Unsaid: A Novel (33 page)

I have become evidence.

“Mr. Colden?” Allerton asks again, his voice evidencing a measure of personal concern thus far absent from his demeanor during the trial.

Finally, Chris steps behind David, takes the remote control out of his hand, and, mercifully, pushes the
STOP
button. The monitor goes blue. “You’re almost there,” Chris whispers to him and squeezes his shoulder. “Just hold on.”

“Do you need a moment, Mr. Colden?” Allerton asks.

At Chris’s touch, David slowly comes back into himself. “Thank you, Your Honor. I’m okay.”

“Do you have any more questions for Dr. Cassidy?”

“I think just one more,” David says. Turning back to Jaycee, he asks, “Why did you do it? Why did you try to take Cindy?”

When Jaycee speaks, her voice quivers. This is by far her hardest answer, because this is Jaycee’s truth. “How couldn’t I? I tried every other way to save her. I tried to buy her, I offered to work for free, I wrote to congressmen. Nothing worked. With the end of the project, Cindy was going to be transferred to the general primate population. Once there, she can be experimented on, infected with diseases—just like Michael. I’m not married. I’ve no kids. Cindy was my life for four years. I raised her as I would my own daughter. I changed her diapers, I toilet-trained her, taught her how to eat, to express herself in our language, to care about what happens to herself and those around her. I just couldn’t let them kill her. I needed to try something… anything to free her.”

Jaycee finishes her answer just before her tears come. She makes no attempt to brush them away.

David turns to Mace and his voice is tight and low. “Your witness.”

Mace, the confidence gone from his voice, says, “We’d like to take a few minutes, Your Honor.”

Allerton looks at the large clock at the rear of the courtroom. “Make it quick, please.”

“I messed up. I’m so sorry,” Chris tells David during the break. “I didn’t know Jaycee actually caught any of Helena on tape. I would never have…”

David still seems disoriented. It’s as if the combination of seeing my moving image, hearing my voice, and watching me interact with Cindy means more to him than the simple sum of those parts.
I think the consequences of the trial have become more real for him, or maybe it is just that the reality of my absence has become inescapable.

I don’t know if any of this is a good or bad thing though, or even whether it matters anymore at all, and this is what frightens me. “Jaycee said that she didn’t have any,” David says finally.

“She must’ve forgotten about that one.”

“Well, now that we have it, I guess we’ve got to use it.”

“What do you mean?” Chris asks.

David shakes his head. “I need to think,” he says and walks away.

After the break, Mace began his cross-examination of Jaycee. Thus far, it has been difficult to sit through. In addition to the actual conduct for which Jaycee is being prosecuted (and which she freely admits), Mace also has established that: (i) Jaycee had formed a very strong maternal bond with Cindy that not only had the potential to cloud Jaycee’s objectivity, it in fact probably did so; (ii) Jaycee would do almost anything within her power to save Cindy from harm; and (iii) Jaycee’s work with Cindy was on the very far—and perhaps very, very far—edge of accepted anthropological theory.

And Mace isn’t quite finished yet. I know where he’s going. I think everyone in the courtroom can see it, including Jaycee. The entire cross-examination has been foreshadow; he will try to destroy any sympathy Jaycee has won among the jurors by discrediting the work that has consumed her for the last four years or by cracking Jaycee’s professional composure. And Allerton will allow Mace to try because David opened the door by putting the merits of Jaycee’s work at issue. I can tell by the way David begins grinding his
teeth that we have come to a make-or-break moment, and the outcome all turns on whether Jaycee will be able to survive the coming attack.

“Now,” Mace says, “let me direct your attention to the technology through which you say Cindy communicates. You gave testimony about interstitial linguistic programming, you remember that?”

“Yes.”

“Can you explain to us the actual programming behind that concept?”

“Somewhat. Essentially, ILP, as I said earlier, involves comparing a normal physiology—or in this case, a human one—with an abnormal physiology, in this case that of a chimpanzee, and mapping the differences. Then you take the actions of the affected subject, again the chimpanzee, run it through that model, and the computer program will interpolate and predict the most likely intended action.”

“Interpolate and predict the most likely intended action?” Mace asks quizzically. “That’s the first time I heard you use the word
interpolate
in this proceeding. Can you tell us what it means?”

“Certainly. In general terms, it means to estimate between two known values.”

“I see. So ILP is a program that estimates; it makes predictions.”

“Yes, but with a high degree of accuracy.”

“And how do you know the level of accuracy?”

“Because ILP has been tested and validated in a number of studies.”

“Studies involving whom?”

“The vocally impaired.”

“Humans?”

“Yes. Humans.”

“Has any effort ever been made to validate it as against non-humans?”

“Not that I’m aware of. No.”

“And as I understand your testimony, you’re not using ILP in the manner for which it was originally created, correct?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Don’t you? Really?” Mace asks in disbelief. “ILP as I understand it—and please correct me if I’m wrong, Doctor—was created to take vocal utterances and sort of fill in the blanks when measured against the human speaker’s vocal impairment. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not using it to fill in the words. You’re using it in your research to estimate and interpolate American Sign Language utterances—basically, hand gestures.”

“That’s not accurate, sir.” I can tell Jaycee is getting angry.

“In what way am I incorrect?” Mace taunts her.

“In some instances, the way in which Cindy signs is completely discernible. The ILP is just belts and suspenders.”

“And in other cases?”

“As I indicated, in other cases the limitations of primate physiology require educated estimation.”

“In how many cases is it necessary to estimate?”

“I don’t know offhand.”

“In the movie that we just saw, how many times was it necessary to estimate what the primate was attempting to communicate because of a limitation in physiology?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Half ?”

“I’m not certain.”

“More than half?”

“I said I wasn’t certain?”

“Every single time?”

“No, not every time.”

“So somewhere between more than half and every time?”

“Objection,” David calls out as he rises, “that mischaracterizes her testimony.”

Allerton turns to Jaycee. “Can you give us a reasonable estimate of how many times there was a direct match between what the chimpanzee was signing and, for example, what I would find in an ASL dictionary? I think that’s what Mr. Mace is getting at.”

“I don’t mean to argue with you, Your Honor,” Jaycee says.

“But I sense you’re about to anyway,” Allerton answers to some amused laughter.

“I just want to clarify something. The reason why that’s a very difficult question to answer is because very few people who sign do it exactly the way you would see it in an ASL dictionary. There are always small and subtle differences in the way someone makes a letter, for example. And just like humans, ASL signing chimps use facial expression and gaze direction to moderate the meanings of their signs. That’s one of the reasons we also use the keyboard.”

“So then,” Allerton says, “the question seems to be how many times you relied upon the ILP with respect to what we just saw to interpret what the chimpanzee was attempting to sign?”

“I would guess maybe half the time,” Jaycee says. I can hear David repeat in his head what he tells every witness—
Never, ever guess
.

Mace picks up on the thread before Allerton or David can say anything more. “So, you would guess—your word—fifty percent of the time?”

“Yes.”

“Can you read ASL, Dr. Cassidy?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Hmmm.” Mace pretends to ponder. “Then can you tell me why it is that in every instance you appear in that recording, you needed to check the computer monitor to see what the specimen had said?”

Jaycee hesitates, trying to recall what the recording actually showed. “I always like to be sure, so I confirm my understanding.”

“And the way you confirm your understanding is through a computer program that has never been validated for primates and was never intended for ASL?”

“Objection,” David interjects. “Asked and answered.”

“Sustained,” Allerton rules.

“Dr. Cassidy,” Mace begins again, “are you familiar with something called Lloyd Morgan’s canon?”

“Yes.”

“It is a canon of deductive reasoning, is it not?”

“It’s supposed to be.”

“What is it?”

“Never believe that animals think as you do unless you must.”

“A derivation of the principle called Occam’s razor, isn’t it? All things being equal, one should prefer simpler explanations for behavior over more complicated ones.”

“I believe that’s what Occam’s razor involves, yes.”

“And you do know what anthropomorphism is?”

“Of course. It is the projection of human characteristics on non-human animals.”

“Isn’t anthropomorphism a serious risk in your business?”

“No more than speciesism is in yours. Do you know what speciesism is, Mr. Mace?” Jaycee snarls back.

Allerton leans over to Jaycee. “Please just answer the questions, Dr. Cassidy.”

“I apologize. The answer to your question is no, I do not believe that anthropomorphism is a serious risk in a well-controlled study that employs principles of the scientific method like the work we did with Cindy.”

“And the Cornell Language Institute study of Cindy,” Mace says as he grabs the document off his desk, “specifically says, and I quote, ‘the subject’s language capacity and cognitive age equivalent assumes both’ ”—Mace pauses for emphasis—“ ‘both that the interstitial linguistic programming is validated for primates generally and the subject primate specifically and that the modifications of the ILP to make it compatible for American Sign Language are valid and appropriate. We offer no opinion as to either assumption.’ ” Mace shows the document to Jaycee. “Do you see that in the report?”

“I’m aware of that qualification in the report, yes.”

“So the assertion that Cindy has the language ability of a four-year-old also assumes the validity of your theory?”

“The qualification in the report says what it says, Mr. Mace. I didn’t write it.”

“Fair point, Dr. Cassidy. Let’s talk about something you do have firsthand knowledge about. Who did the actual programming of the computer program that ran the ILP for the gloves?”

“My associate, Frank Wallace, was the actual programmer, but it was at my direction.”

“Meaning that you directed him in what assumptions to include in the programming language?”

“Yes.”

“And you assumed going into this study that Cindy was capable of acquiring and using human language, correct?”

“I guess that is a fair statement—based on my knowledge of the then-current state of the literature.”

“Isn’t it possible that the assumption that Cindy was capable of acquiring and using human language biased the ILP programming for the gloves?”

“No, it’s not.”

Mace starts to pick up the pace of his questions, ignoring Jaycee’s responses and getting her to answer before she has thought through her response. “That, in fact, the computer modeling was biased at its inception?”

“Untrue.”

“That when Cindy lifted her hand and moved her fingers, you programmed her gloves to interpret those random movements as words because you wanted to see words.”

“Untrue.”

“Words were the only thing that could save her.”

“Untrue.”

“And you so wanted to save her, didn’t you?”

“Un…” Jaycee catches herself, takes a breath, and smiles at her interrogator. “That actually is true, Mr. Mace. I do want to protect her life. But because she is a living—”

“I have my answer, Dr. Cassidy, thank you.”

David jumps out of his seat. “Your Honor, the witness was in the middle of her answer.”

“You may finish your answer,” Allerton tells Jaycee.

“Thank you. I was just saying that it’s true that I do want to save her, but not by manipulating data. I want to save her precisely because she is a sentient being who not only suffers, and not only is aware that she suffers, but can tell you in her own words—yes, Mr. Mace, her own words using your language—that she wants you to stop hurting her.”

Mace seems momentarily at a loss. He recovers quickly, but weakly. He says in a low, soft voice, “So you would have us believe, Dr. Cassidy.”

“Anything else for this witness, Mr. Mace?” Allerton asks.

“I don’t think so, but give me one moment, Your Honor,” Mace says as he collects his papers from the podium. I get the distinct impression that Mace is waiting for the moment to pass, and that he has saved something else for last. When he lifts his face again, the overconfident leer on his face tells me I’m right. “Just one last thing, Dr. Cassidy. Do you own a car?”

“Yes.”

“What type of car is it?”

“A Jeep Cherokee Laredo.”

“Color?”

“Red.”

“What’s the license plate number?”

David jumps up. “Objection, relevance!”

“Where is this going, Mr. Mace?” Allerton asks.

“A little latitude, Your Honor. I only have a few more questions.”

“Only a few more—in real-world terms, not lawyer terms, okay, Mr. Mace?” Lawyer jokes are always worth a few laughs from the benches. “Overruled,” Allerton decides.

“New York X80 2PM.”

“At any time after your arrest, did you return to the CAPS facility?”