The Neon Lawyer (14 page)

Twenty-nine

A flurry of movement woke Brigham up. He realized he had slept through lunch, and Vince and his assistants, the reporters, and a few other deputy district attorneys who wanted to watch the trial were piling into the courtroom.

He rose and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His suit looked worn and wrinkled. He ran his fingers along the wrinkles as though it would help, then he went into the courtroom and sat.

Dr. Connors was already there, texting someone on her phone from the audience seats. Amanda was there as well. He checked with the bailiffs and they informed him that the nurse had given her some orange juice to drink and said she was fine.

The judge came stumbling out as though he’d been drinking back in his chambers. Ganche didn’t appear to be that kind of man, though. Brigham guessed more than likely he had been sleeping, too.

“All rise for the jury.”

Brigham rose, as did Amanda. Brigham watched her as the jury came in. She had completely withdrawn into herself. He would not be surprised if she didn’t know where she was or what was going on. He wondered if the bailiffs had actually called a nurse to see her.

Brigham knew he’d be putting her on the stand. He had to. This entire case rested on her shoulders. If the jury sympathized with her enough, they would find a reason to acquit her. But he wasn’t sure how she would react. If she went up there like this, like some robot with no emotions, the jury wouldn’t connect with her.

“The time is yours, Mr. Theodore,” the judge said, leaning back in his seat as though he’d just had Thanksgiving dinner.

Brigham rose. “The defense calls Dr. Christine Connors to the stand.”

“Dr. Connors, come forward and be sworn.”

Dr. Connors took the stand and folded her glasses. She slipped them into her pocket and looked forward, not at Brigham, but at some invisible point on the wall.

Brigham began with the basics. “Please state your name.”

“Christine Sylvie Connors. C-H-R-I-S-T-I-N-E, C-O-N-N-O-R-S.”

“And where are you employed, Dr. Connors?”

Vince rose. “Your Honor, the State would stipulate that Dr. Connors is an extremely qualified psychiatrist and can speak to the mental state of the defendant. No need to go through her résumé and waste the jury’s time.”

Brigham glared at him. No attorney ever stipulated to anything on a capital case. Why would he concede so quickly? Surely there were things in her past he could object to and at least challenge her expertise. Maybe bring up the fact that she was paid by the defense on several . . .

Brigham’s mouth nearly dropped open.

He looked to Dr. Connors. His entire defense rested on her, and she’d betrayed him. He had absolutely no doubt that if he were to go forward, she would testify that Amanda Pierce was competent and aware that what she was doing was wrong.

He stared at her, unblinking. She stared right back for a second or two, and then looked away.

“Sidebar, Your Honor,” Brigham said.

The two attorneys approached the judge. Judge Ganche pressed a button on his desk that sent static through the speakers again.

“Your Honor,” Brigham said, “I would ask for an immediate mistrial.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that the State has tampered with one of the defense witnesses.”

Vince exploded, “How dare you, you little shit!”

“Fuck you, Vince,” Brigham snapped.

“Gentlemen, stop it this instant, or so help me, I will hold you both in contempt and stick you in a cell.” The judge looked from one to the other, making sure they understood. “Mr. Theodore, what proof do you have that the State has tampered with one of your witnesses?”

“Last week, Dr. Connors agreed to testify to her assessment of my client. She said that it was a close call, but she didn’t feel that Amanda Pierce could have formed the requisite intent required for this offense, and that the murder of her daughter was so traumatic that it caused a psychotic break. She’s now essentially a witness for the State and will testify that she did have the intent. The State has promised her something, probably that they’ll make her a permanent State expert if she—”

“Those accusations against me are borderline slanderous, Your Honor. I demand Rule Eleven sanctions against Mr. Theodore and that cesspool he calls a firm, for the—”

“Stop it, both of you. I’m serious.” He looked at Brigham. “You don’t even know what she’s going to testify to. So far we have her name.”

“Do an in-camera review. She’s completely changed her testimony. She drafted a summary of her testimony for me, which I have in an e-mail. Let’s see if she sticks to it.”

The judge considered this for a moment. “Fine. Both of you, in my chambers.” The judge stopped the static. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, an issue has arisen that needs to be addressed in my chambers. We are retiring there for a moment before we continue with the trial. Feel free to stretch your legs, though please don’t leave the courtroom. Thank you.”

The three men and Dr. Connors slipped out the back door and into Judge Ganche’s chambers, where he sat back in his executive chair and put his feet up on a footrest underneath the desk. “Mr. Theodore, let me read her report, please.”

Brigham brought it up on his phone and let the judge read. It took him a few minutes, and in that time, there was complete silence in the office. Brigham kept looking over at Vince but he wouldn’t meet Brigham’s eyes.

“Dr. Connors, please have a seat in front of me,” the judge finally said, handing the phone back.

Vince and Brigham remained standing. Vince adjusted his tie and flicked a piece of lint off his suit. He still wouldn’t look at Brigham or the judge.

“Dr. Connors, the defense has brought up an issue that I would like to explore just a little further, if that’s all right.”

“Certainly.”

“What, and I’m talking about the ultimate conclusion, will be your testimony here today regarding Amanda Pierce?”

“Well, I will be testifying as to the results of my examination of her along with an analysis of her mental health history.”

“Which is?”

“I think she formed the requisite intent to commit murder. I think she knew what she was doing. She planned it ahead of time and followed through. That’s not madness, that’s forethought.”

Brigham shook his head, glaring at Vince.

“Mr. Theodore claims,” the judge said, “and your report for him seems to indicate, that a few days ago, you were ready to testify that the defendant lacked the mental capacity to form the requisite intent. Is that true?”

“It is.”

“And what exactly changed your mind so quickly?”

“Look, as much as we like to believe it is, psychology and psychiatry are not sciences. They are not derived and verified by empirical observation. They can’t be, because we can’t see or touch the mind. All we can do is see its effects on the brain. So that’s what we have. And how we interpret those effects changes all the time. I simply looked at the evidence, and came to a different conclusion.”

“And did anyone promise you anything to reach this different conclusion?”

She hesitated. It wasn’t a long hesitation, no more than a second, but it was enough. Everyone in that room knew she had been bought and paid for.

“No. No one has promised me anything. I just looked at it and came to a different conclusion.”

The judge nodded. “You’re excused and may return to the courtroom, Doctor. Thank you.”

When the doctor was gone, Vince said, “So what? So she changed her mind. Happens all the time.”

The judge leaned forward on his desk. “Vince, you and I go back a long way. I forgive a lot. But if you bribed a defense witness in one of my trials . . .”

“Please. I don’t have to bribe anybody. Five people saw her commit the crime.”

The judge and Vince argued a bit. Brigham had to keep his eyes on the floor. He couldn’t even look up because he was scared he might deck Vince Dale. In one particularly brutal attack, Vince said, “When you got that DUI, who took care of that for you, huh?”

Brigham stored that one away. Maybe it was enough for an appeal if they lost this thing.

Brigham knew exactly what Dr. Connors had been promised. Being a defense expert didn’t bring in a lot of money, as only about ten percent of all private defense-attorney cases went to trial. And public defenders’ offices had contracted experts they used for every case. But a prosecutor was a different story. They handled two thousand cases a year each. If even ten percent of those required an expert, the experts who were on the short list that the prosecutors called could make a substantial amount of money, and might even get contracts with the cable news shows as experts in their field.

Finally, the judge held up his hand, indicating he’d had enough.

“Mr. Theodore, up to you. We don’t have enough evidence for sanctions or charges, but clearly something happened. If you want a mistrial, you got it.”

Brigham bit his lip. He had blurted out “mistrial” without thinking. Amanda was losing her grip on reality. What if she continued to deteriorate? They would lock her up indefinitely in a psychiatric hospital. She could spend the rest of her life locked up without ever having been convicted of a crime.

“No, I’d like to go forward.”

“With this expert?”

“Yes.”

“All right, it’s up to you. Let’s head back in.”

Once they were back in the courtroom, Brigham watched Amanda while the judge set up. When he was ready, Brigham said, “No further questions for this witness.”

Vince, a smirk on his face, stood at the podium and said, “Did you perform an analysis of the defendant, Dr. Connors?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Brigham interrupted. “Beyond the scope of direct. All I got from her was her name.”

The judge said, “Unless you want to cross about her name, Mr. Dale, I think we’re done.”

“Of course, Your Honor. No further questions.”

“This witness is excused,” the judge said, shooting her a disapproving look. “Next witness.”

Brigham turned to Amanda. She was staring at the defense table, running her fingers along a name carved into the top with a pen. “Your Honor, Ms. Pierce will be testifying. May I just have a moment with her, please?”

“Of course. Take a side room.”

The attorney/client room was no bigger than a bathroom, just a place attorneys used to answer any questions before defendants entered pleas. The bailiff closed the door behind them and stayed outside.

Brigham pulled out a chair for Amanda at a small circular table in the center of the room and then sat down himself.

“What’s going on, Amanda?”

“Nothing.”

“Amanda,” he said, lifting up her chin so they were looking each other in the eyes, “what’s going on?”

She shook her head. “I did it, Brigham. I killed him . . . I deserve what they’re going to do to me. I deserve to die.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. “You do
not
deserve to die. You understand me? You did what anybody would do. You had a human reaction and did a human thing.”

Until now, Brigham hadn’t put into words exactly what he felt about Amanda’s situation. And his gut reaction had always been that it was unjust for her to be punished. But now he knew; she had acted how anybody else would have. Only a hypocritical society would put her to death for something anyone would have done in her place.

“Tabitha’s gone,” he said softly. “That’s not an easy thing to accept. You may not want to go on. It’s hard. But you just have to decide that you’re gonna make it. That the monster that took her didn’t take you, too. You have to make it. Otherwise, he will win.”

A single tear ran down her cheek and she wiped it with the back of her hand. They sat in silence for a long time. Brigham didn’t even notice he was holding her hand until he was ready to go back into court.

“Are you ready to testify?”

She nodded.

Thirty

Amanda was sworn in. Brigham stood at the podium. He mouthed the words
You’ll be okay
.

“Amanda, when was the last time you saw Tabitha?”

Her eyes went wide. She wasn’t expecting it so quickly. She took a few moments before she glanced at the jury and then down at the floor.

“The day she passed. I had made her breakfast and dropped her off at school before work. We used to meet after school at the bus stop, and that’s where she was walking to when . . . when he took her.”

“How did you hear about it?”

“A detective came to the house. He had this, like,
look
on his face. And I just knew.” She was quiet a moment. “I just knew.”

“What happened then?”

“The detective asked if I could go down to the station to talk to him, so I did. He told me that something had happened to Tabitha, that she had been kidnapped and that someone saw the man who’d done it. They got his license plate and went to his house. And they found her body.” Tears welled in her eyes and streamed down her face, but she remained absolutely still otherwise. “They found her body in a garbage bag. He wrapped her in a garbage bag, and was going to put her in a dumpster . . .”

Brigham was quiet for a moment, pretending to scribble something down. He wanted that to sink in with the jury. “After her death, what happened to you?”

“I couldn’t do anything. I lost my job. I used all my vacation time and then they said that I needed to come back. As if anyone could come back from something like this.”

“Why couldn’t you work?”

She placed a hand on the banister, as though using it for support. “I can’t think. I take so much medication for anxiety and depression that it clouds my thinking. Sometimes I just lie in bed in the morning when I wake up, and cry. I’ll cry for most of the day and then I’ll have to take something to try and calm myself down. At night, I can never sleep. I just . . . I just see her. What she went through.”

The first sob came like a jolt. Her shoulders slumped forward and she put her hands over her face. “I couldn’t save her. Oh, Lord. Lord . . . please, make it stop.” She was weeping now and Brigham let her. He bought time by getting some tissues from the clerk’s desk and bringing them to her. Then he stood by the jury as though he was one of them.

“Make what stop?” he said softly.

“I couldn’t save her. This was my fault . . . I couldn’t save her. I just see her crying out for me. She must’ve been so scared. She was crying out for me and I wasn’t there. She was crying for me . . .”

“This is not your fault.”

Amanda buried her face in her hands. She sobbed for a long time. Brigham observed the jury. The man in the Levi’s jacket had tears in his eyes again.

When Brigham thought it’d been long enough, he said, “Were you ever evaluated by a psychiatrist for this case?”

“Yes.”

“And what did she say?”

“Objection!” Vince was on his feet. “This is a ploy to get in Dr. Connors’s testimony without having me cross-examine her.”

Brigham looked to the judge. “I didn’t hear a specific objection, Judge.”

“Me neither. Overruled.”

The judge glared at Vince as he sat back down, the prosecutor’s face red as an apple.

“What did the doctor tell you, Amanda?”

“She said that I’d had a psychotic break, and that I couldn’t tell the difference between right and wrong, and that’s why I did what I did.”

Brigham stepped closer to her. “Do you remember the day you shot Tyler Moore?”

“I remember pieces of it,” she said, wiping her eyes with tissues. “I remember getting up and I remember standing in front of my gun safe. And then it was like I was in a movie watching what was happening, you know? I didn’t feel like I had control over it.”

“So you don’t actually remember shooting him?”

“No, not the shooting. I remember before, when I parked and went up to him. And after, when I was holding the gun and the deputies took me down. I remember just being in shock and thinking, ‘What did I do?’ I don’t remember anything else.”

“Has any memory come back to you?”

“No. The doctor said that during a psychotic break, the memory part of your brain doesn’t work. So you don’t remember anything.”

Brigham turned back to the jury. “If you could tell this jury anything, Amanda, what would it be?”

Dabbing at her eyes with tissues, she managed to calm herself enough to speak clearly. “I want them to imagine my little girl. I want them to think what the last moments of her life were like . . . what she was thinking. What she felt.” She looked up to the ceiling, and the tears began flowing again. She was sobbing uncontrollably. “And then I want them to imagine being me, and hearing what she went through.”

Brigham felt the warmth of tears on his own cheeks. He didn’t wipe them away as he sat down at the defense table.

Vince stood up. He buttoned the top button on his suit coat and glided to the podium as though he were skating.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “Now—”

“If you were sorry, you would’ve met with me.”

“Excuse me?”

“I came to your office after Tabitha was killed. I wanted to tell you not to make deals with that monster. Your secretary said you were out, but I heard you in your office. You just didn’t want to talk to me.”

Vince’s face flushed red again, but not from anger. Brigham had to suppress a grin.

“You shot Tyler Moore five times, didn’t you?”

“That’s what they told me.”

“And he wasn’t hit in the arm or the legs or the shoulders, was he?”

“No,” she said.

“He was hit in the head and in the throat. Vital areas.”

“I guess so.”

“For some robot on automatic pilot, those seem like pretty specific targets, don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Now, I’ve gone shooting, Ms. Pierce, my whole life, and I can barely hit the target. How was it you shot Tyler Moore standing between two deputies without getting a scratch on them?”

“I don’t know.”

“You received marksman training in the army, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, you were given a commendation for your skills as a marksman.”

“Yes.”

“You were trained to shoot and to kill.”

“I was.”

“And that’s exactly what you did with Tyler Moore, isn’t it? You used your training and you killed the man.”

“He wasn’t a man.”

“Do you even regret it? He had a mother, too. Do you regret taking his life?”

“No!”

The courtroom sat silent. Now it was Vince’s turn to let that sit with the jury. He ruffled a few papers and said, “No further questions.”

The judge looked to Brigham. He shook his head.

“Does the defense have anything further?”

Brigham rose. “The defense rests, Your Honor.”