Broken (26 page)

From his seat at the defense table, Ivan Hammerstein watched the guard escort Anna Mae into the courtroom. There was a positive aura about her that Ivan had never seen before. She held her head higher, her back straighter, and her steps were surer. The jurors were watching her too, and Hammerstein hoped that Anna Mae’s new demeanor would not work against her. For the past week, she had presented an austere appearance that easily could have evoked jury sympathy. Now, at the defense table, she sat next to him with her shoulders squared and her head up. She looked too sure of herself—not a good thing.

The bailiff’s strong voice broke the silence. “The defense calls Doctor Mikhail Rhukov.”

The jurors’ gaze turned from Anna Mae to Dr. Rhukov, who walked down the aisle in a well-worn navy blue suit. His thick, black hair was neatly trimmed and sprinkled with more gray than Anna Mae remembered. His closely cropped beard gave him an air of distinction. After he was sworn in and seated, he reached into his breast pocket to retrieve his bifocals. When he put them on, he looked toward the jury with his lively, intelligent brown eyes. Ivan breathed a little easier, thinking that surely the jury would notice the difference between the strained, obsessively neat, court appointed Dr. Connely, and Dr. Rhukov’s relaxed, informal, yet confident manner.

As Hammerstein led the doctor through his educational history, he felt as though Dr. Rhukov’s Russian accent made his witness sound more like a bona fide psychiatrist. From the corner of his eye, Hammerstein saw the schoolteacher smiling. Good. The doctor was likable.

After Rhukov’s numerous degrees and accomplishments had been presented, Ivan asked, “Have you been paid for your appearance in court today?”

“No.”

“What is your normal fee, Dr. Rhukov? Say for an ordinary, one hour office visit?”

“Around a hundred or so.”

“When Anna Mae became your patient, how much did you charge her for a one hour session?”

“Anna Mae’s parish priest, Father John Falkowski, is a very good friend of mine,” the doctor explained as he removed his glasses. “I took Anna Mae’s case as a favor to John. Now that I know the young lady, I prefer to treat her without charge. Anna Mae McBride is a fine young woman.”

Hammerstein let the doctor’s last statement sink in, then said, “Before we get into the details of her condition, Dr. Rhukov, would you tell the court how many hours you have spent with the defendant?”

“I have been seeing Anna Mae since July of ‘68. That’s about two and a half years.”

“Have you ever counted the hours?”

The doctor shook his head. “No. But I saw Anna Mae, I would guess, on an overall average of twice a month.”

“Let’s see,” Hammerstein said going back to the defense table to do the math. “That comes to about sixty-two hours. Does that sound about right?”

“Yes.”

“And having spent sixty-two hours with the defendant, Anna Mae McBride, what is your diagnosis?”

“In my professional opinion, Miss McBride suffers with the condition called Traumatic Amnesia. Some call it Dissociative Amnesia. In her case, in times of severe stress she slips into a fugue. When the condition subsides, she does not remember anything that happened.”

“For us lay people, Doctor, explain ‘fugue.’”

“A fugue is a disturbed state of consciousness in which the one affected functions as though conscious, but upon recovery has no recollection.”

“How long do these fugues—Anna Mae calls them blackouts—last?”

“It varies. Could be an hour, even a day. When she first came to see me, she had just recovered from a two week time loss.”

“That’s a considerable amount of time,” said Hammerstein buttoning his jacket. “Tell me doctor, during these fugue states—blackouts—might she display conduct contradictory to her basic character?”

“Only to a degree. This condition does not produce the extreme fluctuation as demonstrated in MPD—multiple personality disorder. In a fugue state the individual, in this case Anna Mae, would not behave beyond the perimeters of her normal moral or ethical boundaries.”

After a brief pause, Hammerstein looked at the jury. “Dr. Rhukov, do you think that another doctor can make a diagnosis of Traumatic Amnesia, or maybe Schizophrenia, or even Borderline Sociopath, in three hours?”

Tom Simon stood up. “Objection! Speculative. Dr. Rhukov can’t determine what another doctor can or cannot do.”

“Since when?” said Hammerstein.

“Overruled,” said Judge Wittier.

Tom Simon would not sit down.

“Counselor,” said the Judge to Simon, “your objection has been overruled!”

Hammerstein stared at Tom Simon until he sat down, then turned back to the doctor. “Let me put that question another way. Can a psychiatrist rule out a diagnosis of Traumatic Amnesia after spending three hours with a patient?”

“He could rule out anything he wanted to rule out, but that would not make it so. A good psychiatrist does not jump to conclusions. Psychiatry is not like other medical fields. For instance, an orthopedic surgeon might look at a patient’s arm and know immediately it is broken. A lung specialist can see a lesion on an x-ray. However, the human brain is tremendously complex. A doctor of psychiatry must spend a considerable amount of time with his patients.”

Hammerstein nodded and said, “More than three hours, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes. A great deal more,” said Dr. Rhukov.

“Now let’s switch to another area,” said Hammerstein, glancing at the jury and noting that they were paying close attention. “Dr. Rhukov, when did the defendant’s memory losses start?”

“When she was a very small child. And about the age of nine she realized her memory losses were directly linked to Walter Lipinski’s abuse.”

“Objection!”

“Grounds?”

Tom Simon stood up. “How could the defendant know there was abuse if she was in a—ah, fugue?”

“Overruled.”

The doctor replaced his glasses while looking up at the judge. “So I may reply?”

“Go ahead, Doctor.”

Directing his words straight to the jury, the doctor said, “Miss McBride had revealed to me on numerous occasions that when Walter Lipinski would go out at night and drink a considerable amount of alcohol, she invariably woke up the next morning with cuts and bruises. Though she did not remember, the connection was obvious.”

“Objection,” said Simon getting up from his seat. “For one thing, that’s hearsay and another—the girl was only guessing.”

“Your objection is overruled, counselor,” said Wittier. “This testimony comes from a highly regarded psychiatrist’s knowledge about the defendant. Sit down.”

“But...”

“Sit down!”

“Yes, your honor,” Simon grumbled.

Hammerstein, in his best serious tone addressed the doctor, “In-as-much as the defendant knew—realized…her so called uncle was responsible for her injuries. Now, in your professional opinion, considering Anna Mae’s basic character, would you say she is capable of such a vicious crime?”

“No,” said the doctor glancing tenderly at Anna Mae. “She is not capable.”

Simon was again on his feet. “Objection! Calls for an opinion.”

Thinking he might not have heard right, Hammerstein turned and looked at the prosecutor.

“I do believe,” said Judge Wittier sarcastically, “the reason for putting any expert in the witness chair is to obtain an opinion.”

Red faced and without replying, Tom Simon walked back to his table and plopped into his chair.

“And also,” Hammerstein continued as though nothing unusual had happened, “in your professional opinion, Dr. Rhukov, does the defendant, Anna Mae McBride remember what she saw the day Walter Lipinski was murdered?”

“No,” Rhukov said emphatically. “When I tried to get Anna Mae to remember what she saw that day by means of hypnosis, it was evident that whatever she saw was so horrifying that the shock—and this is not at all unusual even in a mentally healthy person—the shock of what she saw completely blocked the memory. It is also true that this kind of amnesia is usually accompanied by a memory loss well before and after the incident.”

“So what you’re saying, Doctor, is that even though the defendant had previously suffered from Traumatic Amnesia—in this particular incident her memory loss is completely normal.”

The doctor looked at Anna Mae, the compassion clear on his face. “That is exactly what I am saying.”

“Thank you, Dr. Rhukov,” said Hammerstein. He then walked back to the defense table and sat down next to Anna Mae.

The judge asked Simon if he was ready to cross. To Hammerstein’s surprise, Tom Simon had no questions for Dr. Rhukov.

Ivan Hammerstein watched the jury file into the courtroom six seconds shy of the fifteen-minute break. The courtroom was called to order.

“Call your next witness.”

“The defense calls Anna Mae McBride.”

Anna Mae stood up and brushed the wrinkles from her dress. Her blond hair was pulled severely back by a rubber band, revealing her face that was a bit pale. However, she held her head high and looked straight ahead as she walked to the witness stand. The courtroom was silent. Dead silent.

Judge Wittier put down his gavel and threw an incredulous look at Ivan Hammerstein. Tom Simon leaned forward in his chair and dropped his pen. It bounced from the table to the floor. He didn’t bother to pick it up.

At the front of the courtroom, Hammerstein stood beneath the American flag, rubbing his neck. He decided it would be best not to state that Anna Mae was testifying against his advice. It might destroy her credibility. In addition, if the jury found her guilty, Ivan planned to insist she appeal on the grounds of inadequate counsel. But that was a problem for another time. Now he had to focus on the job at hand.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

Anna Mae was looking at something behind Ivan and he turned to see Tom Simon baring his perfect, white teeth in a malevolent grin. Although this was Simon’s first murder trial, Ivan knew that Simon was smart enough to realize that putting Anna Mae on the stand was incredibly stupid. Moreover, Ivan Hammerstein would bet a thousand dollars that the prosecutor was already imagining how he could chop Anna Mae into pieces.

Ivan frowned, cleared his throat and moved in front of Anna Mae to block her view of Simon. She had been instructed to always keep her eyes on her attorney. She looked up at him, apology written on her face. He nodded his acceptance.

Brushing the hair from his forehead, Ivan began to lead Anna Mae through a series of questions about her childhood, her school years, her grades and her religious beliefs. In the jury box, the businessman, arms folded across his chest, alternating his critical gaze from Hammerstein to Anna Mae and back. The homemaker, who reminded Ivan of a barmaid, shot the businessman a skeptical glance. Despite Anna Mae’s account of a run-of-the-mill, good-girl history, Ivan was becoming uneasy about the jury.

“Now tell us, Anna Mae, about your Uncle Walter. What kind of person was he?”

“He was not a nice man,” she said. “He drank a lot and was abusive.”

“Objection!” Simon shouted not bothering to stand up. “She’s trying to slander the victim.”

“Overruled.”

“Did you hate him?” Ivan asked

“No,” she said. “He would upset me sometimes, especially when he drank or picked on David or Aunt Sarah. But I didn’t hate him. Sometimes I even felt sorry for him. Aunt Sarah said he had a terrible childhood.”

“Objection,” said Simon. “Hearsay.”

“I’ll allow it. Be careful, counselor,” said Judge Wittier.

Ivan made a feeble effort to straighten his lopsided tie, then said to his client, “Without going into too much detail, what did your Aunt Sarah tell you?”

“Aunt Sarah told me that Walter’s father used to beat him because he blamed him for his mother’s death...”

Tom Simon was now on his feet. “Objection. Hearsay.”

“I said, I’ll allow it.”

Simon scowled and sat down.

Not wanting to test Judge Wittier’s patience, Ivan moved ahead. “And so your uncle grew up to be a violent and hard drinking man.”

“Objection. Leading.”

Judge Wittier leaned forward and looked at Hammerstein, his face reflecting his frustration. “Please rephrase the question, counselor.”

The defense attorney realized that Simon was using a rapid-fire series of objections to frustrate Anna Mae and confuse the jury. Gritting his teeth he continued, “Did Walter hit you? Or more specifically, did he beat you?”

On his feet again, Simon persisted, “Objection. Leading.”

“Overruled! Crack your law books prosecutor and read what it says under ‘Leading.’”

Ivan waited for the murmured laughter to subside then asked again, “Did Walter hit you or actually beat you?”

“I think he beat me.”

Hammerstein was impressed that Anna Mae was able to maintain her concentration. “You think?” he asked. “Don’t you know?”

“I was never consciously aware…I mean it was during the blackouts. Dr. Rhukov calls it Traumatic Amnesia—the doctor said it was the beatings that caused the amnesia...”

“Objection. Hearsay.”

Finally, Judge Wittier called both attorneys to the bench. He warned Simon: “If you continue to impede the defense with your irrelevant objections, I’ll hold you in contempt. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

The prosecutor’s cheeks flushed. As the two lawyers walked away from the judge’s bench, Simon’s eyes shot bolts of anger in Hammerstein’s direction.

Ignoring Simon, Hammerstein continued: “As you were saying, Anna Mae—the doctor thought it was the beatings that caused the amnesia?”

“Actually, I figured that out myself when I was about nine. I would wake up in the morning with bruises and I couldn’t remember what had happened the night before. But it was always after Walter had come home drunk.”

“Is that why you finally went to see Dr. Rhukov?”

“Yes. When I was sixteen, there was an episode at Kennywood...”

“We’ll get to that later,” said Hammerstein. “Anna Mae, when was the first time you were aware of lost time?”

Anna Mae lowered her head. She looked at her hands that were clasped in her lap. Ivan had touched on this in the conference room. There hadn’t been enough time to go into detail. But he had assured her that nothing should present a problem as long as she told the truth.

“When was the first time?” he asked again.

“Susie,” she said. “My doll, Susie, was all torn up.” Anna Mae’s hands were trembling. She still had not looked up.

“Take your time,” Ivan said.

“I must have been around three or four years old.” Her voice was soft but could still be heard. “It was late. I was in bed when Aunt Sarah brought me my doll. Her clothes, Susie’s nightie, it was torn. Her face was cracked. I couldn’t remember how it happened. Aunt Sarah wasn’t worried about my doll. She made a big fuss over me, like I was hurt. I didn’t know I was hurt. I was just concerned about my baby doll.”

Anna Mae looked up and scanned the courtroom. Ivan followed her gaze as it led to the rear of the courtroom and rested on Sarah. He cleared his throat and Anna Mae looked back at him. Her eyes glistened with tears. 

“How old did you say you were?”

“I don’t know. Maybe three? Three and a half?”

Suddenly Anna Mae’s face brightened and she laughed to herself.

“What’s funny?” Ivan asked.

“Stanley—that same night,” she smiled as the tears dripped over her lower lashes. “His feet were sticking out from under his bed,” she said wiping them from her cheeks. “I guess,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I guess now that I think of it…it wasn’t really funny. Poor kid. He was probably terrified.”

“At that time, where was Walter?”

“I don’t know where he was then. But it was because of him that Stanley was hiding under the bed. I know it was. I mean Walter had to have been on one of his rampages...”

“Objection. Speculative,” said Simon without getting up.

“That’s ridiculous,” said Hammerstein. “The witness is only recounting what she thought as a child.”

“And that’s not speculation?” shot Simon. “Where did you go to law school?”

The gavel hit the maple bench so hard that Hammerstein jumped. “That’s enough,” snapped the judge. “The jury is to disregard the witness’s opinion as to why Stanley’s feet were sticking out from under the bed. Proceed counselor.”

“And so, Anna Mae, the night your baby doll was damaged you did not remember how it happened. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Ivan walked to the defense table and picked up a legal pad. He looked at it for a second, put it down, then asked his client, “Was there another incident when you didn’t remember a period of time?”

“There were lots of them.”

“Can you tell us of another time?”

“I was in third grade,” she said. She seemed to be bracing herself for an onslaught of emotion that didn’t come. “There was an accident at the mill. When the sirens went off, the classroom became a madhouse. It scared me half to death. I know I had a blackout because when I woke up, I was in church. I woke up in church a lot.”

“Woke up?”

“Yes. I would go there—to the church I mean, because that was the only place where I felt safe. And then I would wake up—in church.”

“What do you mean by, ‘wake up?’ Explain that.”

“Well, that’s what I kinda call it. But I’m not in bed. It’s not that kind of waking up. I like, suddenly become aware that I’m not where I was a minute ago. Only it wasn’t a minute. It’s hours, sometimes days. And then I remember the last thing that happened before I blacked out. Well, most of the time anyway. Sometimes it takes me a little while to figure out where I was and what was happening when I blacked out. When I wake up, I know time has passed. Then I have to figure out how much time. It was so hard because I didn’t want anyone to know.”

Hammerstein glanced at the jury to see if they showed any compassion. They did. He continued, “Why? Why didn’t you want anyone to know?”

Anna Mae shifted uneasily, gripping the arms of the chair.

He asked again, “Why didn’t you want anyone to know?”

“Answer the question,” said Judge Wittier.

She spoke in a whisper. “I was afraid I was crazy.”

“I didn’t hear you,” said Hammerstein. “Can you speak a little louder?”

“I was afraid I was crazy and that they would put me in a mental hospital. So I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Objection!”

Hammerstein turned and looked at Simon.

“On what grounds?” asked the judge.

“Relevance?” said Simon.

“Sit down,” said the judge.

Ivan shot a snide glance at his adversary, whose inexperience had caught up with him.

Following Ivan’s lead, Anna Mae continued her explanation of other times she had blacked out and some of the ways she had bluffed her way through them. She was doing a good job. If Ivan was reading the jury correctly, they believed her. 

When she gave a brief account of the Kennywood incident, the schoolteacher was nodding, and the businessman was leaning forward, his hands folded, his elbows on his knees. However, the steelworker remained ramrod straight, eyes narrowed, sizing up Anna Mae. Hammerstein turned back to his witness.

“Now, let’s go to the day Walter Lipinski was murdered. Would you please describe to the jury, as you remember them, the events of October 14, 1970?” 

Anna Mae stiffened, her breathing became shallow. “I got up at around nine o’clock—maybe nine thirty...”

Simon jumped up. “Your Honor! Does the witness know what time it was or not?”

“What’s your objection?” asked the judge.

“He doesn’t have an objection,” said Hammerstein. “He’s harassing the witness.”

“I’ll repeat the question, Anna Mae,” Hammerstein said. “Will you tell the jury what you did on Tuesday, October 14th 1970?”

“I got up around nine-fifteen,” she said, then waited a few seconds for the objection that didn’t come. She then talked about not wanting to be alone with her uncle, about leaving the car keys on the table, about taking the bus to her mother’s house in Pittsburgh. “It was so nice for a change,” she said with a slight smile. “Becky, I mean my mother, had stopped drinking. Her house was clean. So was little Missy. And my mother was making cookies.”

Suddenly Anna Mae stopped talking. She let go of the arms of the chair and covered her face. Ivan saw a slight tremble in her hands. He gave her a moment to regroup. When she took her hands away from her face, he said, “So the house was clean and your mother was making cookies. Anything else, Anna Mae?”

“We sat at the table and had coffee. She had this book.” Anna Mae looked at her attorney, her eyes begging him not to make her continue. Then lowering her gaze, she took a deep breath. “It was because of that book that she told me…she told me that…that he was—that Walter was ...”

“You’ll have to speak a little louder,” said Hammerstein. “What did your mother tell you? What was that last word?”

“My Father! She told me that Walter Lipinski was my father.”

The jury shifted in their seats. There was a loud murmur in the courtroom. Anna Mae’s face was flushed. She was visibly shaking. Ivan waited until the noise subsided. Hoping she would not break down, he pushed forward. “Do you know, Anna Mae, why in all these years it was kept a secret? Do you know why you or anyone else in the family was not told that Walter Lipinski was your father?”

No answer.

Ivan paced in front of his client, trying to find a suitable way to ask his next question. He could think of nothing that would spare Anna Mae, so he simply said, “I know this is painful for you. It had to be a terrible shock. But we need to know. Did your mother, Becky McBride, tell you that Walter raped her?”