyone to know it. He couldn’t afford to let this witness step down without putting a few dents in his highly educated armor.

“Just so the jury knows where everyone stands, Doctor, are you being paid for your testimony today?”

“No. I’m being paid for my time.”

“So you are being compensated for being in the courtroom today.”

“Yes. Just as you are, counsel.”

Guillerman smiled. “I’ll bet you’re getting more. What’s your hourly rate?”

“I get two hundred dollars an hour normally, but I charge three hundred for court time. Obviously, there are more problems when I have to come to court.”

“Gosh, I’d hate to think of you being inconvenienced. What are the additional problems?”

“Having to drive downtown, find a parking place. And put up with cross-examination, of course.”

Even though his delivery was totally flat and dry, Estevez was managing to get in a few zingers. Ben had no idea how that would play with the jury, but he was enjoying it.

“Does that three hundred dollars an hour include time spent in preparation for appearing in the courtroom?”

“Yes.”

“How much of that time have you logged?”

“About twenty hours.”

Guillerman whistled. “This little murder trial is turning into a real cash cow for you, isn’t it?”

Estevez’s reaction was cold. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“During this preparation, did you meet with the defendant?”

“Of course.”

“And you met with his attorney?”

“I talked with Mr. Kincaid and his partner, Ms. McCall.”

“And they told you what they wanted you to say?”

“Don’t be offensive. I told them what conclusions I had reached regarding the incident. They didn’t tell me anything.”

“And you pocketed about ten thousand dollars for your trouble.”

“Something like that.”

“I would imagine you could get most people to say just about anything for ten thousand dollars.”

“Objection,” Ben said. He kept it quiet. The objection had to be made, but he didn’t want to start a fuss. Expert witnesses got paid and the jury could do with that what they would.

“That’s all right,” Guillerman said. “I think I’ve made my point.”

Several times over, Ben thought.

“Dr. Estevez, you mentioned that at some point prior to the murder you prescribed medication for Dennis.”

“Yes.”

“You described it as a mild anti-anxiety drug.”

“Yes.”

“It sounded as if his anxiety levels were rather high, at least at the time.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you prescribe something stronger?”

“This was the first time he had taken anxiety medicine. You don’t start anyone on the strongest medication. You start with something mild, then see if more is required.”

“But you could have prescribed something stronger, right?”

“I have the ability, if that’s what you mean.”

“And you chose not to. Tell me, sir—is it correct to say that if you had prescribed something stronger before all this happened, we might not be here today?”

“Objection,” Ben said. “Speculation.”

“I’ll allow it,” the judge ruled. “He is an expert.”

The witness answered, “I seriously doubt it. I mean, I suppose if I had given him something so strong that it knocked him out he couldn’t have done anything. But short of that, I don’t think it would’ve made any difference.”

“And that was because his anger was so intense, he was going to kill that cop no matter what.”

“Objection,” Ben said. Again, he played it weary, rather than angry. Better to give the impression the objection was obligatory, even though he knew no juror could be foolish enough to be swayed by it, rather than to act as if it were of great importance.

“Sustained.”

“Well, let me come at this a different way.” Guillerman rested his hands on the witness box and stared directly at Dr. Estevez. “That stuff you prescribed later—Risperdal. It’s actually used for a variety of reasons, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And one of those reasons is that it’s supposed to improve impulse control. Or to put it another way, to suppress strong feelings. Violent impulses.”