"The author is Aeschylus. It's the final play in the Oresteian trilogy, the story of Agamemnon following the Trojan War. This last play is basically the battle between two generations of gods-the older generation of deities, represented by the three female furies, and the new generation of Olympian gods represented by Zeus and his progeny." Channing looked at Rosemarie with a hint of paternalism-the college professor lecturing a uninformed plebeian. "Do you know what the furies were called?"
"Blood avengers," answered Rosemarie.
The professor raised an eyebrow, perhaps trying to decide whether it was just a lucky guess. "Quite correct! They were to be feared and never provoked-all black and wingless, with heavy, rasping breath and eyes oozing discharge. They exacted vengeance without remorse. Yet by the end of the play, the ultimate blood feud had been brought to an end with the emergence of the first Athenian court-the goddess Athena presiding at the trial, Apollo serving as an expert witness, and the furies acting as prosecutors. Following the trial, the furies become benevolent goddesses rather than vengeful and spiteful beings."
Rosemarie had forgotten the details of the plot and, despite the professor's condescending attitude, was beginning to think the visit had been worthwhile. She considered the implications of The Eumenides for Catherine's case. Honestly, she had been so focused on the biblical notion of a blood avenger that she had missed this secular angle. "Is it okay if I borrow this book for a few weeks?" she asked.
"Have at it," the professor said. "Maybe sometime you could come and lecture to my class. 'The psychology of The Eumenides.'"
Also known, Rosemarie thought, as the professor finding another excuse to take a class off. She tucked the book in her briefcase. "Is this the kind of thing Catherine would have been exposed to as part of her comparative religion course?"
"This and other examples," said Channing, "my basic point being to demonstrate that these ancient religions all sanctioned some type of blood feud. Makes you wonder who copied whom, doesn't it?"
Rosemarie had heard enough revisionist history. "Seems to me that Greek drama came along in about the fifth century BC, thousands of years after the Mosaic law," she said. "And I'm no expert, but if I remember correctly, the biblical system included a number of 'cities of refuge' set up throughout the country. Any killer could flee to the cities, but a blood avenger could not go there. A person fleeing to the cities would not be put to death unless that person was tried and found guilty of intentional murder, not just an accidental killing."
She opened the Bible on the desk and flipped back to the book of Numbers, locating one of the passages she had run across while analyzing Catherine's case. "'The cities shall be to you as a refuge from the avenger, so that the manslayer will not die until he stands before the congregation for trial.'" She looked at Channing. "Seems to me the biblical system was focused on a fair trial, not just blood vengeance."
"Yes, yes, I see your point," he said. "One could certainly view it that way, though I'm still struck by the overwhelming similarities."
Rosemarie thought about pressing the point but decided against it. Channing could be a valuable witness in Catherine's trial. She thanked the professor for his time, turned off the tape recorder, and left his office. Her suspicions had now been confirmed, dropping the first piece of the puzzle into place.
Under a DID diagnosis, an alter ego would often carry with it many of the thoughts and characteristics that the person had exhibited at the time of the event that caused the personality to fracture, as if that other personality had become frozen in time. Catherine's rape had occurred during her senior year in college. That same year, she had studied the blood-avenging Greek goddesses in The Eumenides and the biblical notion of a blood avenger. It could be a coincidence, Rosemarie thought. Or perhaps not.
On the way to her car, Rosemarie dictated a note to herself, a reminder to check Catherine's newspaper articles for any coverage of the Paul Donaldson or Clarence Milburn rape trials. Then she called Marc Boland.
"Whose idea was it to bring Quinn Newberg into the case?" Rosemarie asked. "Yours or Catherine's?"
"Catherine's," Marc said without hesitation. "Why?"
Rosemary ignored the question. "How insistent was she on getting Quinn involved?"
"Pretty insistent. Confidentially, I tried to talk her out of it. I'm glad he's part of the team now, but at the time I wasn't thinking insanity, and I felt like his involvement might send the wrong signal."
"Thanks," said Rosemarie. "That's what I thought."
"Do you mind telling me why you're asking?"
"I do mind," said Rosemarie. "And thanks for being sensitive to the fact that I can't always share everything I've discovered with you and Quinn."
Rosemarie could tell by the silence that Marc didn't particularly care for that answer. She thanked him for his time and hung up the phone. The second piece of the puzzle was now firmly in place.
63
Catherine O'Rourke felt herself slipping deeper into depression but couldn't seem to stop it. Everything about jail was designed to depersonalize, humiliate, and desensitize. If it wasn't for Tasha, she probably would have gone totally berserk.
Even visiting hours compounded the despondency. The steady stream of visitors had dwindled to a few loyal friends and Cat's mom and sister. In a couple of days, her family would have to return to Pennsylvania. "We'll come down just about every weekend," Kelsey promised. But Cat knew the realities-money was getting tight. Kelsey had to get back to work. Trips to Virginia were long and costly.
Catherine continued taking her antidepressants. Her psychiatrist assured Cat she would work through this. The worst thing was that Cat had not seen Marc Boland in nearly a week, and Quinn Newberg had quit taking her collect calls. Updates on her case came from the news or other inmates.
Through it all, she wondered and worried. Was there really another Catherine, one responsible for the murder of infants, defense lawyers, and criminals? Why had the visions stopped? If she wasn't the Avenger, who was?
Catherine was a woman of action, but here she sat, helpless, watching the minutes slowly tick by as she waited for her trial date. If she lost and faced a lifetime prison sentence, she would seriously consider taking her own life. If she truly was the Avenger, who would care?
I can't think that way. But it wasn't that easy. The more she obsessed about the case, the more she isolated herself. And the more that happened, the more depressed she became. She couldn't remember the last time she had genuinely laughed. Cat felt trapped inside a spiral of misery, her mind eroding by the hour.
Even if she won the trial, there would be a significant percentage of Americans who would always believe she was a serial killer. Her best-case scenario was living like O.J. Simpson, enduring the scorn of good people everywhere.
Maybe she could start over again in some remote Latin American country or someplace in Europe. But first, she had to get through today. And then tonight. And then the day after that and the day after that.
Catherine O'Rourke, suspected serial killer. It seemed at times like she could barely remember what life had been like before this nightmare. The sun. The freedom. Friends who believed in her. A promising career.
All gone. And maybe her sanity along with them.
Late Monday afternoon, Quinn suffered one final blow before his scheduled court appearance with Annie. It came as he entered his office building, pushing through a few persistent TV reporters who had set up shop in the lobby.
"Do you have any comment on Claude Tanner's filing in family court?" one of the reporters asked.
"No comment," Quinn said, wondering what the man was talking about. He and Annie had decided to keep the TV off in the condo. He'd never heard of anyone named Claude Tanner.