The Insanity Plea (33 page)

Duke covered all of the information
the witness reviewed in formulating his opinions about Dan Little. That
included every medical record available, the police file on the case, the CSI
reports, the intake video, the video made by Dr. Parke and Brickman’s lengthy
video of the defendant when he conducted his own interview.

“And, may I add, Mr. Romack, it is
very important that as a professor in Houston with the same UT system as the
medical school here, I was able to use my computer to pull up every record in
that system about Mr. Little, going back to the first time he was treated by
Dr. Adashek and his associates.” Dr. Brickman turned to the jury, “Very
important, you understand, don’t you?”

Nearly every juror acknowledged
agreement.

Duke wandered over to the evidence
table and picked up several things to study. He compared the left sneaker sole
with the right and then turned to the key. He picked up a couple of crime scene
photos, grimaced and put them down. Although the jury watched intently, Felix
was about to insist that he move on. Before the judge could admonish him, Duke
turned to the witness.

“Dr. Brickman, as a part of your
analysis did you formulate an opinion as to whether my client actually
committed the murder?”

Dr. Brickman patted the medical
folder with one hand and the journal articles with the other. “No sir. No,
ladies and gentlemen. That is not in my area of expertise. I am not a
criminologist. I used all of the information that I could gather to formulate
an opinion as to whether Dan Little could know that anything that he did the
day of the crime was wrong.”

In the back of the room Dr. Parke was
scribbling furiously.

 
“Since you brought it up, Doctor, let’s cut to
the bottom line. Based on all of your expertise and training and what you have
studied about Dan Little, on the day of the murder, could he have known if
anything he was doing was wrong?”

“Absolutely not. By the Texas
definition of insanity or any other definition, he was certainly insane.”

Wayne liked that he had injected
other states’ definitions of insanity and thought he could use that to his
advantage later in the case.

“Come on, Doctor,” Duke challenged
his own witness. “How can you be so certain? I know you guys have MRIs and CT
scans and that kind of stuff to look at the brain, but all you’re offering is
an opinion, isn’t it?”

“You are correct, Mr. Romack. I have
prepared a PowerPoint presentation. If the court will permit, I’d like to use
it to explain my opinion to the jury.”

The judge nodded his agreement and
Dr. Brickman stepped down from the witness stand, picked up a remote mouse and
started his analysis. Every juror’s eyes were riveted to the screen.

“First, we have the intake interview.
The video shows Dan Little about twenty-four hours after the event. Even a lay
person can tell that he is dramatically psychotic. He also says he doesn’t
remember anything from the day before, other than his usual routine of sitting
at the end of the jetty, waiting for the sun to rise.”

Flipping to the next slide, Dr.
Brickman continued, “This is language from one of our basic texts on mental
illness. It’s been accepted for many years that when a paranoid schizophrenic
is psychotic, there is usually a loss of memory.”

“Doc, what does that have to do with
his knowing his conduct was right or wrong?” Duke asked.

“I’m getting there. Just hold your
horses, Mr. Romack. I merely wanted the jury to understand that Mr. Little was
not lying when he said he didn’t remember anything from the day before. Now, I
have picked excerpts from fifteen years of medical records showing that when
Mr. Little was hospitalized or even picked up on the streets and sent to Dr.
Adashek’s clinic, he was always off his medications and with no medication was
always in a psychotic state.”

The jury was then shown medical
records from treating psychiatrists and psychologists, describing Dan’s
condition at various times, his delusions about the FBI and the CIA, his
delusions about Satan, his delusions about aliens commanding him into bizarre
behavior and the auditory hallucinations where voices commanded him to act as
they insisted.

Duke sized up the jury and decided
that they were accepting what Dr. Brickman was saying. He could have gone on
for another hour. Instead, he elected to wind it up, knowing that he had kept
the jury’s attention up until now and if he pushed it, a number of them would
begin to mentally drift away.

“Doctor, what is a delusion?”

“Easy, Mr. Romack. It’s a false,
unshakeable belief which is contrary to fact and adhered to in spite of
tangible evidence that it is false. Often when a person first becomes ill, he
experiences hallucinations and delusions and thinks that they are just strange,
maybe odd. The more he hears the voices or sees something that no one else
sees, the more psychotic he becomes until he accepts them as real. May I also
add that I mentioned what we call command hallucinations. In a psychotic state,
the schizophrenic believes that he must obey the voices.”

“Doc, was this stuff about being at
the jetty to make sure the sun came up a command hallucination?”

“Perfect example, Mr. Romack,” Dr.
Brickman agreed.

Duke scratched the side of his face
and pondered what he had just heard, wanting the jury to do the same.
 
“So, how does that explain whether Dan knew
right from wrong the day of the incident?”

“Not hard to figure out, ladies and
gentlemen. If a person’s mind is so warped by the illness that they believe the
voices and believe their delusions are real, they would not be capable of
formulating a judgment as to whether something is wrong.”

 
“And, Dr. Brickman, do you know Dr. Parke,
seated in the back of the courtroom?”

 
“I know Dr. Parke. He and I collaborated on a
journal article about twenty years ago. Since then we see each other at
conferences and make small talk. In the courtroom, I usually disagree with his
position and testify against him.”

“Was there anything significant in
his video interview?”

“Two things. First, I thought he was
very aggressive in his questioning of Dan, almost like he was cross-examining
him to force certain answers. Second, the video was off for nearly thirty
minutes. Use of video is not necessary in this setting. However, in my opinion,
if it is to be used, it should be on all the time, not just when the
psychiatrist chooses.”

“And, Doctor Brickman, is that
unprofessional on the part of Dr. Parke?”

Brickman shook his head. “All I would
say is that I would not do what he did. The jury can evaluate it.”

“One last question. How much are you
charging for your time?”

Brickman turned again to look at the
jury. “I do not make my living doing this. I have to cover for time away from
my university; so, it’s two hundred dollars an hour. I might add that any
payment to me is turned over to a foundation set up by the university to fund
research for the mentally ill.”

Duke passed the witness. Judge
Fernandez called for a lunch break.

“Dr. Brickman,” Kate began, “if a
person chooses to drink to the point of intoxication and gets in a car and
kills a pedestrian, he’s still responsible for his actions, isn’t he?”

 
“Objection, Your Honor. Calls for a legal
conclusion.”

 
“Ms. Rasmussen, the objection to the question
as worded is sustained. Ask it a different way and I’ll let him answer.”

“Doctor, that person can’t blame the
alcohol for causing the accident, can he?”

“I see where you are going, counselor,
and I agree.”

“Now, doesn’t the same thing apply to
Mr. Little. We see him today, looking normal and interacting with his lawyers. And
even you agree that he became psychotic when he chose to quit taking his
medication. So, doesn’t he bear the responsibility for his actions if he
voluntarily quits the drugs?”

Dr. Brickman thought carefully about
his answer and turned to the jury. “She makes a very good point. Obviously,
you’re supposed to take your medications. However, a true paranoid
schizophrenic doesn’t even believe that he is ill. Combine that with the
multiple side effects of the anti-psychotic drugs, and I don’t think anyone
would condemn these people for stopping the drugs. So, I don’t agree with your
analogy to the person who had too much to drink.”

“Doctor, you know of course that Mr. Little
here confessed to the murder, don’t you?”

Dr. Brickman was ready for this one. “He
did confess in a way. From what I saw he was not competent to make that
confession. He was not on medication and he was still psychotic. He didn’t
understand what was happening in that room.”

Kate walked toward Dr. Brickman with
her finger pointed at the witness, “But, Dr. Brickman, this man knew he was a
lawyer, was willing and able to recite the Miranda warning, including the part
where he is instructed that anything he says can and will be used against him. Therefore,
he must have at least understood the importance of the confession, right?”

Brickman lowered his voice, not liking
where this was going. “Yes, ma’am. I presume you could be correct.”

“If he knew all of these things, he
certainly would not have confessed, regardless of his mental illness, if he
hadn’t committed the crime, right, Doctor?”

Brickman paused to reflect on the
question. “Perhaps, one could draw such a conclusion, Ms. Rasmussen.”

Sonofabitch, Wayne thought. He’s
cratering under cross-examination. Now where is she going? Interestingly
enough, while Kate might be a bull-in-a-china shop personality, her instincts
were good. She knew when to quit and did so on this high point
.
She raised her chin, looked at the
bench and said, “Nothing further, Your Honor.”

Then she marched back to her table,
took her seat and looked triumphantly at the jury.

Wayne conferred briefly with Duke and
Dan, rose and said, “Your Honor, with regard to our defense of insanity, we
rest.”

“All right, Mr. Klein and Ms.
Rasmussen, your call. We can start with Dr. Parke this afternoon or we can
recess a little early and start fresh with him in the morning.”

The two prosecutors conferred and
Klein replied, “Tomorrow will be fine, Judge.”

Rita was in the kitchen helping Sarah
clean up when she heard the front screen door squeak open and shut. Within a
minute, she had removed the last dish from the table and placed it in the
dishwasher. Then, she told Sarah that she was going out on the front porch to
check on Wayne. Sarah nodded her agreement.

Dressed in shorts and a red T-shirt
that read
Wanted To Be BORN ON THE
ISLAND,
Rita was barefoot as she walked out to the front porch, expecting
to find Wayne sitting on one of the rockers, feet propped up on the rail and staring
off into space. He wasn’t there. She waited for her eyes to become accustomed
to the dark and softly called his name. “Wayne, where are you?”

No reply. This time she called a
little louder. Still nothing. She went down the steps and looked both directions.
Two blocks away, under a streetlight near the courthouse, she saw a male figure
that looked like Wayne, turning the corner and walking toward Broadway. She
thought about going back into the house for running shoes and then figured that
if she did she would lose Wayne. So, she started down the street in a slow barefooted
jog.

As she ran, she wondered what Wayne
was doing and where he was going, particularly since he told no one he was
leaving the house. A sudden wave of panic overcame her. This was the first time
she had been out alone at night since the early morning of her assault. She
forced herself to breathe deeply. The panic subsided when she reminded herself
she was only a few doors down from Sarah’s house and Wayne could probably hear
her if she screamed. Still, her pace quickened.

She crossed the first street past
Sarah’s house, also lighted at the corner. She left the comfort of the light
and found herself in the shadows of overhanging giant oaks, the shadows
softened by moonlight filtering through the leaves. Then she heard them. At first
she thought it was her imagination before realizing the sounds were real. Footsteps
had come from the side street and were behind her. They were quiet, making
barely a sound, but they were keeping pace with her. Rita’s mind flashed back
to the woods and the morning of her attack. Sonofabitch, she thought, this
can’t be happening again. Her pace quickened until she stepped on a rock.

“Shit,” she exclaimed as she slowed
to a limping walk and waited for the pain to dissipate. Then she felt a hand on
her arm. “No!” she screamed.

“My dear, are you all right?” It was
Dr. Parke. “I apologize for frightening you. I wanted to take an evening jog. I’ve
never seen these old Victorian houses and found myself on these streets,
admiring the architecture in the light of the full moon.”

Rita pulled her arm away from his and
sized up the psychiatrist, hoping he could not see the terror that filled her
eyes.

“I’m fine, Dr. Parke. Wayne is just
up ahead of me and I was running to catch him.”

“Do you always run barefooted? If you
like, I’ll look at that foot. You might have stepped on glass.”

Rita thanked the doctor for his
concern, but declined and said that she wanted to catch Wayne. He smiled and
said that he was turning back toward The Strand at the next corner and would
see her in court in the morning. With the pain temporarily gone from her foot,
Rita jogged toward the streetlight where she had seen Wayne turn. As she did
so, she heard Parke’s footsteps disappear into the night.

He should have killed her, Parke
thought as he turned the corner. He was within seconds of doing it back in
Houston. He relished the notoriety that The Runner was getting, but he was
beginning to feel uncomfortable since he knew the FBI was on his trail. Of
course, he expected it, only not this quickly. He really believed he could get to
fifty lovely young victims and quit before anyone tied them together. He knew
someone would eventually connect the dots, but doing so this early in his study
was unnerving.
 
He had researched Rita’s
computer skills. She had to be the one. That’s why he spent a week in Houston,
stalking her and learning about her early morning runs. He wondered if he
should have killed her just now when she stepped on that rock. This evening he didn’t
have his knife, but he could have easily twisted her neck, strangled her like
he did that young tour guide in New Orleans. No, he had made the right
decision. No one, not even Rita Contreras, has concluded that he was The
Runner. That was not going to happen. He was far too careful. Still, he wished
he had been five seconds faster in Hermann Park on that morning.

When Rita got to the next street, she
could barely make out a tall male figure about half the distance to Broadway. “Wayne,”
she yelled. “Wayne.”

Rita was relieved when the figured
stopped and turned, then backtracked to meet her. Never slowing a step, she
threw herself into his arms and let out a sigh of relief.

“What’s wrong, babe? Mom okay?”

Rita took a moment to get her breath
and then raised her face, put her arms around Wayne’s neck and kissed him hard.
As she did so, she wrapped one leg around his. When she broke away, she answered,
“Your mother’s fine. I just had the bejeezus scared out of me by our friend Dr.
Parke.”

“What the shit?” Wayne frowned. “Where?”

“On Sarah’s street about a half a
block from the house. It was spooky to find him on our street at this time of
night.”

     
Rita explained what had happened, pointed to her bare feet, and
explained that Dr. Parke was a perfect gentleman. It was just the circumstance
that frightened her, probably because of her near-death experience.

“I’m fine. Now, where are you going?”

Wayne pointed toward Broadway and
replied, “The cemetery. I’m going over to talk with my dad.”

Rita looked down at the sidewalk and
then back toward the house. “Gee, I’m sorry, Wayne. I’ll go on back. You need
to be alone.”

This time it was Wayne who grabbed
Rita and squeezed her as he returned her kiss. “No. It’s okay. Come on. I’d
like to introduce you to my dad, anyway.”

Rita hesitated until Wayne grabbed
her hand and pulled her with him. They walked down the moonlit street. Wayne
told her about the day he sat for hours in the cemetery while he debated
defending his brother’s life. At the graveyard entrance, Rita stopped.

“Look, hon, I’m a modern, educated
woman, but I’m one generation removed from Mexico. I’ve never been in a
cemetery at night. I’m not sure I want to start now.”

“Rita,” Wayne smiled, “It’s okay. We
used to play hide and seek in this cemetery on summer nights when I was a kid. Never
saw a ghost. And only heard chains rattling once.”

The last comment caused Rita to pull
back.

“Come on. I’m only joking. Besides,
the path here is full of rocks. I’ll have to carry you.”

Wayne didn’t give Rita a chance to
reply before he hoisted her into his arms and she put her hands around his
neck. As they entered the cemetery, Rita could see a group around a fire two
blocks away on the other side of the graveyard. Music drifted over the
cemetery.

“Look, Wayne. Who are those people?” Rita’s
mind conjured up images of witches and vampires conducting rituals to raise
bodies from the ground.

“Relax, Rita. Those are some neighbor
boys from over in the hood on the other side of the cemetery. They come over
here to get out of their unairconditioned houses on hot summer nights. They may
be smoking a little weed. They’re harmless. Besides, with that rap music, they
won’t even notice us.”

Wayne carried her for several minutes
and then sat her down with her feet on grass. “Here we are. Dad, this is Rita. I
wanted you to meet her. She’s gonna be your daughter-in-law after we set Dan
free. Mom’s already approved her. She’s beautiful and smart and takes good care
of me. Her hair is black like mine and she can run at least as fast as me,
maybe faster. We’re going to give you some really great grandchildren.”

As Wayne spoke, Rita stared at him in
amazement and then slowly lowered herself to a seated position beside the
grave. Wayne sat beside her.

“Did I hear you right, Wayne Little?”
Rita asked in a voice that was almost a whisper. “You’re expecting me to marry
you? And you’re just assuming I’d say yes even though you haven’t proposed.”

Wayne smiled, rose and pulled Rita to
her feet. Then he kneeled in front of her and took her hand. “Rita, I knew I
was going to marry you the day I first saw you beside the pool at the complex. Now,
with my dad as my witness, I’ll ask you. Rita, will you marry me?”

This time it was Rita who pulled
Wayne to his feet as she slowly pulled his face down to hers and gave him a
very gentle kiss. “Of course, I will. I’ve been waiting for you to ask ever
since that day beside the pool. You can tell your dad I’ll make you the best
wife ever, maybe even as good as Sarah.”

Then Rita backed a step and slapped
Wayne.

Seeing Wayne’s startled expression, she
laughed. “That’s just a one-time slap for proposing in a cemetery. What kind of
romantic proposal is that? Couldn’t you have at least done it over a
candlelight dinner with champagne?”

Wayne lifted her into his arms. “Well,
at least I ordered up a moonlit night to add a little romance. And, by the way,
my dad approves.”

 
On the way back to the house, they decided to
keep the secret to themselves until after the trial. They were near the end and
didn’t need to create more distractions. Wayne had Frederick Parke to deal with
the next day. He hoped his mind would gear down, so he could sleep a few hours
before the battle began.