Vernon God Little

The wonderment of it all wears off by lunchtime on the first day. After that, I sit like a zombie for days of maps and diagrams, footprints and fibers. Jesus' sports bag comes out, with my fingerprints on it. It keeps all the world's scientists busy for a week. I just sit, impassive, I guess, with all these illogical thoughts in my head, like how the hell does anybody know whether a fiber was found on a shoe or a sock? The jury dozes sometimes, unless it's a new witness from the make-up room.

'Can you identify the person you saw around the scene of the crime?' the prosecutors ask. One by one, the witnesses, strangers to me, cast their eyes and fingers my way.

'That's him in the cage,' they say. 'The one we saw.'

And like in all courtroom dramas, everybody turns up from the first part of the show, one by one, to tell their stories. You wait to see if they're going to help you out, or put you the hell away. By the time a November chill calls blankets to my jail bunk, proceedings have thawed their way down to the bone.

'The State calls Doctor Oliver Goosens.'

Goosens walks to the witness stand. His cheeks swish like silk bulging with cream. He takes the oath, and exchanges a tight little smile with the prosecutor.

'Doctor—you're a psychiatrist specializing in personality disorders?'

'I am.'

'And you appear today as an impartial expert witness, without reference to any professional contact you may have had with the defendant?'

'Yes.'

The judge holds out a finger to the prosecutor, which means stop. Then he turns to my attorney. 'Counsel—has your objection been lost in the mail?'

'No, your honor,' says Brian. He stands motionless.

'This is your client's own therapist. Am I to infer you'll ignore the conflict?'

'If you wish, sir.'

The judge chews the inside of his mouth. Then he nods. 'Proceed.'

'Doctor Oliver Goosens,' asks the prosecutor, 'in your professional opinion, what kind of person committed all these crimes?'

'Objection!' shouts my attorney. 'The crimes aren't proven to be the work of a single person.'

'Sustained,' says the judge. 'The State should know better.'

'I'll rephrase,' says the prosecutor. 'Dr Goosens—do these crimes suggest a pattern to you?'

'Most certainly.'

'A pattern common to your area of expertise?'

'Traits associated with antisocial personality disorders.'

The prosecutor strokes his chin between thumb and forefinger. 'But who's to say these traits belong to one person?'

Goosens chuckles softly. 'The alternative is a localized epidemic of antisocial disorders, lasting precisely six days.'

The prosecutor smiles. 'And what makes sufferers of these disorders different from the rest of us?'

'These personalities thrive on instant gratification—they're unable to tolerate the least frustration of their desires. They are facile manipulators, and have a unique self-regard which makes them oblivious to the rights and needs of others.'

'Am I correct in thinking these aren't mental illnesses as such, they don't involve any diminution of responsibility on the sufferer's part?'

'Quite correct. Personality disorders are maladjustments of character, deviations in the mechanisms of reward attainment.'

The prosecutor drops his head, nods thoughtfully. 'I hear you mention antisocial personality disorder. Is there a more common term describing sufferers of that disorder?'

'Antisocial personalities are, well—your classic psychopaths.' A muffled gasp shifts through the court. My glasses grow thick and heavy.

'And known manifestations of the disorder include murder?'

'Objection,' says Brian. 'Most murderers are not psychopaths, and not all psychopaths commit murder.'

The judge's eyes fall weary on the prosecutor. 'Counsel –please,' he says. You can tell he wants to say stronger words, but he just says 'please'. The difference between what he wants to say and what he can say is what makes his eyes all cowy, I guarantee it. The prosecutor tightens up the bitty sinews that pass for his lips, and turns back to Goosens.

'So Doctor—sufferers of the disorder you mention, am I right in thinking they're impassive to the results of their actions—they feel no remorse?'

'Objection! Lack of remorse is consistent with innocence!'

The prosecutor turns to the jury and smirks. I just stay impassive. 'Overruled,' says the judge. 'Your client is not being referred to.' He nods for Goosens's answer.

'Sufferers have a much higher threshold of arousal than you or I,' says Goosens, swishing his cheeks at the prosecutor. 'Their appetite for thrills can drive them to ever-greater risk, without regard for the consequences.'

'Thrills such as murder?'

'Yes.'

The prosecutor lets that one sit awhile, on the floor of the court. The stench of it wafts jurywards. He turns to look at me for his next question to Goosens. 'And tell us—does sexuality play a part in such behavior?'

'Sex is our most powerful drive. Naturally, it's a primary conduit for behaviors directed toward the acquisition and maintenance of power over others. And in the antisocial mind—death and sex are common bedfellows.'

'And how might these traits arise, in layman's terms?'

'Well, a fixation can develop in childhood …'

'A fixation for, let's say—a woman?' The prosecutor lowers his face, but swivels his eyes up to the witness stand.

'Well, yes, the object of male fixation is most often female.'

'A sociopath might kill a woman for thrills?'

'Yes, or he might—kill for her …'

'No further questions.'

Macaroni cheese for lunch today. And bread. Later, it curdles high in my gut as my attorney steps up to the witness box, smiling.

'Oliver Goosens, how are you today?'

'Just fine, thank you.'

'Tell me, Doc—do these antisocial disorders worsen with age?'

'Not necessarily—to be classified, the characteristics must have been in place by the age of fifteen.'

'Is the condition still treatable at fifteen?'

'Most disorders remain treatable at any age, although with true antisocial personalities the results are questionable.'

'You mean they can't be successfully treated?'

'That's the prevailing evidence.'

My attorney takes a little walk around the court, head down, thinking. Calculating Pi, probably. Then he stops. 'In your report to the Martirio Local Court, you recommended my client attend outpatient treatment with you, rather than be detained?'

Goosens looks up at the judge. The judge nods for him to answer. 'Yes,' says Goosens.

'Kind of a light-handed approach for an untreatable psychopath—don't you think?'

Irritation skips over the doctor's face. 'These cases can be hard to diagnose in one session.'