Tell Me Your Dreams (16 page)

M
ORE
than three months had gone by since the beginning of the trial, and David could not remember when he had last had a full night’s sleep.

One afternoon, when they returned from the courtroom, Sandra said, “David, I think I should go back to San Francisco.”

David looked at her in surprise. “Why? We’re right in the middle of—Oh, my God.” He put his arms around her. “The baby. Is it coming?”

Sandra smiled. “Anytime now. I’d feel safer if I were back there, closer to Dr. Bailey. Mother said she’d come and stay with me.”

“Of course. You have to go back,” David said. “I lost track of time. He’s due in three weeks, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

He grimaced. “And I can’t be there with you.”

Sandra took his hand. “Don’t be upset, darling. This trial’s going to be over soon.”

“This goddamn trial is ruining our lives.”

“David, we’re going to be fine. My old job’s waiting for me. After the baby comes, I can—”

David said, “I’m so sorry, Sandra. I wish—”

“David, don’t ever be sorry for doing something you believe is right.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

He stroked her stomach. “I love you both.” He sighed. “All right. I’ll help you pack. I’ll drive you back to San Francisco tonight and—”

“No,” Sandra said firmly. “You can’t leave here. I’ll ask Emily to come and pick me up.”

“Ask her if she can join us here for dinner tonight.”

“All right.”

Emily had been delighted. “Of course I’ll come to pick you up.” And she had arrived in San Jose two hours later.

The three of them had dinner that evening at Chai Jane.

“It’s terrible timing,” Emily said. “I hate to see you two away from each other right now.”

“The trial’s almost over,” David said hopefully. “Maybe it will end before the baby comes.”

Emily smiled. “We’ll have a double celebration.”

It was time to go. David held Sandra in his arms. “I’ll talk to you every night,” he said.

“Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I love you very much.” Sandra looked at him and said, “Take care of yourself, David. You look tired.”

It wasn’t until Sandra left that David realized how utterly alone he was.

Court was in session.

Mickey Brennan rose and addressed the court. “I would like to call Dr. Lawrence Larkin as my next witness.”

A distinguished gray-haired man was sworn in and took the stand.

“I want to thank you for being here, Dr. Larkin. I know your time is very valuable. Would you tell us a little about your background?”

“I have a successful practice in Chicago. I’m a past president of the Chicago Psychiatric Association.”

“How many years have you been in practice, Doctor?”

“Approximately thirty years.”

“And as a psychiatrist, I imagine you’ve seen many cases of multiple personality disorder?”

“No.”

Brennan frowned. “When you say no, you mean you haven’t seen a lot of them? Maybe a dozen?”

“I’ve never seen one case of multiple personality disorder.”

Brennan looked at the jury in mock dismay, then back at the doctor. “In thirty years of working with mentally disturbed patients, you have never seen a
single
case of multiple personality disorder?”

“That’s correct.”

“I’m amazed. How do you explain that?”

“It’s very simple. I don’t think that multiple personality disorder exists.”

“Well, I’m puzzled, Doctor. Haven’t cases of multiple personality disorder been reported?”

Dr. Larkin snorted. “Being reported doesn’t mean they’re real. You see, what some doctors believe is MPD, they’re confusing with schizophrenia, depressions and various other anxiety disorders.”

“That’s very interesting. So in your opinion, as an expert psychiatrist, you don’t believe that multiple personality disorder even exists?”

“That is correct.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Mickey Brennan turned to David. “Your witness.”

David rose and walked over to the witness box. “You are a past president of the Chicago Psychiatric Association, Dr. Larkin?”

“Yes.”

“You must have met a great many of your peers.”

“Yes. I’m proud to say that I have.”

“Do you know Dr. Royce Salem?”

“Yes. I know him very well.”

“Is he a good psychiatrist?”

“Excellent. One of the best.”

“Did you ever meet Dr. Clyde Donovan?”

“Yes. Many times.”

“Would you say that he’s a good psychiatrist?”

“I would use him"—a small chuckle—"if I needed one.”

“And what about Dr. Ingram? Do you know him?”

“Ray Ingram? Indeed, I do. Fine man.”

“Competent psychiatrist?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Tell me, do all psychiatrists agree on every mental condition?”

“No. Of course we have some disagreements. Psychiatry is not an exact science.”

“That’s interesting, Doctor. Because Dr. Salem, Dr. Donovan and Dr. Ingram are going to come here and testify that they have treated cases of multiple personality disorder. Perhaps none of them is as competent as you are. That’s all. Dismissed.”

Judge Williams turned to Brennan. “Redirect?”

Brennan got to his feet and walked over to the witness box.

“Dr. Larkin, do you believe that because these other doctors disagree with your opinion about MPD that that makes them right and you wrong?”

“No. I could produce dozens of psychiatrists who don’t believe in MPD.”

“Thank you, Doctor. No more questions.”

Mickey Brennan said, “Dr. Upton, we’ve heard testimony that sometimes what is thought to be multiple personality disorder is really confused with other disorders. What are the tests that prove multiple personality disorder isn’t one of those other conditions?”

“There is no test.”

Brennan’s mouth dropped open in surprise as he glanced at the jury. “There
is
no test? Are you saying that there’s
no
way to tell whether someone who claims he has MPD is lying or malingering or using it to excuse some crime he or she doesn’t want to be held responsible for?”

“As I said, there is no test.”

“So it’s simply a matter of opinion? Some psychiatrists believe in it and some don’t?”

“That’s right.”

“Let me ask you this, Doctor. If you hypnotize someone, surely you can tell whether they really have MPD or they’re pretending to have it?”

Dr. Upton shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Even under hypnosis or with sodium amytal, there is no way of exposing someone if he or she is faking.”

“That’s very interesting. Thank you, Doctor. No more questions.” Brennan turned to David. “Your witness.”

David rose and walked over to the witness box. “Dr. Upton, have you ever had patients come to you, having been diagnosed by other doctors as having MPD?”

“Yes. Several times.”

“And did you treat those patients?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t treat conditions that don’t exist. One of the patients was an embezzler who wanted me to testify that he wasn’t responsible because he had an alter who did it. Another patient was a housewife who was arrested for beating her children. She says that someone inside her made her do it. There were a few more like that with different excuses, but they were all trying to hide from something. In other words, they were faking.”

“You seem to have a very definite opinion about this, Doctor.”

“I do. I know I’m right.”

David said, “You know you’re right?”

“Well, I mean—”

“—that everyone else must be wrong? All the doctors who believe in MPD are all wrong?”

“I didn’t mean that—”

“And you’re the only one who’s right. Thank you, Doctor. That’s all.”

Dr. Simon Raleigh was on the stand. He was a short, bald man in his sixties.

Brennan said, “Thank you for coming here, Doctor. You’ve had a long and illustrious career. You’re a doctor, you’re a professor, you went to school at—”

David stood up. “The defense will stipulate to the witness’s distinguished background.”

“Thank you.” Brennan turned back to the witness. “Dr. Raleigh, what does
iatrogenicity
mean?”

“That’s when there’s an existing illness, and medical treatment of psychotherapy aggravates it.”

“Would you be more specific, Doctor?”

“Well, in psychotherapy, very often the therapist influences the patient with his questions or attitude. He might make the patient feel that he has to meet the expectations of the therapist.”

“How would that apply to MPD?”

“If the psychiatrist is questioning the patient about different personalities within him, the patient might make up some in order to please the therapist. It’s a very tricky area. Amytal and hypnosis can mimic MPD in patients who are otherwise normal.”

“So what you’re saying is that under hypnosis the psychiatrist
himself can alter the condition of the patient so that the patient believes something that is not true?”

“That has happened, yes.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” He looked at David. “Your witness.”

David said, “Thank you.” He rose and walked over to the witness box. David said disarmingly, “Your credentials are very impressive. You’re not only a psychiatrist, but you teach at a university.”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been teaching, Doctor?”

“More than fifteen years.”

“That’s wonderful. How do you divide your time? By that I mean, do you spend half of your time teaching and the other half working as a doctor?”

“Now, I teach full-time.”

“Oh? How long has it been since you actually practiced medicine?”

“About eight years. But I keep up on all the current medical literature.”

“I have to tell you, I find that admirable. So you read up on everything. That’s how you’re so familiar with iatrogenicity?”

“Yes.”

“And in the past, a lot of patients came to you claiming they had MPD?”

“Well, no…”

“Not a lot? In the years you were practicing as a doctor, would you say you had a dozen cases who claimed they had MPD?”

“No.”

“Six?”

Dr. Raleigh shook his head.

“Four?”

There was no answer.

“Doctor, have you
ever
had a patient who came to you with MPD?”

“Well, it’s hard to—”

“Yes or no, Doctor?”

“No.”

“So all you really know about MPD is what you’ve read? No further questions.”

The prosecution called six more witnesses, and the pattern was the same with each. Mickey Brennan had assembled nine top psychiatrists from around the country, all united in their belief that MPD did not exist.

The prosecution’s case was winding to a close.

When the last witness on the prosecution’s list had been excused, Judge Williams turned to Brennan. “Do you have any more witnesses to call, Mr. Brennan?”

“No, Your Honor. But I would like to show the jury police photographs of the death scenes from the murders of—”

David said furiously, “Absolutely not.”

Judge Williams turned to David. “What did you say, Mr. Singer?”

“I said"—David caught himself—"objection. The prosecution is trying to inflame the jury by—”

“Objection overruled. The foundation was laid in a pretrial motion.” Judge Williams turned to Brennan. “You may show the photographs.”

David took his seat, furious.

Brennan walked back to his desk and picked up a stack of photographs and handed them out to the jurors. “These are not pleasant to look at, ladies and gentlemen, but this is what the trial is about. It’s not about words or theories or excuses. It’s not about mysterious alter egos killing people. It’s about three real people who were savagely and brutally murdered. The law says that someone has to pay for those murders. It’s up to each one of you to see that justice is done.”

Brennan could see the horror on the faces of the jurors as they looked at the photographs.

He turned to Judge Williams. “The prosecution rests.”

Judge Williams looked at her watch. “It’s four o’clock. The court will recess for the day and begin again at ten o’clock Monday morning. Court adjourned.”

A
SHLEY
Patterson was on the gallows being hanged, when a policeman ran up and said, “Wait a minute. She’s supposed to be electrocuted.”

The scene changed, and she was in the electric chair. A guard reached up to pull the switch, and Judge Williams came running in screaming, “No. We’re going to kill her with a lethal injection.”

David woke up and sat upright in bed, his heart pounding. His pajamas were wet with perspiration. He started to get up and was suddenly dizzy. He had a pounding headache, and he felt feverish. He touched his forehead. It was hot.

As David started to get out of bed, he was overcome by a wave of dizziness. “Oh, no,” he groaned. “Not today. Not now.”

This was the day he had been waiting for, the day the defense would begin to present its case. David stumbled into the bathroom and bathed his face in cold water. He looked in the mirror. “You look like hell.”

When David arrived in court, Judge Williams was already on the bench. They were all waiting for him.

“I apologize for being late,” David said. His voice was a croak. “May I approach the bench?”

“Yes.”

David walked up to the bench, with Mickey Brennan close behind him. “Your Honor,” David said, “I’d like to ask for a one-day stay.”

“On what grounds?”

“I—I’m not feeling very well, Your Honor. I’m sure a doctor can give me something and tomorrow I’ll be fine.”

Judge Williams said, “Why don’t you have your associate take over for you?”

David looked at her in surprise. “I don’t have an associate.”

“Why don’t you, Mr. Singer?”

“Because…”

Judge Williams leaned forward. “I’ve never seen a murder trial conducted like this. You’re a one-man show looking for glory, aren’t you? Well, you won’t find it in this court. I’ll tell you something else. You probably think I should recuse myself because I don’t believe in your devil-made-me-do-it defense, but I’m not recusing myself. We’re going to let the jury decide whether they think your client is innocent or guilty. Is there anything else, Mr. Singer?”

David stood there looking at her, and the room was swimming. He wanted to tell her to go fuck herself. He wanted to get on his knees and beg her to be fair. He wanted to go home to bed. He said in a hoarse voice, “No. Thank you, Your Honor.”

Judge Williams nodded. “Mr. Singer, you’re on. Don’t waste any more of this court’s time.”

David walked over to the jury box, trying to forget about his headache and fever. He spoke slowly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have listened to the prosecution ridiculing the facts of multiple personality disorder. I’m sure that Mr. Brennan wasn’t being deliberately malicious. His statements were made out of ignorance. The fact is that he obviously knows nothing about multiple personality disorder, and the same is true of some of the witnesses he has put on the stand. But I’m going to have some people talk to you who
do
know about it. These are reputable doctors, who are experts in this problem. When you have heard their testimony, I’m sure that it will cast a whole different light on what Mr. Brennan has had to say.

“Mr. Brennan has talked about my client’s guilt in committing these terrible crimes. That’s a very important point.
Guilt.
For murder in the first degree to be proved, there must be not only a guilty act, but a guilty intention. I will show you that there was no guilty intention, because Ashley Patterson was not in control at the time the crimes occurred. She was totally unaware that they were taking place. Some eminent doctors are going to testify that Ashley Patterson has two additional personalities, or alters, one of them a controlling one.”

David looked into the faces of the jurors. They seemed to be swaying in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant.

“The American Psychiatric Association recognizes multiple personality disorder. So do prominent physicians around the world who have treated patients with this problem. One of Ashley Patterson’s personalities committed murder, but it was a
personality
—an
alter
—over which she had no control.” His voice was getting stronger. “To see the problem clearly, you must understand that the law does not punish an innocent person. So there is a paradox here. Imagine that a Siamese twin is being tried for murder. The law says that you cannot punish the guilty one because you would then have to punish the innocent one.” The jury was listening intently.

David nodded toward Ashley. “In this case, we have not two but three personalities to deal with.”

He turned to Judge Williams. “I would like to call my first witness. Dr. Joel Ashanti.”

“Dr. Ashanti, where do you practice medicine?”

“At Madison Hospital in New York.”

“And did you come here at my request?”

“No. I read about the trial, and I wanted to testify. I’ve worked with patients who have multiple personality disorder, and I wanted to be helpful, if I could. MPD is much more common than the public realizes, and I want to try to clear up any misunderstandings about it.”

“I appreciate that, Doctor. In cases like these, is it usual to find a patient with two personalities or alters?”

“In my experience, people with MPD usually have many more alters, sometimes as many as a hundred.”

Eleanor Tucker turned to whisper something to Mickey Brennan. Brennan smiled.

“How long have you been dealing with multiple personality disorder, Dr. Ashanti?”

“For the past fifteen years.”

“In a patient with MPD, is there usually one alter who dominates?”

“Yes.”

Some of the jurors were making notes.

“And is the host—the person who has those personalities within him or her—aware of the other alters?”

“It varies. Sometimes some of the alters know all the other alters, sometimes they know only some of them. But the host is usually not aware of them, not until psychiatric treatment.”

“That’s very interesting. Is MPD curable?”

“Often, yes. It requires psychiatric treatment over long periods. Sometimes up to six or seven years.”

“Have you ever been able to cure MPD patients?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

David turned to study the jury for a moment.
Interested, but not convinced,
he thought.

He looked over at Mickey Brennan. “Your witness.”

Brennan rose and walked over to the witness box. “Dr. Ashanti, you testified that you flew here all the way from New York because you wanted to be helpful?”

“That’s correct.”

“Your coming here couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that this is a high-profile case and that the publicity would be beneficial to—”

David was on his feet. “Objection. Argumentative.”

“Overruled.”

Dr. Ashanti said calmly, “I stated why I came here.”

“Right. Since you’ve been practicing medicine, Doctor, how many patients would you say you’ve treated for mental disorders?”

“Oh, perhaps two hundred.”

“And of those cases, how many would you say suffered from multiple personality disorder?”

“A dozen…”

Brennan looked at him in feigned astonishment. “Out of two hundred patients?”

“Well, yes. You see—”

“What I don’t see, Dr. Ashanti, is how you can consider yourself an expert if you’ve dealt with only those few cases. I would appreciate it if you would give us some evidence that would prove or disprove the existence of multiple personality disorder.”

“When you say proof—”

“We’re in a court of law, Doctor. The jury is not going to make decisions based on theory and ’what if.’ What if, for example, the defendant hated the men she murdered, and after killing them, decided to use the excuse of an alter inside her so that she—”

David was on his feet. “Objection! That’s argumentative and leading the witness.”

“Overruled.”

“Your Honor—”

“Sit down, Mr. Singer.”

David glared at Judge Williams and angrily took his seat.

“So what you’re telling us, Doctor, is that there’s no evidence that will prove or disprove the existence of MPD?”

“Well, no. But—”

Brennan nodded. “That’s all.”

Dr. Royce Salem was on the witness stand.

David said, “Dr. Salem, you examined Ashley Patterson?”

“I did.”

“And what was your conclusion?”

“Miss Patterson is suffering from MPD. She has two alters who call themselves Toni Prescott and Alette Peters.”

“Does she have any control over them?”

“None. When they take over, she is in a state of fugue amnesia.”

“Would you explain that, Dr. Salem?”

“Fugue amnesia is a condition where the victim loses consciousness of where he is, or what he is doing. It can last for a few minutes, days or sometimes weeks.”

“And during that time would you say that that person is responsible for his or her actions?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” He turned to Brennan. “Your witness.”

Brennan said, “Dr. Salem, you are a consultant at several hospitals and you give lectures all around the world?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I assume that your peers are gifted, capable doctors?”

“Yes, I would say they are.”

“So, they all agree about multiple personality disorder?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“Some of them don’t agree.”

“You mean, they don’t believe it exists?”

“Yes.”

“But they’re wrong and you’re right?”

“I’ve treated patients, and I
know
that there is such a thing. When—”

“Let me ask you something. If there
were
such a thing as multiple personality disorder, would one alter always be in charge of telling the host what to do? The alter says, ’Kill,’ and the host does it?”

“It depends. Alters have various degrees of influence.”

“So the host
could
be in charge?”

“Sometimes, of course.”

“The majority of times?”

“No.”

“Doctor, where is the proof that MPD exists?”

“I have witnessed complete physical changes in patients under hypnosis, and I know—”

“And that’s a basis of truth?”

“Yes.”

“Dr. Salem, if I hypnotized you in a warm room and told you that you were at the North Pole naked in a snowstorm, would your body temperature drop?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“That’s all.”

David walked over to the witness stand. “Dr. Salem, is there any doubt in your mind that these alters exist in Ashley Patterson?

“None. And they are absolutely capable of taking over and dominating her.”

“And she would not be aware of it?”

“She would not be aware of it.”

“Thank you.”

“I would like to call Shane Miller to the stand.” David watched him being sworn in. “What do you do, Mr. Miller?”

“I’m a supervisor at Global Computer Graphics Corporation.”

“And how long have you worked there?”

“About seven years.”

“And was Ashley Patterson employed there?”

“Yes.”

“And did she work under your supervision?”

“She did.”

“So you got to know her pretty well?”

“That’s right.”

“Mr. Miller, you’ve heard doctors testify that some of the symptoms of multiple personality disorder are paranoia, nervousness, distress. Have you ever noticed any of those symptoms in Miss Patterson?”

“Well, I—”

“Didn’t Miss Patterson tell you that she felt someone was stalking her?”

“Yes. She did.”

“And that she had no idea who it could be or why anyone would do that?”

“That’s right.”

“Didn’t she once say that someone used her computer to threaten her with a knife?”

“Yes.”

“And didn’t things get so bad that you finally sent her to the psychologist who works at your company, Dr. Speakman?”

“Yes.”

“So Ashley Patterson did exhibit the symptoms we’re talking about?”

“That’s right.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.” David turned to Mickey Brennan. “Your witness.”

“How many employees do you have directly under you, Mr. Miller?”

“Thirty.”

“And out of thirty employees, Ashley Patterson is the only one you’ve ever seen get upset?”

“Well, no…”

“Oh, really?”

“Everyone gets upset sometimes.”

“You mean other employees had to go and see your company psychologist?”

“Oh, sure. They keep him pretty busy.”

Brennan seemed impressed. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. A lot of them have problems. Hey, they’re all human.”

“No further questions.”

“Redirect.”

David approached the witness stand. “Mr. Miller, you said that some of the employees under you had problems. What kind of problems?”

“Well, it could be about an argument with a boyfriend or a husband.…”

“Yes?”

“Or it could be about a financial problem…”

“Yes?”

“Or their kids bugging them.…”

“In other words, the ordinary kinds of domestic problems that any of us might face?”

“Yes.”

“But no one went to see Dr. Speakman because they thought they were being stalked or because they thought someone was threatening to kill them?”

“No.”

“Thank you.”

The trial was recessed for lunch.

David got into his car and drove through the park, depressed. The trial was going badly. The doctors couldn’t make up their minds whether MPD existed or not.
If they can’t agree,
David thought,
how am I going to get a jury to agree? I can’t let anything happen to Ashley. I can’t.
He was approaching Harold’s Cafe, a restaurant near the courthouse. He parked the car and went inside. The hostess smiled at him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Singer.”

He was famous.
Infamous?

“Right this way, please.” He followed her to a booth and sat down. The hostess handed him the menu, gave him a lingering smile and walked away, her hips moving provocatively.
The perks of fame,
David thought wryly.

He was not hungry, but he could hear Sandra’s voice saying, “You have to eat to keep up your strength.”