The Good Sister (24 page)

This is how a good mother feels. This softness inside.

March 2010

P
rosecutor Clark Jackson was a barrel-shaped man in his forties, his bald head encircled by a curly gray tonsure. On the first
day of Simone’s trial for the attempted murder of her daughters, he sprang from his chair and strode confidently to the front
of the courtroom to deliver his opening remarks to the jury in a sharp tenor voice that was abrasive and compelling at the
same time. In the gallery, Roxanne took a deep breath and tried to relax. She’d woken up with a tennis ball in her throat;
oxygen could barely get around it.

Jackson frightened her because she knew immediately that punishment was as important to him as justice.

He smiled at the jurors, leading with his teeth. “On behalf of the people of the state of California, I want to thank you
for your willingness to serve as jurors in this very difficult and important case. What is decided by you
in this courtroom will be seen and read about around the world. But let me put your minds at ease. You won’t have any trouble
coming to a fair decision. The evidence will show without a shadow of a doubt that Simone Duran is guilty of four counts of
attempted murder.”

The twins, Olivia, and Claire, unborn.

Looking from Jackson to Simone’s attorney, David Cabot, sitting at the defense table on the other side of the bar, and then
back at Jackson, Roxanne felt a new presence in the courtroom, an excitement like what she remembered feeling before one of
Ty’s marathons or 10Ks. Until that moment she had been naïve, not realizing that Simone’s freedom and the future of her family
devolved to just this: a competition between two ambitious men, with justice moving in and out between them, an obstacle and
at the same time a referee.

David said they were lucky to get Judge Amos MacArthur, a big, gruff, exhausted-looking man with a thick head of dark hair
and a mustache too large for his face. Though inclined to be both irascible and eccentric, he was a judicial moderate and
not likely to be swayed by the high voltage of the case.

Jackson stepped away from the jury box and dramatically pointed at Simone. “The government will show that when this woman
tried to kill her daughters she knew exactly what she was doing. She
planned
to murder them. And she was
almost
successful.”

Jackson’s tenor voice softened, confided. “Ladies and
gentlemen, defense counsel is going to tell you that Simone Duran was insane at the time of the crime. And you’re going to
want to believe it because you’re good people and Simone Duran is a pretty, sweet-looking lady. She doesn’t look like a monster,
does she?”

Jackson stared right at Simone, encouraging the jurors to do the same. Roxanne saw Cabot reach under the table for Simone’s
hand.

“Don’t let yourselves be fooled. Our evidence will show this is a
dangerous
woman. She is not insane. She has never been insane. She knew what she was doing when she tried to kill her children and
she must now face the consequences.”

At the end of his short remarks, Jackson resumed his seat, and David Cabot, six feet five with an athlete’s natural grace,
announced that he would reserve his opening statement until after the prosecution had presented its case. This caused some
murmuring in the gallery. Cabot had prepared the family for this departure from the usual order of trial, assuring them that
in this case it made strategic sense.

The prosecution’s first witness was the SDPD’s lead investigator on the case. He testified that he had arrived at the Duran
residence just after the EMTs and gave the jury a vivid and disturbing picture of the scene outside the garage. Roxanne did
not remember much of what had happened that late afternoon. Trauma did that to some people, the doctor told her when she left
the hospital.

Jackson’s next witness, a medical technician, told the jury about the girls’ precarious condition at the crime scene. At Jackson’s
prompting, he said that, based on his eleven years’ experience, he knew that if Simone and the children had been exposed to
carbon monoxide for one minute longer, they would have suffered permanent brain damage. Before Cabot could object, the witness
volunteered that Olivia’s survival was “a miracle from heaven.” Cabot declined to cross-examine these witnesses.

The state’s psychiatrist and expert on postpartum depression and psychosis, Gerald Frobisher, took the stand with an unassailable
dignity and self-confidence. He was a middle-aged man, thin and elegantly dressed, his shoes polished to a mirror shine. His
smoothness disgusted Roxanne. There was a word to describe Gerald Frobisher:
smarmy.
Jackson asked Frobisher what qualified him as an expert, and he responded—taking care, Roxanne noted, to adopt a subdued
and modest tone of voice that did not for a moment convince her—listing a daunting number of postgraduate degrees and publications
in prestigious journals.

At the end of Frobisher’s lengthy testimony, Jackson asked him, “Doctor, will you tell the jury, on the basis of your tests
and interviews and in your opinion as an expert in the field, at the time of the incident in question was Mrs. Duran able
to distinguish between right and wrong?”

“I am certain she was.”

Judge MacArthur glared out over the murmuring gallery.

“On the day she attempted to murder her daughters she was no different than you and me?”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t presume to say that.” Frobisher pushed up the bridge of his glasses. “Mrs. Duran was operating under
substantial emotional stress, to be sure. She has had several children in a relatively short space of time and almost certainly
suffered some hormone imbalance as a result. Additionally, she has a natural tendency to bipolarity, which would have been
exacerbated by hormonal surges. But none of this is terribly unusual.”

“In your conversations with Mrs. Duran did you uncover some significant event, some clue to what triggered her murderous actions?”

“Well, to start with, she fired the nanny,” Frobisher said. “Without the nanny her life became intolerably stressful. Even
as simple a task as making cupcakes was too much for her.”

“Are you saying that she tried to murder her children because she couldn’t bake
cupcakes
?”

Cabot stood. “Your Honor, I have to object to Mr. Jackson’s tone here.”

Roxanne knew that the prosecution needed Frobisher’s testimony to convince the jury that Simone was sane, but Cabot had predicted
Jackson would still dismiss any attempt at a psychological explanation, perhaps ridicule
it, in order to weaken the defense argument in advance of its introduction.

Cabot said, “Simone Duran’s future and the future of her family hangs in the balance today. Sarcasm is unbecoming here.”

“Did you intend sarcasm, Mr. Jackson?” the judge asked.

“Certainly not, Your Honor.”

“Overruled. Continue, Mr. Jackson, but watch your tone.”

“To sum up, Dr. Frobisher, is it your expert opinion that Simone Duran attempted the murder of her children because she was
under stress?”

Frobisher turned to look at the judge. “May I elaborate on that question, Your Honor?”

“Be my guest, Doctor.”

The psychiatrist shifted in the witness chair and spoke directly to the jury. “Most of us deal with stress pretty well. Our
bodies and our relationships may suffer in the process, but we cope. We are very good at coping, as a matter of fact. But
Simone Duran has been pampered all her life. She is dependent upon her husband to an extraordinary degree. This last pregnancy—little
Claire—and especially the loss of the nanny, was finally too much for her. All she wanted to do was escape the stress.”

Jackson asked, “Why didn’t she ask for help?”

Frobisher said, “According to Mrs. Duran, she never tried to conceal her problems but she says that nobody
paid any attention. She claims no one wanted to help her but that seems far-fetched. Her recall of events is highly selective.”

“You mean she lies when it suits her purposes.”

“Objection, Your Honor, there’s no basis for that question.”

“Sustained. Rephrase, Mr. Jackson.”

“Dr. Frobisher, from your study of Mrs. Duran does it appear she will lie to protect herself?”

“Most people will alter facts to avoid unpleasant consequences, Mr. Jackson. Simone Duran is no exception.”

“So, finally—let’s be crystal clear about this—it is your expert opinion that at the time of the crime, Simone Duran knew
what she was doing and she also knew the difference between right and wrong?”

“Absolutely. Yes, to both questions.”

It was after three on the second day of the trial when David Cabot rose to cross-examine Frobisher.

“There are one or two points I’d like you to clarify for us.”

Frobisher sat back and crossed his legs, perfectly at ease in the witness stand.

“First, it would help us if we knew how long you spent in conversation with my client, Simone Duran.”

“May I consult my notes?”

“If you must, but can’t you give us a ballpark estimate?”

“Well, let’s see. The better part of one afternoon. After lunch until about four.” Frobisher tipped his chin a little to the
right and looked up. “The next day we had a couple of hours and then I believe there was a lapse of a few days and I saw her
again for most of one morning.”

“Could we say a total of six or seven hours then?”

“Closer to eight.”

“That’s not very long, Doctor, is it?”

“In this case it was perfectly adequate.”

“During your conversations with my client did you discuss her childhood?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Why was that necessary?”

“The mind works in subtle and complicated ways. Who Mrs. Duran was at the time of the incident is linked to who she was long
before that.”

“ ‘Subtle and complicated.’ That makes sense. Do you mind if I use that term again?”

Frobisher dipped his head. “Not at all.”

“So of the eight hours you spent with Simone Duran, how long do you think you spent talking about her childhood?”

“I couldn’t say. We returned to it a number of times.”

“Would you say two hours? Four?”

“Altogether? Between three and four.”

“Did you discuss her marriage?”

“Of course.”

“She and Mr. Duran have been married… how long?”

Frobisher looked down at his notes.

“Never mind,” Cabot said with a hint of antipathy, as if he did not think much of a doctor who could not recall the answer
to so basic a question. “If I said they’ve been together roughly ten years would that be close enough?”

Frobisher nodded.

“I’ll take that as a yes, Doctor. Can you estimate for the court…? Did you spend thirty minutes talking about her marriage,
three minutes for every year?”

“Again, Mr. Cabot, the time was sufficient.”

“Sufficient for what?”

“To determine if Mrs. Duran knew the difference between right and wrong at the time of the crime.”

“No kidding.” David Cabot stepped back and looked at the jury with a surprised expression. “You could come to a conclusion
in so short a time? I think that’s amazing.”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“If you were talking to Mrs. Duran and you discovered something that didn’t support your belief that she knew right from wrong
at the time of the incident, would you report this or ignore it?”

Jackson leaped to his feet. “Your Honor, Dr. Frobisher is a highly respected professional in his field. Counsel’s question
is insulting.”

“This is cross-examination, Mr. Jackson.” MacArthur
frowned over the top of his glasses. “You may respond, Doctor.”

Frobisher squared his jaw. “I am a scientist, so of course I kept an open mind until I had gathered the facts.”

“Dr. Frobisher, did you question Mrs. Duran about her sexual relationship with her husband?”

“We didn’t speak about sex. Sex had nothing to do with the crime.”

“But if her marriage was relevant and sex is part of marriage… You talked about marriage but not about sex? I find that a
little confusing, Doctor.”

Dr. Frobisher’s credentials could not be faulted, but Cabot wanted to plant a seed of doubt in the minds of the jurors as
to his impartiality and the thoroughness of his analysis.

“Mrs. Duran has been pregnant eight times in ten years, counting the miscarriages. But you didn’t mention sex?”

“Mr. Cabot, you haven’t laid a foundation for that question.” Judge MacArthur sounded cross. “Move on.”

“Can you explain to the court
why
sex wasn’t relevant?”

“My goal was to determine if Mrs. Duran knew what she was doing at the time of the attempted murder and could tell right from
wrong. I didn’t have to know the intimate details of her personal life.”

“Okay, you didn’t talk about sex. Did you talk about
Mrs. Duran’s relationship with her sister, her mother, her children?”

“We covered all of that, yes.”

“Again, how much time do you remember that taking?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Cabot. I do not compartmentalize my interviews. They last until I form a professional opinion.”

“Can I assume you talked about the near-asphyxiation itself?”

Roxanne knew David would never say “attempted murder.” It was always the
event
, the
incident, the near-asphyxiation
.

“Of course.”

“And all of this you did in the space of six or seven hours.”

“Between eight and nine.”

“Would you call your examination of my client thorough?”

“Yes.”

“Would you say it was a comprehensive examination?”

“Limited by time, of course, but sufficient under the circumstances.”

“Can you swear you learned the
subtle and complicated
way Simone Duran’s mind worked at the time of the incident?”

Frobisher flushed, paused a moment, and then said, “Yes.”

Cabot turned to the jury, to Amos MacArthur, and then back to Frobisher. “Doctor, do you believe that you could spend a few
hours with His Honor, Judge MacArthur, and say you know him
thoroughly and comprehensively
?”