Yours,
Catherine
She read the letter twice, placed it in a sealed envelope, and addressed it to Jamarcus Webb. She would deliver it tomorrow morning in court.
Assuming she didn't lose her nerve first.
The courtroom seemed larger, but the players were all the same. Judge Rosencrance scowling from the bench. Jamarcus Webb frowning in the front row. Just in front of him, at the counsel table, sat a sneering Boyd Gates, his bald pate reflecting the harsh courtroom lights. Cat's lawyers were there, of course, as was her family. In the back, standing against the wall, quoting Scripture and damning Cat to hell, was the Reverend Harold Pryor.
"Do you have a verdict?" Rosencrance asked, raising her voice to be heard over the rantings of Pryor.
A woman stood in the middle of the jury box. At first Cat didn't recognize her, but then it sunk in. The refined looks. The sorrow etched into the worried face. Marcia Carver! The jury foreperson was Marcia Carver!
"We've reached a verdict," Marcia said.
Pryor stopped talking, and the courtroom fell silent.
"Will the accused please stand?" Rosencrance asked.
Trembling and weak-kneed, Cat stood, Marc Boland on one side, Quinn on the other. An eternity of silence followed while all eyes turned toward Catherine as if the spectators expected a spontaneous confession. Catherine glanced toward Marcia but couldn't hold the woman's severe stare.
"What is your verdict?" Rosencrance asked.
"Guilty," Marcia Carver said, "of murder in the first degree."
Shaking uncontrollably now, Cat nearly collapsed to the floor. How could this have happened?
"So say you all?" Rosencrance asked.
The other jurors nodded their heads. Cat tried to get her bearings.
"I hereby find the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree," Rosencrance pronounced, her words ripping at Cat's heart. "We will begin the sentencing phase tomorrow morning."
"Amen," said the voice of Pryor.
But Marcia Carver did not sit down. "Not the defendant," she said, her voice trembling as the other jurors nodded along. She extended a long, accusatory finger.
"Him!"
93
Exhausted from a late night of trial prep with Rosemarie Mancini, Quinn arrived just a few minutes before the start of court on Monday. He had not told Mancini about the discovery of the Carver baby. He and Marc Boland, as Catherine's attorneys, were protected from having to divulge such information, but an expert witness for the defense, subject to cross-examination on the witness stand, would have no such luxury.
Most mornings, Quinn loved getting to the courthouse early enough to spend a few minutes with Catherine before court started. But after last night's disagreement, he sensed his time and energy might be better spent focusing on the testimony. Tonight he would spend hours in the small attorney-client interview booth with Catherine, preparing for her testimony tomorrow. Talking through some of these issues could wait until then.
Still, he found himself craving his time with her and worrying incessantly about what last night's decision might have meant to their relationship. He had to remember that first and foremost she was a client-one facing death row. The decision by Quinn and Bo not to immediately reveal the whereabouts of the Carver baby had been made for Catherine's benefit. Quinn knew she couldn't understand that yet, and he hoped it didn't tear the fabric of their complex relationship beyond repair, but he had to look out for Catherine's legal interests first.
Quinn mechanically unpacked his briefcase, glancing at the courtroom's side door leading to the holding cell where Cat waited. The truly crazy thing was that recently, Quinn would often catch himself thinking about a possible future with her. After a not-guilty verdict. After treatment by Mancini that successfully brought the Avenger character to the surface and helped Cat deal with the past. Quinn and Catherine, spending time together, giving in to the irresistible impulse to be with each other, exploring the undeniable chemistry that existed between them.
How insane was that? Of all the women in the world, Quinn wanted to spend time with only one: a client who was an admitted serial killer. Maybe, he mused, it's just that old problem of wanting the one thing you know you can't have.
"All rise," the bailiff said, and Quinn knew his personal problems would have to wait.
"You ready?" Bo whispered.
"I was born ready," Quinn replied.
Rosencrance settled into her seat, greeted the lawyers, and had the bailiff bring in Catherine. She looked even more tense than Quinn had expected, her eyes darting around the courtroom. Her normally graceful gait seemed forced. She took her seat between her two lawyers and leaned toward Quinn, latching on to his right forearm. He felt a stab of pain shoot through his rotator cuff.
"We've got to talk," she said. "The first chance we get."
Boyd Gates ended his case on a whimper, calling a fingerprint expert to the stand to confirm that the toothbrush with the pointed end found in Catherine's mattress did indeed belong to her. When Gates finished his questioning, Quinn and Bo looked at each other, as if both expected the other to conduct the cross. Bo stood. "No questions, Judge."
When Gates announced that the commonwealth rested, Quinn stood quickly, wanting to show the jury how excited he was about his first witness. "The defense calls Dr. Rosemarie Mancini to the stand."
Rosemarie walked into the well of the courtroom, nodded curtly at Quinn, and took her oath. She climbed into the witness chair and lowered the mike.
Quinn quickly marched her through the preliminaries while Rosemarie snapped off succinct answers about her experience, training, and background.
As always, Quinn wanted to get the payment question out of the way early so opposing counsel couldn't make a big deal of it on cross.
"Are we paying you for your time?" Quinn asked.
"Not enough," Rosemarie deadpanned.
"How much is 'not enough'?"
"Two hundred fifty an hour," the psychiatrist shot back. "A total of about nineteen thousand on this case to date."
"That sounds like an awful lot."
"Not compared to what you make."
The jury giggled a little, though Rosemarie kept a straight face. "And I'm glad you brought up the subject," she continued, "because so far I've yet to receive a dime of payment. My bills are nineteen thousand. My collections are zero."
That subject out of the way, Quinn walked Rosemarie through her diagnosis in the case.
"Assuming that the DNA and hair evidence linking Catherine O'Rourke to the crime are reliable," Rosemarie testified, "my working diagnosis is dissociative identity disorder."
Rosemarie explained the basics of the illness, switching into lecture mode as she cited the DSM-IV diagnostic manual, the "bible" for psychiatric evaluations. She admitted that she had not yet been able to surface this alternate personality, the Avenger of Blood, though the conditions for her treatment of Catherine were clearly not optimal. "After the pressure of the trial has concluded, I believe that Ms. O'Rourke will be in a psychological state that is much more conducive for treatment.
"The idea of DID is that a person's primary personality has fractured into several 'alter personalities' and that two or more of these subpersonalities share a single body, each with its own identity, each taking a turn controlling that individual's personality and behavior. These alter personalities emerge as a result of trauma and, to some extent, serve to protect the person from overwhelmingly painful memories. In Catherine's case, it's the memory and trauma of being raped by a man she once loved and possibly by his friends as well.
"In cases of DID, the core or primary person generally experiences periods of amnesia and may even find herself in a strange place with no idea how she arrived there. Sometimes, she feels like she has been asleep and has woken up tired. This is called an amnesic barrier between identities. One personality may have full access to the memory bank, while others get only partial access, and some may be altogether unaware of the others. Many times, someone who suffers from DID may have vague flashbacks, dreams, or visions, which are actually repressed memories of what happened while the alter personality was in control."