The doctor shrugged.
Wilk read on. “‘It may occur in persons of a high degree of intelligence… At this difficult stage toward the end of puberty, the subject may develop fantasies, bordering upon autism. However, not all such cases develop a psychosis.’” He raised his eyes from the book and asked, “Would a young man of exceptional intelligence who had had a governess until the age of fifteen, who left home at that time, leaving one school for another, a young man decidedly given to fantasies – would such a person come under this description?”
It was some years, Tierney said, since he had written this book.
“Do you intend to take this out in the next edition?” Dr. Tierney responded to the laughter with a stiffly sporting gesture of the hand. Wilk read on. “‘The subject may go so far as to commit murder, seemingly for no motive, and he may appear devoid of remorse.’”
“Doctor, did you find any evidence in either of these subjects of a paranoid personality?”
He had noted in Judd Steiner a few superficial similarities, Dr. Tierney said. “But the main features of a paranoid personality are lacking.”
“What would such features be?”
“Selfishness and a domineering character are often noted.”
“Such as one might attribute to a superman?”
Dr. Tierney smiled. “That is entirely a concept. However, even this concept concerns a more developed paranoid stage.”
And could Dr. Tierney recall any other features of a paranoid personality?
There was a guarded silence. “I will help you,” Wilk said, looking again in the book. “‘One who is anxious to be in the forefront’?”
“Yes, but that might be considered part of an egocentric character.”
“Well, let us see about egocentrics.” Wilk thumbed the volume. “Doesn’t it say somewhere here that an egocentric is practically the same thing as a paranoid character?”
The doctor’s lips parted in a thin smile. “I don’t think I will quarrel with you very much on that.”
“Then why not say yes, and agree with me once, without so much work?”
Someone applauded. The gavel rapped. He returned to his point. Were people with this egocentric or paranoid character usually fond of learning?
This was often a characteristic, the doctor admitted.
“‘While they learn readily, there is really no broad grasp of the relationship of the material learned to the situations in life.’ Is that right?”
Dr. Tierney hedged. Only of certain types of paranoid or egocentric personalities.
“All right, doctor. You still recognize this book as an authority, do you?”
Tierney nodded stonily.
“I am reading from page 157. The heading of this section is ‘The Egocentric Personality’. It says: ‘Individuals of this type are often endowed with a facility for learning in a parrot-like way, which enables them to acquire their lessons easily and to do well scholastically, but the quality of the learning is poor, and there is really no broad grasp of the relation of the material learned to the situation in life.’”
“That’s right, as I already agreed.”
But was not this the defence description of Judd, an egocentric or paranoid type of a psychopathic personality? “And I understand you to say that a psychopathic personality is not yet in a diseased condition?”
No, not necessarily.
“But it would put a doctor on his guard to investigate?”
“If one knows one is dealing with a paranoid personality, I don’t see anything further to investigate. I know a lot of paranoid personalities in ordinary society.”
“If that paranoid personality has committed a crime, a murder?”
“Oh, in that case the personality should be investigated.”
Time and again in the trial, it seemed to us, this point had been reached. Yet we hung on the words, as if, this once, the answer might appear.
As Wilk put the question, the scientists of the mind could read the meanings afterward – why couldn’t they read them before a crime?
Because a psychopathic personality was not mentally diseased, the doctor insisted. There was as yet no proof that he would be harmful to others or to himself. He might be on the way to disease or he might be adjusted as he was.
“It just happens, does it?”
The number of psychopathic personalities, fortunately, was not very great, Dr. Tierney said.
“Not so great but that – since you show us they are recognizable – we could watch them with more care,” Wilk said, turning and looking steadily at Judd. He had put the pieces perfectly into place; he had made the State’s alienist confirm, to the precise point, the defence contention that the boy was not insane, but that he showed marked characteristics of a potential disturbance.
Wilk went back to his table. Astonished, we realized that the case was nearly over. For a month, we had come to this room as to a class. In the last weeks, we had learned a great deal about psychiatry. Only, what were the true opinions of the doctors? And even between Wilk and Horn, how much was conviction? If Horn himself were an attorney outside the services of the State, would he not be willing to defend the same boys?
And now indeed there came news of professional “dickering”. For the sake of shortening the trial, Wilk would eliminate the remainder of his sympathy witnesses, if Horn would eliminate rebuttal witnesses.
During a recess hour, the opposing attorneys were locked together. “No deal,” Horn announced as he emerged. He wouldn’t do it. He was going to put on Sergeant McNamara. The defence could do as they damn pleased.
McNamara’s material was not new. We had all printed versions of his story of Judd’s remark about “pleading guilty before a friendly judge”.
What could Horn hope to gain by putting this into the record? Did he feel that he would be putting Judge Matthewson on the spot, so that he could not dare pronounce the predicted “friendly” sentence? Did Horn feel that his alienists had been so discredited by Wilk that only a bold manœuvre could save his hanging case?
Carefully Horn led the policeman through his testimony. Had Judd become talkative with him? Had he made notes? Yes, because the case was so important. And on Sunday, May thirtieth, had Judd made any remark that struck him?
Yes, Judd had said, in discussing how he would plead, “that depends on my family – if they wish me to hang. Or else I will plead guilty before a friendly judge to get life imprisonment. There is also the insanity plea.”
Judge Matthewson sat rigid.
McNamara told how he had been so struck by the words that he had repeated them to his wife and to some neighbours on the way to church.
If Wilk had been bitter, contemptuous, in his cross-examination of Dr. Stauffer, he was now simply murderous. When had McNamara written down the remarks? Right after they were made? No, later on. When, exactly? That same day, the detective thought. Where was the notebook? He didn’t have it with him.
He didn’t? Did he think he could come into court and tell any cock-and-bull story without evidence?
The judge leaned forward. Court would be recessed. Let the notebook be produced.
An hour later, the session was resumed. McNamara produced a pocket-worn notebook, the schoolboy kind. There were entries in pencil, some half rubbed out, most of them having to do with petty expenses.
Wilk found the notations of the day of the cavalcade. Where was there anything about the “friendly judge” remark? Nothing on that day or the next.
“Then you lied,” Wilk cried. “You lied under oath before this court! You didn’t write it down that day or the next – if ever.”
McNamara sputtered. It wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t said exactly when he wrote it down.
In a tangle of questions, Wilk had him stumbling over his own tongue, on the point of violence or tears. McNamara pointed out notations on a later page. “Insanity plea, or get a life sentence from a friendly judge.”