The Insanity Plea (7 page)

The causeway fed traffic onto
Broadway, a four lane boulevard with a wide, grassy esplanade separating
southbound traffic from those headed north. The north end of Broadway had
little appeal to tourists. Lined with convenience stores, cheap restaurants,
bars, motels that could be rented by the hour, and boarded-up buildings, many
“tagged” by rivaling gangs, most visitors just wanted to get to 61
^st
Street where they could turn right and get to the beach in five minutes or go
straight and head to the Strand or the cruise ship terminals. Wayne let
thoughts of his boyhood in Galveston run through his mind in an effort to keep
the reason for his visit from surfacing. Still, when he got to 21
^st
,
he turned left and in a matter of blocks was pulling into the parking garage at
the courthouse and jail complex.

Built in the sixties, some architect
chose to get away from the classic courthouse design so prevalent in Texas
counties, courthouses that were still stately and graceful well over a hundred
years after construction. Instead, this was a “modern” courthouse for its time.
Forty years later, it was past its prime and ugly was almost too kind a
description. In fact, the county had decided to fork over the money to build
another. Maybe this time the architect would get it right.

Wayne walked into the courthouse and was
greeted by a deputy sheriff at the metal detector.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Look what the
cat drug in. How ya’ doing, Wayne? I didn’t know they let city slickers like
you on the island any more.”

“Come on, Bud. You know I was born
here. My mom still lives just two blocks away.”

Bud grabbed Wayne’s extended hand and
escorted him around the metal detector. “You don’t need to go through that. You
headed upstairs to a hearing or a civil trial?”

“No, Bud. I’m paying a visit to my
old boss. You seen him come in yet?”

“Yep. Sure did. He got here about
thirty minutes ago. Oh, shit, Wayne. I know what this is about. It’s your
brother, ain’t it? I heard he got beat up pretty bad the other day. I’m sorry
about that and sorry he’s got to be here. Hell, he was once a hero in this
town.” Bud’s voice trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

Wayne nodded, got into the elevator
and rode alone to the top floor. Wayne’s footsteps echoed in the empty hallway
as he walked to the door at the end with a sign proclaiming “Harry Klein,
District Attorney.” He opened the door like so many other times years before
when he was a young lawyer. Little had changed. The paneled walls were maybe
slightly darker; the brown carpet had a few more bare spots, but the sitting
area had the same old coffee table, couch and stuffed chairs. If he looked
closely, Wayne half suspected that the magazines were the same ones he read
when he worked for Klein.

Another constant was Harry’s
secretary, Nancy Crider. Harry was her third district attorney. Everyone who
walked through the outer door knew that she was in charge. To get an audience
with her boss, one must be on best behavior and find her in a good mood. Wayne
was the exception.

The gray-haired lady didn’t look up
from her computer when she asked, “Can I help you?”

“Yes ma’am. Has Harry got a few
minutes this morning?”

Hearing the familiar voice, Nancy’s
normally dour features turned into a smile. “Wayne Little, the prodigal
returns. You want your old job back?” Nancy’s expression changed as she
continued. “No, I know why you’re here. It’s about Dan, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Nancy, it is. Think I can
visit with Harry?”

Glancing at her phone, she saw a
blinking red light. “He’s on the phone. I’ll check the minute he gets off. You
want some coffee? Black as usual?”

Without waiting for a reply she
walked over to a small table, poured black coffee into an old porcelain cup and
handed it to him. “I see your mother every Sunday at church. I hear you’re
making quite a name for yourself in Houston. I’m so sorry about Dan.” She would
have continued nonstop but noticed that the light on her phone was off. Picking
it up, she told the D. A. that Wayne Little was in the office. Seconds later,
the inner door flew open and a large man came through.

Harry Klein was in his mid-fifties. Most
of his hair was gone and what little that remained was gray. Big enough to have
played on the offensive line for Galveston High School and at a small college
in East Texas, his weight had shifted over the years. Still he was a commanding
figure and filled the room with his booming voice.

Klein seized Wayne’s hand and led him
into his office, closing the door behind him. Klein sat at his desk. Wayne knew
to take one of the two leather chairs facing the district attorney and offering
a panoramic view through the windows behind him of Galveston’s historical district
and the port filled with ships and offshore oil rigs in for repairs. To Wayne’s
right were more windows with a view of the Gulf dotted with sailboats, a couple
of tankers creeping toward the port and, in the distance, semi-submersible oil
rigs. While the courthouse was old, Harry’s office offered some of the best
views in town. They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes. Klein showed off
pictures of three grandchildren and then got to the point.

“About Dan, it’s not good. In fact,
it couldn’t be much worse.”

“I figured as much. What can you tell
me, Harry?”

“Knowing that it was Dan, I’ve pretty
well kept on top of the case. For good measure, let me have Nancy pull the
file.” He turned, called Nancy and requested Dan’s file.

 
Harry stared out the window at a sea-going
fishing boat headed out into the Gulf. Collecting his thoughts, he began. “It
was a brutal murder. A young nurse, Debbie Robinson was her name, was attacked
before sunrise one morning. We learned that it was her habit to run five miles
on the seawall before reporting to John Sealy. Her throat was cut from ear to
ear. Instrument was either a really sharp knife or, as one of the detectives
thought, maybe a surgical scalpel. With a medical school and a bunch of
hospitals here, something like that wouldn’t be hard to come by. The attacker
ripped off her running shorts and threw her over the seawall at 21
^st
in front of the Galvez right there where the jetty is. You know where I’m
talking about?”

“Sure, Harry. Dan used to take me
fishing on that jetty. It was one of his favorite spots. Biggest fish I ever
caught was right there at the end of it.” Wayne stopped as he realized he had
just provided a bit of evidence that the prosecution may not have had.

Harry recognized his uneasiness and
continued, “Don’t worry, Wayne. You’re not telling us anything we don’t already
know. A retired couple from Fort Worth, down here for a few days, was out on an
early morning walk. They saw a homeless guy climb over the seawall, talking to
himself. When he saw them, he took off up 21
^st
. They saw blood on
the sidewalk and followed it. When they looked down, they saw Debbie’s body and
called 911. The officers were there in about five minutes. The crime scene guys
got there pretty quick, too. Looked like someone had stepped in her blood. There
were a couple of footprints on the sidewalk, going away from the scene. She had
a fractured skull from hitting her head on one of those boulders and some
bleeding in the brain, but the medical examiner said she was dead before she
was thrown over the wall.”

Wayne took a sip of coffee. As he
absorbed Harry’s description, he walked to the windows facing the Gulf and
gazed at the seawall. Looking to the west, he could barely make out the top of
the Galvez as he pictured the seawall and jetty in front of the hotel. Clearing
his throat, he continued to face the Gulf and asked, “How does Dan come into
the picture?”

The office door opened. Nancy brought
a file to Klein and left, silently closing the door behind her.

“One of the detectives had the idea
to stake out the crime scene for the next several mornings. You know killers
sometimes return to the scene to re-live the experience, particularly with such
a brutal murder. The next morning two officers staked out the scene before dawn.
Nothing was suspicious. They were about ready to leave after the sun came up when
they noticed a man at the end of the jetty. They had no idea he was even there
until the man got up and picked his way through the rocks, going back to the
wall. When he saw the police officers, he took off running down the beach,
yelling at the top of his lungs at somebody. They chased him and caught him
pretty quickly. It was Dan.”

“Harry, Dan’s been paranoid ever since
he got sick. There’s no telling what those voices were telling him.”

“Hold on, Wayne. I’m sorry to say it
gets worse. When they tackled him, they cuffed him and did a routine search for
weapons. He had on a bunch of old clothes, like a lot of the homeless people. In
one of the pockets they found a diamond bracelet, with an inscription to Debbie
from her dad.”

Wayne returned to his chair, buried
his face in his hands, regained his composure and asked, “Is that it?”

“Not yet. Dan had traces of blood on
one sneaker. The blood matched Debbie’s and the blood on the pavement at the
scene. And the tread on his sneakers matched the bloody footprints. On top of
that, Dan confessed.”

“I want to see the video. I know damn
well you taped him when he first came in and probably during the confession. I
doubt if he understood anything the cops were telling him, not even when they
read him his Miranda rights.”

Klein slowly shook his head. “I
couldn’t be more sorry, Wayne. I’ve known you and Dan most of your lives. Hell,
I was there when Dan won the state championship for us.
 
Last thing I wanted to do is charge him with capital
murder, but I didn’t have any choice.”

Harry could see Wayne filtering
through all he had heard. When Wayne spoke, his voice was soft, almost
pleading. “Harry, can’t we just drop it to murder, plead him out and get him a
life sentence at the state psychiatric prison unit?” He hesitated and added, “That
might be the best thing for him.”

This time it was Harry who grimaced
and paced in front of the windows before he replied. “Look, Wayne, Dan stole a
diamond bracelet. The theft raises the murder to a capital offense. I’d like to
do exactly as you ask, only I can’t.”

Wayne looked puzzled as Harry
continued. “Debbie Robinson was the daughter of Walter Robinson. Living in
Houston, you’ve probably heard of him. Big oil man, lives in one of those
mansions on Kirby Drive in River Oaks. Richer than King Solomon. Biggest
problem is he’s the largest contributor to both Republican and Democratic
candidates in the state. No matter who’s in power, he demands attention and
gets it. He sat right where you’re sitting now and told me that he wants
revenge. An eye for an eye. If I don’t go for capital murder, he’ll fry me in
the press and bankroll an opponent against me next time around.” Klein did not
mention that if he got the conviction, Robinson offered to fund a race for
statewide office, probably attorney general.

“Who’s defending my brother?”

“Some young public defender. Name’s
Hansen, I think. He’s tried a couple of murder cases. Judge Fernandez appointed
him.”

Wayne had all the information he could
absorb for one morning. He rose, shook Harry’s hand and started to the door. Then
he stopped, looked back and asked, “Who have you got prosecuting?”

“Katherine Rasmussen. Robinson
insisted on her.”

“Shit!” Wayne replied, his voice
rising again. “What chance does Dan have with a public defender and her on the
other side?”

Wayne left the garage and drove
slowly back to Broadway. Instead of turning right toward Houston, he found
himself headed toward Seawall Boulevard where he turned west. The overcast day,
its slight mist coating the windshield, mirrored his mood. When he reached 21
^st
,
he found the beach deserted as surfers, joggers and fishermen took shelter, awaiting
the return of the sun. He climbed out of his truck, turned up the collar on his
coat and walked to the edge of the seawall. Wayne tried to picture his brother
killing a woman, and the picture would not come into focus. Hell, he doubted if
his brother even owned a knife, particularly one sharp enough to slit Debbie’s
throat. And, where was the knife, anyway? What happened to the murder weapon?
Harry didn’t say anything about it. From the papers, Debbie was strong, a black
belt. Dan was never muscular, not even in high school. Surely, he wouldn’t have
gained strength from living on the streets. The only thing that made sense was
that Dan visited this jetty regularly. Maybe it brought back memories of their
good times. Maybe the wide expanse of the Gulf calmed the demons that raged
through his mind.

Wayne considered asking for a visit
with his brother and immediately nixed the idea. He didn’t want to talk to his
brother or his mother until he sifted through all he had learned and reached a
decision. Instead, he got in his car and was soon driving north on Broadway. When
he got to the Old Galveston Cemetery that covered several square blocks
adjoining Broadway, he swerved across the boulevard and drove through the
cemetery entrance. A mixture of memories flooded his mind. He remembered as a kid
how he and his buddies would sneak over to the cemetery to hunt ghosts that
were said to frequent the old graveyard on moonless nights. More importantly,
he remembered burying his father there.

 
He got out of the car and walked to his
father’s grave. Bending over, he picked a few twigs and leaves from the grass. Then
he sat down, leaning against the tombstone as he fought to make a decision. Time
passed. Wayne had no idea how long he sat in the cemetery until he realized
that it was growing dark. When he rose to his feet, he knew what he had to do.

“Thanks, Dad,” he said as he glanced
up to the heavens. “I knew I could depend on you for the right decision.”