Plea of Insanity (20 page)

38

With Marisol busy getting coffee in the lunchroom, there was no one to call down to Rick’s office anyway, and no point in calling to announce her self. Besides, although they weren’t up to steady date-nights yet, they should at least be at the point in their relationship where her presence in his office didn’t always have to be announced by his secretary – Major Crimes Assistant Division Chief or not. She walked down the hall as fast as she could, past the secretarial pool and a sour-faced, surprised Grandma at the copy machine.

‘Come in,’ Rick called out gruffly when she knocked at the door, but he actually looked pleasantly surprised when she opened it. ‘Hey there,’ he said, breaking into an intimate smile and settling back into his chair with a mug of coffee.

‘Hey yourself. Good morning.’

‘What a coincidence. I was just thinking about last night. Mmmm …’ he said, with a shake of his head. ‘Sit down. Are you just getting back from court?’

She shook her head and took a seat in front of his desk. ‘It’s my plea day. I was on my way across the street when I ran into Marisol downstairs. She handed me something that got clocked into the mailroom less than a half-hour ago on Marquette. It was brought over by messenger from Mel Levenson’s office.’

‘Okay. What is it?’ he asked slowly, trying hard to read her expression. The smile disappeared.

‘It’s a change of plea,’ she said, handing him the envelope across his desk.

‘A change of plea? What the hell do you mean?’ he asked. Now his face grew dark and suspicious. ‘Is Mel throwing in the towel already and pleading guilty? Saving the taxpayers the time and trouble of a trial? How kind.’ But Julia could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t joking. And she also thought he’d just guessed what was coming.

‘It’s a 3.216 notice. He’s pleading insanity.’

‘You’re kidding me.’

‘I’m not.’

He slammed his coffee cup down on the desk. Coffee sprayed everywhere, but he ignored it. He stroked a long finger against his temple and said nothing for a minute while he stared down at the envelope she’d just handed him. ‘Surprise, surprise,’ he finally said, but more to himself, she thought, than to her. ‘That damn freaked-out blank look in court. All the sickness crap from his dad. I should have seen this coming. The set-up.’ He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a stack of napkins. He shook his head while he mopped up the coffee splatter. ‘I thought Levenson might try an insanity defense out once he realized he wasn’t gonna get the one-armed man past that alarm and an army of cops on the front lawn. But, you know, maybe it’s smarter for him to go in full force with an insanity claim from the beginning, even before discovery. Maybe this way he figures he’ll have a better shot at me actually believing him, and maybe give his piece-of-shit client a plea. Get him into a warm bed in Chattahoochee and off death row. Like that’s gonna happen,’ he scoffed. He reached for his reading glasses. ‘Have you ever had a defendant plead insanity before, Julia?’ he asked, abruptly regaining his composure.

She shook her head.

‘You know why that is? Because insanity defenses don’t work.’ He slid the notice out of the envelope. ‘Not in Florida.In twenty years, I’ve seen maybe fifteen, sixteen attempts. Let me tell you, all but two have failed miserably. The two that did work, the guys were nuttier than fruitcakes and they weren’t charged with murder, so I actually pled them both NGI.’

NGI stood for Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity. At least she knew that much.

‘What’s the law on insanity in Florida?’ Julia asked. ‘The bar exam was a while ago.’ All she could remember from her law-school days was that each state had a different legal test for sanity, and that some were stricter than others.

He shot her a quick look that she couldn’t quite read. ‘Florida follows M’Naghten, as about half the states in this country do. “Every person is presumed sane, and to be found not guilty by reason of insanity, a defendant must establish at the time of the act he suffered from such a defect of reason from disease of the mind such that he did not understand the nature of the act, or that it was wrong.” End quote. What does that mean? Unless Mel Levenson can come in and demonstrate that his client had some mental disease, defect or infirmity that remarkably no one ever knew he had until now, and because of that condition he either, A) didn’t
know
what the hell he was doing or, B) he knew what he was doing, but he didn’t
know
it was wrong, then he’s legally sane. The emphasis, Julia, is on cognition – on a defendant’s ability to know what’s going on and discern right from wrong. An inability to control one’s actions or rage is of no consequence, as long as that person knew what he was doing. So being commanded to kill by God or Satan or Santa, and irresistible impulses of rage due to seeing your wife fornicate with the plumber in the marital bed don’t fly in this state.’

‘Well, Mel Levenson just might have that first part down,’ she said quietly as Rick started to read.

‘What first part?’ he asked, looking back up at her, his glasses precariously perched on the tip of his nose.

She blew out a low breath. ‘The mental disease, defect or infirmity part. Keep reading – it’s all in there. Levenson is claiming David Marquette’s schizophrenic.’

39

They sat in silence while Rick finished reading. When he was done, he spun his chair around to look out the window at the Miami skyline and the overpass of the Dolphin Expressway, which, even though the HOV signs all said it was past rush hour, still looked like a parking lot. A few more minutes passed in silence. Then, without a word, he spun backaround, picked up the phone and dialed, staring at Julia somberly as he did. ‘This is Bellido,’ he said in a quiet, controlled voice, though obviously angry. ‘I need you to call me the second you get this message. I’m in my office, or try my cell, 305-794-0114. We have a problem.’ Then he hung up and turned back to the window.

She wasn’t sure, but Julia could pretty much guess that the call was made to one John Latarrino. And she could also venture a guess that Lat had seen who was calling him and let it go directly to voicemail. Despite displaying a unified front at yesterday’s arraignment, she knew things were tense between the two men, although she had yet to figure out why. This latest news was definitely not gonna make their bond any stronger. Latarrino was the lead, the one who had conducted the interviews, asked the questions, written the reports. Even though the investigation had only just begun, and no one had suspected the case would take this direction, she knew Rick hated being caught unawares. Chances were that Lat would take some heat for that misfortune, especially if, in Rick’s eyes, that investigation
should
have raised everyone’s suspicions a while back.

‘What now?’ she finally asked, breaking the silence.

Rick blew out a long, slow breath. ‘We get both Lat and Brill in here. We get them to dig up everything and anything on Dr David Marquette – dating from the day he was born to what he ate for breakfast this morning in DCJ.’ He spun backaround to face her. ‘There’s no way something like this should come as such a big surprise, which means either we’re all idiots or, much more likely, Marquette’s faking it, because there is no past.’

‘Levenson claims Marquette spent some time in a psychiatric hospital outside of Chicago when he was younger, but under an alias. That’s probably why no one knew about it,’ she offered. ‘I mean, how could they? No one in Marquette’s family is talking to us, and Jennifer’s family obviously didn’t know. Maybe Jennifer didn’t even know. Remember what Lat said about her family holding back, seeing only what it was they wanted to see all these years?’

‘Well we sure as hell know now. Now we get ourselves a court order and get those medical records from his three-weekstint at Parker Hills, along with any other psych or medical records he might have here in Miami. I didn’t know that he was being housed on nine over at DCJ. Where to cell an inmate is a CO decision. Nine’s the crazy floor. They sometimes put high-security inmates there who’re on suicide watch. Maybe Marquette picked up a couple of ideas while he’s been up there. We interview every guard who works on that floor to see what Marquette’s like when his lawyer’s not around and the cameras aren’t looking and the jail doc’s not taking notes. We research all we can about the disease, in the event he actually does have it: what it is; what causes it; what the treatment options are; what the effects of the illness are. I know some of the answers from cases I’ve had over the years, but I’m betting you don’t, and I need current information. Because what I do know is this: just because you’re schizo, or manic, or have whatever flavor-of-the-day mental illness there might be out there, that doesn’t give you a license to kill without responsibility. Especially not here in Florida. And not with me.’ He paused. ‘Have you handled a competency hearing before?’

She so badly wanted to tell him yes, but she couldn’t. She shook her head.

He sighed and motioned to her
West’s Criminal Laws and Rules
soft cover book that sat on top of her file boxes. She could tell in just that one split second that he was having second thoughts about her – the case was getting far too complicated for a rookie.

‘Rule 3.210, 3.211,’ he said. ‘I suggest you not just learn it, you memorize it. First up, besides being insane, Levenson is claiming Marquette’s incompetent to proceed to trial – which has nothing to do with his client’s sanity on the night of the murders, and everything to do with his ability to remain in the here and now during court proceedings. Insanity’s only a legal term – there’s no actual medical diagnosis of ‘insanity’. But before we get to have a trial to decide if he was legally insane, Farley first has to determine if he’s
competent.
Does he understand the nature of the charges against him and the penalties he’s facing? Does he understand what a lawyer is for, why he needs one? Will he sit in a chair at trial and assist his attorney or will he scream for the mothership in his pajamas?’

He paused for a long moment, lost somewhere in his thoughts. ‘We can’t forget that this is a man who, just weeks ago, was performing surgery and lecturing on the beauty of hip replacements to colleagues at the AMA. We need to make sure both the judge and the psychiatrists know that. And ultimately, of course, a jury. Marquette’s educated and he’s bright, which makes him much more dangerous than your average criminal.
And
he’s facing four murder counts and a death sentence, which makes him much more desperate. It behooves him to try his best at winning a spot on the next bus going to the state mental hospital up in Chattahoochee.’

‘I don’t mean to be difficult,’ Julia interrupted softly, with a shake of her head, ‘and I know this is new for me, but what if he really is sick? I won’t pretend to know anything about schizophrenia, but you’re planning three steps ahead, as if he’s got to be faking. Isn’t there a real possibility that he could be ill and we just didn’t know enough to look for it before today?’

She couldn’t forget those vacant albino-like eyes. Dead eyes.
Staring at her. Staring through her
. Her uneasy feeling from yesterday was still with her, and it was growing – spreading through her bones with a chill, settling in them like a cold for the winter. The deeper she was drawn in on Marquette, the closer she inevitably seemed to come back to her own past, no matter how much she resisted.

This case … It’s too close, Julia. Too close … It can only bring … despair.

She pushed Aunt Nora’s prophecy out of her head. ‘Maybe we should let the doctors who examine him decide.’

‘Almost every day,’ Rick began, with a shake of his head, because she obviously wasn’t getting it, ‘somewhere in this courthouse, someone tries to win a spot on that bus, Julia. Why? It’s simple. Because if they can get to Chattahoochee, then they can get out one day. It’s the golden ticket. And any time they might have to spend fooling the docs locked away in a mental hospital is not like life over at Florida State Prison. It’s a hell of a lot sweeter. For someone like David Marquette, who’s ultimately looking at either death row or life behind bars without the possibility of parole, Chattahoochee is the
only
door out. And, of course, if he’s ultimately found NGI, that’s it, you know. Once the doctors say he’s no longer a danger to himself or others, he walks away, free as a bird and there’s absolutely nothing either the State or a judge can do about it. No matter if he killed one person or a hundred – he
walks
.

‘Listen, I’ve seen everything from feces-throwing to devil-worshipping in a courtroom, but only two real nuts in twenty years.
Two
. Forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical when someone suddenly tells me they’re crazy. Someone who, as far as I know and you know at this moment, was fine until two days before he decided to Ginsu his entire family. We simply can’t afford to hedge the bet that the man’s a little off and let him take an extended vacation in Chattahoochee to collect his thoughts while we workout our case. If he’s found incompetent, it’ll be another six months before he comes up on calendar for report and another eval. That’s time spent in the loony bin perfecting the craft with the real loons, and time doesn’t help a prosecutor, Julia. Remember that. Witnesses forget, die, retire, relocate. Evidence gets lost and destroyed. Juries feel bad for defendants who have spent a long time locked away in a mental hospital. They tend to think there’s really something wrong with them. They tend to think they’re not responsible for their actions after all. They tend to acquit them. So Marquette’s competency is the first and most important hurdle we need to jump right now. After we get past that, then we can tackle his sanity.’

Two fresh Christmas trees, decorated only with simple white lights, stood on each side of the altar. Wreaths of fragrant evergreen hung below arched stained-glass windows; garlands adorned the communion railing and hung in giant swoops with big red bows under the fourteen Stations of the Cross, above the wooden pews. Just last Sunday morning, a veritable sea of red poinsettias had filled the sanctuary floor at Mass, but today they were gone. In their place were dozens and dozens of pastel flower baskets and sprays and ornate funeral wreaths. The church smelled like Christmas and spring and incense, an overpowering scent that was strangely fresh and crisp and noxious and made her nauseous each time she inhaled, so she tried not to – breathing in through her mouth and her fistful of tissues and only when necessary.

Her mom had loved flowers, though she’d always joke she had a black thumb that could even kill silk. On her way home from work on Fridays, she’d buy herself a simple bouquet of white peonies from Country Arts & Flowers, a local florist up by the Turnpike and the only store in town her family kept a house account with. ‘The poor man’s rose, but it still smells sweet,’ Momma would say. She’d put them in her grandma’s vase and leave them in the kitchen next to the sink so she could look at them doing stuff she hated doing, which was the dishes. And when the flowers died, she’d put the petals in a dish, dry them out and then sprinkle them in bath water or make little sachets for everyone’s drawers, ignoring the constant complaints of Julia’s dad that his underwear smelled like flowers. Julia clenched the tissues in her hand until she thought her fingers might never open again. Until she felt the warmth of her own blood as it seeped through her fingers, where her nails had dug into the soft flesh. She wondered suddenly how many of the sprays and wreaths on the altar were arranged by Country Arts and if the shop owners knew they had made them for their most loyal customer? Or would a few more Fridays have to pass before they missed her smile?

‘Sometimes we don’t know why the Lord does what He does,’ young Father Ralph was gently saying in a feather-soft voice. ‘We don’t understand the plan He has for us. We can’t understand it. But it is a Divine Plan. We know that Irene is in His plan. Joseph is in that plan, too. And Andrew is in His plan. And we must, we must learn to trust in the plan the Lord has made for us. We must learn to forgive, for that is what He expects—’

Aunt Nora abruptly stood up in the front pew. Without a word, she grasped Julia by the wrist, and with Uncle Jimmy following, led her out of the pew and back down the aisle, past too many familiar and unfamiliar faces. Neighbors, friends, Mr Leach the dry-cleaner, classmates, teachers, the cashier from P&E Bagels, total strangers. The story had made the front page of
Newsday,
so they came from all over. Father Ralph stopped talking. The massive church held its breath as the three of them made their way down the marble aisle and out the back door.

‘Julia? Are you listening?’ Rick was looking at her funny.

‘Yeah,’ she said, nodding absently. ‘I’m sorry. I was just thinking. What’s our next step?’ she asked, trying her best to focus on a book on the bookshelf. She noticed that her legs were shaking and she leaned forward, pressing her weight on her knees to get them to stop.
Understanding Gunshot Wounds and Trajectory Patterns. Sex Crimes and the Psychopathic Personality.

‘You look a little pale.’

Five, four, three, two, one … breathe.

Six, five, four, three, two, one …

‘No, no, I’m fine. Too much caffeine.’

Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one … breathe.

‘I need to get this set down for a hearing before Farley asap,’ he continued, eyeing her carefully for another moment. Then he pulled open a drawer on his file cabinet and took out an accordion file. ‘The judge is gonna order a psych eval. He’ll appoint at least two, possibly three, shrinks off the list to evaluate Marquette’s competency to stand trial, and then the experts will have twenty days to report back. I don’t want to drag out that time. Remember, that’s our enemy. Especially with the holidays upon us. So we’ll need to get on those medical records right away, along with all the police reports, labs, witness statements and anything else we can think of that may help inform the shrinks.’

‘The list’ referred to a court registry of licensed independent forensic psychologists and psychiatrists in Miami that performed psych evals in criminal cases.

‘Does it matter who we get?’ she asked.

‘Hell, yeah. Farley’ll ask us for our choice and we’re gonna jump up and say Christian Barakat. He’s the best for the State. If we get a stab at the second, I want Pat Hindlin or Tom McDermot. Levenson, of course, is gonna want Al Koletis. Every defense attorney wants Koletis. He’s useless; everyone’s incompetent and we’re all nuts. I could save him the paper.’

Her cellphone suddenly buzzed at her side. It was a 545 exchange, from across the street.
Farley.
Oh shit. She had completely forgot about her plea day. She looked at her watch and her stomach suddenly dropped out, as if she’d rounded a blind curve on a bumpy roller coaster and saw the plunge just up ahead. It was already ten thirty. They were probably all waiting for her over in court.

‘Speaking of the devil, I’ve got to get across the street,’ she said, rising with her phone in hand. She took a deep breath. Her legs were still shaky, her head light, and she thought of that day in the bathroom with Lat. She knew passing out in front of Rick would somehow be worse. ‘I’m late. In fact, I’m more than late. I’m probably in contempt.’