Quinn smiled to himself. This was why he used her as his big-case expert.
"You said trauma or extreme emotional distress," Boland countered. "Mostly childhood abuse, right?"
"Impressive," Dr. Mancini said. "You've done some homework."
Boland shrugged and flipped the burgers. "Wikipedia. Not exactly admissible in court."
"Clinical studies show that most patients with diagnosed DID report early childhood abuse," Rosemarie said. "However, researchers were only able to document such abuse in about 85 percent of the cases. Still, one of the things that bothers me about Ms. O'Rourke's case is that she denies any such abuse. Rape is a severely traumatizing event that can trigger a lot of psychological issues. But it was not repetitive and it did not happen during her childhood."
"And what's the significance of that?" Boland asked. "And, more importantly, how do you like your burgers?"
"Medium rare," Quinn said.
"Extremely well done," Rosemarie said. She switched back into lecture mode. "It's during childhood that we learn to integrate different types of experiences into a complex and integrated view of ourselves. Our multifaceted personality develops. When certain traumatic experiences or situations of abuse overwhelm us, it's possible to segregate them into a separate personality, one that our default personality does not even know exists."
"So that's one of the problems with claiming DID," Boland responded. "She doesn't fit the pattern. That's why I like going with a straight not-guilty plea." He wiped his brow with a shirtsleeve and turned to Quinn. "You're being awful quiet, Vegas."
Quinn raised his palms, as if he didn't care. He didn't want to make his agenda too obvious. "How do you explain the DNA and methohexital?"
"A setup," Boland said quickly, "by the real Avenger of Blood."
"How did he get her DNA?" Quinn asked.
"It's not that hard," Boland pronounced. "Maybe he broke into her house. Went through her trash. Followed her into a restaurant."
"If it were only the DNA and methohexital, I might agree with you," Quinn said, trying to sound pensive. "But I can't get past these visions. How would an innocent person know so much about the crimes?"
"She's got a gift," Boland responded. "Even the cops use people like Catherine to help them solve crimes."
"A gift," Quinn repeated. He let the sarcasm drip from his lips. "What other crimes has our gifted client solved? What calamity did she predict? Does she also read palms for a small fee?"
Boland climbed onto a white leather bar stool, one eye on the grill. "I don't like it any better than you do, Vegas. But we're stuck with the visions in this case. Some people just know things. Supernaturally. Most jurors will buy that."
"Maybe Virginia Beach juries are more gullible than they are in Vegas," Quinn said, his frustration starting to show. He took a final swallow of beer. "But it would never fly out there. Magicians and illusionists have 'gifts' too, and so do card sharks. But at the end of the day, it's all smoke and mirrors. If we can't find a logical explanation for these visions, one grounded in reality, I think we're better off arguing insanity."
Quinn sat up, his elbows on the arm rests. "If we plead insanity, we can talk at length about the effect of the rape on Catherine's psyche. We turn her visions into a cornerstone of our defense. Would anybody who actually realized they had committed these horrible crimes ever share detailed visions about them with a police officer? It may not get her acquitted, but it ought to be enough to save her life."
"They've got no corpse," Boland protested. "No murder weapon. No real motive. We can't just roll over and admit she did this. What if she's really innocent?"
"Then we'd better have a good explanation for these visions," Quinn responded. "Something that makes sense to the 99 percent of us who don't believe in ghosts."
"Let me give that a shot," said Rosemarie Mancini. "And if you two gentlemen could hold your questions until my little presentation is done, I would very much appreciate it."
Marc Boland shrugged and Quinn stood from his seat. "I'll be right back," he said. "I think this calls for another beer."
54
"Both of you are probably familiar with a story from the Old Testament book of Daniel, from which we get our expression 'the handwriting on the wall.'" Rosemarie glanced at Quinn. "Well, at least one of you probably is."
Very funny. Quinn raised his beer toward her.
"A Persian king named Belshazzar was at the height of his glory," Rosemarie continued, "hosting a great feast in his banquet hall and guzzling down the wine. Probably had a few too many."
At this, Quinn thought he detected a reproving glance.
"On a whim, he gives an order for his servants to bring in the gold and silver vessels that his predecessor, Nebuchadnezzar, had taken from the Jewish temple in Jerusalem when he made the Jews his slaves. This guy Belshazzar and his wives and concubines drank wine out of these vessels and praised their Babylonian gods."
Rosemarie spoke with her hands, her face animated.
This is why juries love her so much, Quinn thought.
She turned suddenly toward Quinn, a finger extended. "This hand comes out of nowhere and writes a message on the wall." She lowered her voice into a James Earl Jones impersonation. "'Mene, Mene, Tekel, Parsin.' The king is so scared he turns pale, his hip joints shake like jelly, and his knees knock together. You know what the words mean?"
"Pretty Lady to show in the fourth?" Quinn asked.
"Not quite," Rosemarie said, her face scrunched in disapproval. "The king brought in all his mediums and astrologers, but only Daniel could figure it out."
"And?"
"Honestly, I don't remember, but that's actually beside the point.
…"
"Are you serious?" Quinn asked. "How can you remember the words and not remember what they mean?"
"You're right-I'm kidding," Rosemarie said. " Mene meant the king's days were numbered. Tekel meant he had been weighed on the scales and found deficient. Parsin meant the kingdom would be divided and given to the Medes and Persians-parceled out, so to speak. And sure enough, that night the king died."
"Sad story," said Quinn. "But what's that got to do with the handwriting on Catherine's cell wall?"
"It means there's precedent for this type of thing, Quinn." Dr. Mancini was serious now. "We're in the South, not Vegas. A lot of folks around here believe in a spiritual dimension that transcends what we can touch and see. In both the Old and New Testaments, there are times when God speaks in a dream or a vision, and it's not always through His prophets or apostles. Belshazzar was a Babylonian. The Egyptian pharaohs had dreams that were interpreted by Joseph. Pilate's wife had a dream warning her that her husband should not sentence Jesus to death. Some of the folks on our jury have probably had dreams or premonitions themselves, and many of them think they've heard from God."
"Maybe so," Marc Boland inserted as he moved some hot dogs onto the top grill to wait for the burgers to finish, "but we can't exactly give them a Bible lesson from the witness stand. I'm actually with Quinn on this one-and I'm a God-fearin', gun-totin' Southern evangelical. Just because that stuff happened in the Old Testament doesn't mean it's still happening. When people start claiming they've heard directly from God, it's usually a one-way ticket to crazy."
"Some jurors will be like me and gravitate to the faith angle," Rosemarie countered. "Others will want science or real-life examples. We can give them a little of everything-juror's choice. Take Allison DuBois, for example. In the year 2000, this nice-looking young lady was on her way to becoming a career prosecutor in the Maricopa County prosecutor's office. One day she went downstairs in her apartment building to get the laundry, and this man walks right through her. When she explains what happened to her husband and actually describes the man-he loves clam chowder; he's had a heart attack-her husband says, 'Hey! That's my grandfather.'