By Reason of Insanity Read online

"I'll tell your side," Brian said, "in your words."

  Cat stared him down. "What are you holding back?"

  "We're back on the record," Brian said, turning on the tape recorder. "Did you know that earlier this afternoon, the police found Paul Donaldson's body?"

  Donaldson's body? The news floored Cat, causing her world to spin off balance. "Where?"

  "In the Dismal Swamp Canal. He was strapped into his own car. Somebody had wedged the gas pedal down and popped it into gear. A fisherman discovered the vehicle."

  Cat sat in stunned silence, trying to take it in. A new lead--it could only be good news for her; it could only lead closer to the real killer. Yet, for some reason, Brian's tone said otherwise.

  "Were you aware of this?" he asked.

  "No. But I'm hopeful this will help police find the real killer."

  It was then, just before Brian asked his next question, that something dawned on Cat. The prison officials hadn't been helping her. They had allowed Brian Radford to move up the interview by a couple of hours so he could catch Cat off guard before the information hit the airwaves. They knew that the cops couldn't interview Cat, so they were using Radford as a surrogate.

  "When Ed Shaftner, the editor of the Tidewater Times, first told you about Paul Donaldson's death, did you ask him whether Donaldson had a gash on his head?"

  Cat remembered the conversation and felt the blood drain from her face. Her heart pounded fiercely; its deafening noise seemed to drown out all other sound. "I'm not going to answer that," she stammered.

  "When you subsequently talked with Jamarcus Webb, did you tell him to call you when they found the body of Paul Donaldson? Did you tell him to check for a gash on the skull?"

  Cat's racing mind pieced it together. Webb was still an inside source for the paper. Only now he was working with Radford, against Catherine.

  "Did you?" Radford pressed.

  "I'm not answering that question either." Cat spit the words out, disgusted with herself. She had walked into a trap set by her own friends. She could see the headlines now.

  "You know as well as anybody, Cat--this isn't like a police interrogation or the courtroom. If you don't answer, I'll have to put that in my story. You're better off telling your side and getting it out there."

  "Get out of here," Cat said. "This interview's over."

  "Are you sure?" Radford asked.

  "I don't know how you can live with yourself," Cat snarled.

  59

  Quinn heard about the recovery of Paul Donaldson's body when Melanie called his cell phone. "I saw it on the news," Quinn's assistant said. "They're saying that Donaldson was electrocuted. They say the Avenger hooked him up to a homemade electric chair and fried him."

  "Whoa," Quinn said. He felt the case crashing around him. This kind of graphic testimony could really fire up a jury.

  "They said the Avenger shaved some spots on Donaldson's scalp and legs to hook up the electrodes. It gets worse--you ready?"

  "How can it get worse?"

  "He had a gash on his scalp where the Avenger apparently jammed an electric razor into Donaldson's head trying to shave him. Maybe Donaldson was writhing around trying to get away--who knows? Anyway, both the editor of the Tidewater Times and Detective Webb are saying that our client implied Donaldson's head would have a gash."

  "What?"

  "Yeah. I guess she had another vision of some type."

  "We're toast," said Quinn.

  Melanie paused for a moment, perhaps uncertain as to whether she should broach this next subject. "You going to drop the case?"

  "If Annie withdraws her plea, I'll have to. The firm said I could only handle one of these nonpaying cases."

  "In the meantime, you want to do some TV?" Melanie asked, trying to sound upbeat. "Marc Boland called and said he really needs some help with the national cable shows."

  Quinn thought about it for a moment. Marc was right--they would have to start on the damage control immediately. But Quinn had scheduled dinner with Rosemarie Mancini. Rosemarie had spent a few hours with Sierra that afternoon, and Quinn was anxious to get her advice.

  "Tell Mr. Boland that I want to help but I just can't shake free tonight. I can do a few of the morning shows if he needs me to."

  "You sure you don't want to call him yourself?" asked Melanie.

  "I'm sure."

  * * *

  Rosemarie Mancini met Quinn in the hospital cafeteria. Quinn bought orange juice; Rosemarie settled for a cup of coffee that looked like it might have been brewed in the last millennium.

  "She's going to be okay," Rosemarie said. "She's stronger than you think."

  "Except that she just attempted suicide." Quinn kept his voice low, although the tables around them were empty.

  "I guess you could say that," Rosemarie answered. "I would consider it more of a statement than a legitimate suicide attempt."

  It seemed to Quinn like Rosemarie was splitting hairs, but he held his tongue.

  "One out of fourteen girls Sierra's age will self-mutilate or attempt to take their lives. Most aren't enduring anything close to the trauma Sierra has experienced. The main thing we've got to do is eliminate the guilt."

  Rosemarie watched Quinn closely, apparently trying to gauge his reaction. "She feels responsible for everything that's happened--her stepfather's death, her mother's imprisonment, the separation from her family. The Schlesingers have little or no rapport with Sierra, and she feels ostracized even among her friends. The thought of being uprooted and sent to a boarding school--on top of her mom going to jail--was just too much."

  Quinn took a drink of juice and tried to digest what he was hearing. He knew Sierra was struggling emotionally, but suicide seemed like something that happened to other kids, not his own niece. Why hadn't he seen this coming? "What are you suggesting?" he asked.

  "One of the greatest fears of any adolescent girl is to lose one or both parents through death or divorce. Sierra has already lost her stepdad. Now, just a few months later, she's faced with losing her mom."

  Dr. Mancini swirled the coffee in her cup and softened her voice to a tone she seldom used. "She views you as a surrogate father, Quinn. This idea of sending her away to boarding school seems to her like more rejection."

  A surrogate father? The words rocked Quinn. He admired his niece, loved her, but he had never considered that he might have such an important role in her life. He spent so little time with her and always felt somewhat ill at ease around her. What did Quinn know about the world of a thirteen-year-old girl? But Rosemarie seemed to be confirming Quinn's decision about taking Sierra in.

  "You're saying she should live with me?"

  "As opposed to the Schlesingers or boarding school, yes. My first preference, of course, would be Annie."

  "Except that there's this small matter of her murder trial."

  "A good lawyer could make that problem go away."

  "Good luck finding one." Though he made the statement facetiously, it felt more like the truth every day. Quinn Newberg, legal magician, was losing his touch. He finished his orange juice, thinking about the impact of another trial on Sierra. "What if Annie gets convicted? Could Sierra handle that?"

  Rosemarie shifted in her seat. "Here's my suggestion, Quinn. Let Sierra stay with you until the trial, even if that means you have to allow the court to revoke Annie's bail because the Schlesingers would no longer be custodians. Make it clear to Sierra that if, God forbid, we lose this trial, she'll be living with you until her mom is released. If you're willing to do that, I'll work with Sierra and counsel her through some of these tough issues. In a few months, she'll be strong enough to handle another trial."

  Quinn had a ton of questions. How was he supposed to raise a teenage girl? How would Rosemarie counsel Sierra from D.C.? But most important: "And if her mom gets a life sentence--what happens then?"

  Rosemarie thought for an uncomfortably long time, her face solemn. "That'd be a tough blow for anybody, Quinn. Sierra's psyche will
still be pretty fragile." She gave Quinn a tight smile. "I think you ought to plan on winning."

  * * *

  On the way home from the hospital, Quinn checked his missed calls and voice mails. He had three calls and two messages from Marc Boland. Guilt stabbed at Quinn as he returned his co-counsel's call. Soon he would have to tell Marc that he couldn't be part of Catherine's defense team. Just the thought of bailing out made him sick.

  Marc gave Quinn a quick rundown of the television interviews he had conducted that night and his schedule for the next day. "I'm getting hammered, Quinn. There's just too much to explain now--DNA evidence, the methohexital, the visions, Catherine's attack on her cellmate, and now a body turns up with a gash to the scalp, just like Catherine suggested."

  Quinn could hear the weariness in Marc's voice, the sound of a crusader on a lost cause.

  "I think we've got to consider changing our plea," Marc said.

  They discussed it for twenty minutes over the phone. Marc had seen the light, he said. He was willing to talk with Catherine about pleading not guilty by reason of insanity, relying on dissociative identity disorder. He wanted Quinn to take the lead. Marc also suggested they waive the preliminary hearing scheduled for next week, since they no longer had any hope of getting the case thrown out at that stage, and instead just ask for an early trial date.

  "Every day, this case gets worse," Marc said. "There's no sense giving the government a chance to parade all these grisly facts in front of the press at a preliminary hearing. If we're pleading insanity, let's line up our experts and get to trial before the press can completely crucify Catherine. And let's start laying the groundwork for an insanity plea during tomorrow's TV appearances. You can take the lead."

  Quinn hesitated. He couldn't agree to be lead lawyer for a case he would withdraw from in a week. Still, he had always believed that insanity was the right defense.

  "Let's take it one step at a time," Quinn suggested. "I'll start hinting at a possible insanity plea during tomorrow's interviews. You need to set up a meeting with Catherine."

  "I just can't believe she's a serial killer," Marc Boland said. "It's just crazy."

  Despite his sour mood, Quinn found irony in Marc's statement. "That's what I've been saying all along."

  60

  On Friday morning, Quinn showed up at all the local Las Vegas network affiliates and played cat and mouse with national hosts interviewing him via live satellite feeds. At 5:45 a.m. Pacific time, Quinn was sitting in the CBS studios, staring down yet another camera for his fourth and last interview of the morning. The national host of The Early Show was Thomas Kirkland, young and energetic with a full head of blond anchorman hair and a beaming white smile. He sat on a brown leather couch with his cohost and fired questions at Quinn, zeroing in on the latest evidence in Catherine O'Rourke's case.

  "You and Mr. Boland have previously denied that your client committed these crimes," stated Kirkland. "Has this new evidence changed that strategy? Some have speculated that Mr. Boland might have brought you in to quarterback an insanity defense."

  Quinn focused on the red light and gave the camera a serious look. "First of all, Mr. Boland is a highly capable defense lawyer and wouldn't need my help to put on an insanity defense. But sometimes a second set of eyes will see things the lead lawyer would have missed. With regard to an insanity defense, let's put it this way: the Catherine O'Rourke that I know would never have committed these heinous crimes."

  He paused, reminding himself to tread lightly. The problem with live television, as Quinn knew all too well, was that once you uttered a phrase, you could never take it back.

  Looking directly into the camera, Quinn continued, "Does that mean some other manifestation of Catherine O'Rourke--a second independent personality that she doesn't even know exists--couldn't possibly have committed this crime? I'm not willing to say one way or the other at this point, Tom. I do know that Catherine has suffered the kind of trauma in her life that can sometimes give rise to multiple personalities. Until we have a solid diagnosis, I just can't say."

  Kirkland slid forward a little. "So you haven't actually ruled out an insanity defense?"

  "We haven't ruled it in. We haven't ruled it out."

  "What specific incidents in Ms. O'Rourke's past are you referencing?"

  "I'm not prepared to say at this point."

  Thomas Kirkland frowned. He was a host for a national news show. He obviously considered it his birthright to know everything. "When will you make the call on whether to plead insanity?"

  "As soon as the psychiatric evaluation is complete."

  "Is that in a few days? a few weeks?"

  Quinn saw the cameraman flash a card. Three minutes left in the segment. Quinn would wait until the last possible moment to make a strong argument for Catherine's innocence. That way, Kirkland wouldn't have time to follow up before the break.

  "A week. Maybe two," Quinn said.

  "Let me shift gears for a second," Kirkland said.

  Though the anchorman's tone was casual, Quinn's red flags went up.

  "I want to ask a couple of questions about your sister's case."

  Quinn became more rigid. Annie's case hadn't been mentioned in the interview request. "Okay."

  "A few days ago, we reported that you were discussing a potential plea bargain with the state of Nevada, a deal where your client would plead guilty to voluntary manslaughter and serve three years. Care to comment on that?"

  "Not at this time," Quinn said. "I will say that I'm always willing to talk with the government. No trial is without risk, especially this one."

  "Okay," Kirkland said tentatively, twisting his brow as if Quinn's answer didn't make much sense.

  Arrogant jerk.

  "Then let me ask you this, and I hesitate to even bring this up, but we have confirmed sources, and we believe this to be an important part of a story that has attracted national interest. . . ."

  Quinn saw it coming, like a train wreck he couldn't avoid. His throat constricted, and he felt the blood rushing to his face.

  "Is it true that your client's daughter was admitted to the hospital after an attempt to take her own life? And if so, will that enter into your decision about whether to take any proffered plea bargain?"

  Unbelievable! Quinn wanted to jump through the camera and strangle the man. Humiliating Sierra on national TV!

  "I can't believe you would ask that question," Quinn said in a low voice, staring at the camera. "I just cannot believe you would violate this young girl's privacy like this." He felt his voice rising, veins bulging in his neck. "How is that relevant? How can you live with yourself, humiliating a thirteen-year-old?"

  "Mr. Newberg, we know this is an emotional issue for your--"

  But Quinn wasn't listening. He pulled the earpiece out and jerked the wire loose from his collar. In one motion, he stood and pulled the battery pack from his waist, dropping it to the floor. Without another word, he walked past the camera, grabbed his briefcase, and stormed out of the room before he said something he might really regret.

  He fumed all the way to his car in the parking garage, his rage literally blurring his vision. He couldn't believe they would do this. Aren't there any boundaries anymore?

  He started his car and dialed Carla Duncan's office number. When voice mail kicked in, he remembered how early it was. "I just finished an interview on CBS's Early Show," he said, his voice edged with tension. "They asked about Sierra's suicide attempt. I swear, Carla, if anybody from your office leaked that information, they're going to regret the day they were born." He hesitated; the message seemed so inadequate for how he felt. He pushed the End button.

  It didn't have to be Carla's office, he knew. The leak could have come from someone at the hospital or someone at the clerk's office or just someone who knew Annie and wanted to make a quick buck. He might never find out who it was.

  In the meantime, he had to think about damage control.

  He dialed Annie's number, and s
he answered on the first ring. "I know," she said. "I was watching."

  61

  After the Friday morning incident, Quinn swore off media interviews. He would try his case in court, the old-fashioned way. He refused to watch TV or pick up a newspaper. He gave terse "no comments" when the media hounds stuck microphones in his face.

  The hospital released Sierra late Friday morning, and both Sierra and Annie came to stay with Quinn. He gave them the single bedroom and relegated himself to the couch. Technically it was a violation of the court's order concerning Annie's bail, but Quinn didn't care. Things had changed. Sierra needed her mom. The media had embarrassed Sierra in front of the entire world. Quinn was going to protect his family.

  He talked to Marc Boland on four separate occasions Friday evening. "CBS overstepped their bounds," Marc told him. "You did the right thing by walking out."

  Both lawyers agreed they should waive Catherine's preliminary hearing. Marc said he would petition the court for an early trial date, and Quinn gave Marc his available dates. Quinn still felt like Benedict Arnold for not telling his co-counsel that he planned to withdraw.

  The phone number from the Virginia Beach jail showed up on Quinn's cell a couple of times over the weekend, no doubt Catherine O'Rourke calling collect, but Quinn ignored it. He felt guilty enough about withdrawing; there was no sense aggravating those feelings by talking to Catherine.

  Being around Sierra and Annie throughout the weekend was a painful experience. They all felt like captives in Quinn's two-million-dollar condo. A small pack of reporters waited just outside the gates of the complex for a glimpse of Las Vegas's current celebrities. Annie and Sierra refused to leave the condo, and to Quinn it felt like everyone was walking on eggshells. Sierra retreated inside herself, slumping her thin shoulders even more than usual and mumbling soft answers when Quinn or Annie asked her questions. The three of them watched a lot of movies.

  By late Sunday afternoon, Quinn was tired of being confined. "I'll be back," he announced as he grabbed his car keys. "Don't answer the phone."