"I'm taking the case pro bono," Quinn said. "Our pay will be the millions of dollars in free publicity."
Pennington looked shocked, as if Quinn had just suggested assassinating the president.
For the next thirty minutes, the lawyers vigorously debated the merits of Quinn's proposal. Fortunately for Quinn, Melanie had armed him with a profitability analysis for several national law firms, correlated with the amount of publicity each firm had generated on its high-profile cases the preceding year. The conclusion: It didn't matter if you won or lost. Getting your name in the paper was all that counted. Profits followed publicity.
Just when Quinn thought his head might split open on the spot, Espinoza dismissed him so the committee could deliberate in private. Ten minutes later, Espinoza came to Quinn's office to announce the firm's decision.
"The committee will allow you to stay in the O'Rourke case on two conditions," said Espinoza. "First, you make your billable-hour goal apart from the O'Rourke case. And second, you conclude your sister's plea agreement immediately so you aren't spending all your time on two nonpaying clients."
Quinn didn't know whether to thank the man or tell him off. Quinn was a partner. These conditions sounded like something you would impose on an associate or something a parent might dictate to a rebellious teenager. On the other hand, Quinn was surprised they were letting him take the case at all.
"Okay," Quinn said. Not thanks. Not I'll make this work and you won't be sorry. Just okay.
Espinoza stood gazing out one of Quinn's windows, his arms crossed over his chest. "I had to go to bat for you on this one, Quinn. Your partners were not happy that you circumvented the system. They probably would have rejected the case if we hadn't already been knee-deep in it."
Which is exactly why I filed first and asked for permission later. "I appreciate it," Quinn said. He was already wondering how he could possibly handle this case and make his billable-hour requirement. Maybe that requirement was just a setup to run him out of the firm. "Tell my partners I appreciate their dedication to the principle that everyone is entitled to a defense under our system of justice."
Espinoza shook his head and turned to Quinn. "Don't push any harder on this one, Quinn. I can't go to the mat for you again."
As always, Quinn knew that his managing partner would require the last word, and this comment seemed as good a candidate as any. Accordingly, Quinn thanked Espinoza and watched the man head for the door.
Espinoza surprised Quinn by turning around just before he left. "Myself, I prefer Chaser Plus," he said, his lips curling into a half-smile.
"What?"
"For hangovers. You might want to keep some in your medicine cabinet."
50
After her fight with Holly, Catherine O'Rourke was placed in an isolation cell pending a psychiatric evaluation. First she was handcuffed so the jail barber could cut the chunks of gum out of her hair. It was such a mess that the barber eventually resorted to a rock-star spike. It looked terrible, giving Cat a hard, street-savvy look, but she knew it was probably the best the barber could do.
After a few hours in solitary, Cat was led into one of the sterile conference rooms with bolted-down furniture so she could be evaluated by the prison psychiatrist. Cat learned from the psychiatrist that Holly would survive with no long-term disabilities. For a few moments Cat couldn't even talk as a wave of relief flooded her body.
"Are you okay?" the psychiatrist asked. She was an older and soft-spoken woman named Dr. Glissen or something like that. Cat couldn't remember; her thoughts had been totally focused on Holly when the lady introduced herself.
"I'm fine," Cat said.
The woman asked Cat all the usual questions, and Cat answered them honestly. She was tired of pretending to be brave and tough. She needed help.
"Have you ever considered suicide?" Dr. Glissen asked. "Or have you tried to hurt yourself in any way?"
"Yes," said Cat. "To the suicide question, I mean." She paused, embarrassed to admit such a thing. "I was thinking about what this person did, this serial killer, and, well, I know it's not me, but I was thinking that if I was wrong and it somehow really was me…" Cat's voice trailed off and she felt herself trembling a little. It all sounded so bizarre, actually voicing the possibility out loud, like somehow it made the prospects more real.
Dr. Glissen slid forward a little. "What would you do, Catherine, if you found out that you really were this serial killer?"
"I'm not sure," Catherine admitted. "But I think I'd find a way to take my own life."
There. She had said it. Strangely, there was something therapeutic about just saying it out loud.
The two women talked for a long time about Catherine's feelings, the stresses of being in jail, and the pressure of being accused of such horrible crimes. Cat felt safe opening up with this woman. It seemed like the doctor actually cared about what was going on inside Cat's head. At the end of the visit, Dr. Glissen said she would prescribe some antidepressants. She gave Cat a lecture about how important it would be for her to take her meds faithfully.
"A lot of patients quit taking their medication prematurely," Glissen said. "They don't like the way it makes them feel, or they don't like the stigma associated with it, or they just pronounce themselves cured. You've got a lot on your shoulders right now. There's nothing wrong with getting help."
Cat thanked the doctor and returned to solitary confinement, where she spent her time second-guessing herself. She had lost control in a way that scared her. For a brief moment, she had wanted to kill Holly. And she nearly had. A part of? Cat that she never even knew existed had virtually taken control of her body. It was like the adrenaline and rage had fueled a different Catherine O'Rourke, one blind to consequences, intent on exacting vengeance and inflicting harm. During the fight, these emotions seemed to disembody Cat, as if she had merely been watching in horror while this other person attacked Holly, using Cat's body as the weapon.
This other Catherine had bought into the prison's moral code-survival of the fittest, kill or be killed-completely. Sure, Holly had done everything within her power to instigate the fight. And Catherine had a right to stand up for herself, especially in prison, where women like Holly picked mercilessly on women like Catherine, hoping to find an inmate they could intimidate and ultimately "own." But what scared Cat was the blind intensity of her rage. For an instant, her entire focus had been on hurting Holly badly enough so that she couldn't fight back. In that single dark moment, Cat knew, she had been capable of murder.
Was this the first time?
Perhaps the answer lurked somewhere deep inside her own head, waiting for her to dig out the hard truth of past wounds and her own festering rage. On the other hand, perhaps this morning was just a courageous response to a relentless bully, Cat's way of screaming that she'd had enough.
Maybe she was overanalyzing this entire incident. Who wouldn't have attacked Holly after what she had done? And besides, Cat remembered every second of the fight. In that respect, this was totally different from having another, unknown personality actually take control of her body.
These questions, and dozens more like them, were driving Cat mad. She had plenty of time to think about them, her paranoia growing by the minute. She needed the medication as soon as possible. And she needed some noise. For the first time since her arrest on Sunday, Cat longed for the chaos created by the other inmates.
Even the little things could drive you nuts in prison. Like never seeing the sun. Cat desperately needed some sunshine.
But there were no windows in her cell, only muted artificial light and an eerie silence. The only sounds were the voices of doubt echoing in her head. Wondering. Questioning. Convicting.