By Reason of Insanity Read online

  "I don't want to live with my dad," Sierra said after Quinn finished. She was a smart kid, cutting right to the core issue that Quinn had left unspoken. "If he even is my dad."

  Seeing the fear in her eyes, Quinn wondered if he had done the right thing in telling her. He had always promised himself that if he ever had kids, he would always tell them the truth. Maybe it wasn't that easy. It didn't take a genius to know what Sierra was thinking. Her stepdad had tried to abuse her. She would be petrified at the thought of living with a different grown man she didn't even know.

  "I'm not going to let that happen," Quinn said. He reached out and put his hand on her forearm. "I've got a plan."

  Sierra stared down at the table and tried to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.

  "You've got to trust me," Quinn said. "Together, we'll get through this. This time, we'll win the case. It's all going to work out."

  * * *

  Later that night, as Quinn slept on the couch, the loud and insistent ringing of the phone jerked him awake. Pain shot through his right shoulder, and he grimaced, trying to collect his thoughts.

  He found the phone. "Hello."

  "This is Jimmy from the front desk," said a familiar voice.

  Quinn's groggy brain pieced it together. Jimmy, the night security guard.

  "I've got somebody here who belongs to you," Jimmy said.

  Quinn tensed and glanced around the apartment. His niece's bedroom door was closed. "Sierra?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  Suddenly Quinn was fully awake. "Don't let her go anywhere," he said. "I'll be right down."

  Quinn had fallen asleep in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. He put on his sandals and headed toward the door. The note on the kitchen table stopped him midstride.

  Dear Uncle Quinn,

  Thanks for everything you've done. Don't worry about me cause I'll be fine. I just think I might need to take off for a little while. It will be better for both of us. I'll come back after the trial when all this stuff is over. Pleeeeease, take care of yourself! I love you and miss you!!!

  Sierra

  Quinn felt a lump in his throat as he headed down to collect Sierra. What was she thinking?

  When he arrived in the lobby, Sierra had a worried look on her face, like a kid waiting in the principal's office for her parents to arrive. Quinn thanked Jimmy and led his niece back to the elevator.

  Quinn used the elevator ride to tell Sierra that this was no way to handle their problems. "You can't just run away," he scolded. "Where would you even go?"

  When she started to cry, Quinn backed off. He told her that he loved her and that they needed to stick together. She walked down the hallway to the condo without looking at him.

  "I just didn't want to cause you any trouble," she said, waiting for Quinn to unlock the door.

  Sierra kept things under control until she and Quinn sat down together on the couch. Without warning, she came unraveled. She sobbed uncontrollably and apologized over and over.

  Quinn didn't know what else to do, so he just held her with his good arm, let her cry, and tried to reassure her. "We can get through this together," he said. "But not if you try running away every time I turn my head."

  She cried for a few minutes, then pulled back and seemed to regain her composure. "You were snoring in that movie theater," she said.

  "I was not."

  "You were, Uncle Quinn; I swear. More like a snort. Kinda like this . . ." Sierra made a sound through her nose that made them both laugh.

  "I don't snore," said Quinn.

  "That is so untrue. I could barely hear the movie."

  They argued good-naturedly for a few minutes, and then Quinn suggested they talk in the morning. He had a plan and would tell her all about it then. Running away was not part of it.

  She forced another smile and promised to be there when he woke up. Just to be sure, after Sierra closed the door to the bedroom, Quinn pulled a few couch cushions, blankets, and pillows over to the front door and made his bed at the threshold.

  Life with a thirteen-year-old was turning out to be very interesting.

  70

  On Friday morning, Quinn's investigator called with a missing piece of the puzzle.

  "Who put the list of assets together for Richard Hofstetter's estate?" Billy Long asked.

  "Annie did. She was appointed as the executrix."

  "That's what I thought," growled Billy. "Did you know the list contains a slight oversight?"

  "I'm listening," said Quinn.

  "Your sister might not have known about this, but Hofstetter Jr. had a 15 percent limited partnership interest in the Oasis, a ratty casino about a mile south of the strip. He held the interest under the name of a Delaware corporation--Oasis Holdings--and Hofstetter Jr. was the only stockholder. Guess who recently made an offer for the Oasis?"

  "You're the investigator."

  "Yeah," complained Billy, "but you're the big-shot Vegas lawyer. You should know these things." He paused so that Quinn could appreciate Billy's brilliance. "Some of Daddy Hofstetter's business partners, that's who. The word on the street is that this property is the final piece of an assemblage of land that would allow for the next big Vegas casino, the granddaddy of them all."

  Quinn was taking notes. So far, it still didn't add up. Hofstetter Jr.'s interest in the Oasis would pass to either Annie, if she was found innocent, or Sierra, if Annie was disqualified from inheriting her husband's estate by virtue of a guilty verdict. How could Hofstetter Sr. benefit from this?

  "So here's what makes it interesting," said Billy, anticipating Quinn's next question. "Some of the other partners in the Oasis are tied in with nearby casino owners on the south side of the city who don't want the competition. Hofstetter Jr.'s shares might be the deciding votes."

  Quinn put down his pen. No more diagrams were necessary. Sierra was only thirteen. If her stepfather's limited partnership interest fell to her rather than Annie, voting rights would be determined by Sierra's guardian. And if Claude Tanner gained custody of Sierra, he would also obtain those voting rights.

  "You think Daddy Hofstetter found Claude Tanner and cut a deal with him?" Quinn asked.

  "Nah," Billy said. "I think Claude Tanner just had a sudden and irresistible urge to spend time with a daughter he hadn't bothered to see in thirteen years."

  Quinn had finally found his match in the sarcasm department. "Can we prove any of this?" he asked.

  "The limited partnership interest and Delaware Corporation are matters of record. The rest is just street talk. When somebody does an assemblage deal like this, they use a lot of shell corporations and offshore holding companies that hide the ownership."

  "I'll pay whatever it takes," Quinn said. "Just get me proof."

  "Legally?" Billy asked.

  "This is my family, Billy. Whatever it takes."

  "I'll do my best, Mr. Newberg. But these guys don't like outsiders poking around in their business."

  Quinn's own rotator cuff could have told him that.

  "One last question," Quinn said. "Is there a time frame when this vote might occur?"

  "It's probably not a short-term thing," Billy responded. "My guess is that Tanner wants to get permanent legal custody and then wait a few months before he exercises his right as custodian of the limited partnership interest."

  So he doesn't need custody of Sierra right away, thought Quinn. When he hung up with Billy, he started making a few adjustments to his plan.

  Five minutes later, Melanie barged into his office, her face reflecting the bad news. "You might want to turn on the TV," she said. Quinn kept one on his credenza but rarely used it. "They're saying the DNA for Sierra's father is a match."

  Though Quinn had suspected this would be the case, he still felt the blow. "Set up a meeting with Mr. Tanner and his lawyer," Quinn said. "This afternoon, if possible."

  * * *

  Quinn took a seat in a high-backed swivel chair across the table from Claude Tanner and his
famous Vegas divorce attorney, Kyle Richardson. Quinn studied Tanner's narrow face for glimpses of Sierra but could find none. Sierra's father quietly regarded Quinn with narrow and wary eyes, letting his attorney do most of the talking. Kyle Richardson had thinning blond hair, a massive ring, and skin cooked medium well by the local tanning booths. When celebrities needed a Vegas divorce attorney, Richardson was generally their first call.

  Quinn let Richardson ramble for a few minutes about the results of the DNA tests and his client's stellar chances for obtaining custody of Sierra. "He's not in this for the money or the publicity," Richardson declared. "He just wants what's best for Sierra."

  Quinn wanted to throw up.

  "If that's what he really wants," Quinn said, his voice even, "he should have stayed away."

  The comment drew little reaction from Tanner, just a slight narrowing of the eyes and another layer of animosity added to the hardened stare. He let his lawyer respond for him.

  "If your client could have avoided killing someone, Mr. Tanner would have been pleased to stay away."

  Quinn swallowed a comeback; arguing would help no one. "I think we should work this out. One thing is certain: a court battle will not help Sierra."

  Richardson shrugged. "I'm listening."

  "If Annie is acquitted, the court will probably award her permanent custody. After all, she's Sierra's mother and took care of the girl from birth." He waited for a reaction, but Richardson and Tanner both acted noncommittal. At least they didn't disagree. "If she's convicted, I think I'll have a fair shot at getting custody myself."

  Richardson started to object, but Quinn cut him off with a raised palm. "Let me finish."

  Quinn turned to Tanner. Though he couldn't say it this bluntly, he knew the man wasn't interested in temporary custody for the sake of Sierra. Tanner was only interested in legal custody for the sake of voting rights. Quinn's offer would be a calculated bet that Tanner would trade the possibility of temporary custody now in order to increase his chances of getting permanent legal custody, including voting rights, later.

  "As things stand right now, if I lose Annie's case, I'll fight you for custody," Quinn said. "Sierra is thirteen. The court will put a lot of weight behind her wishes. She wants to live with me. Plus, courts don't like fathers who take off when their kids are born and pop back into their lives at times of . . ." Quinn hesitated. "Shall we say . . . 'opportunity'? You might get some kind of visitation rights, but I'm prepared to fight for custody."

  "Your analysis has so many holes I don't know where to start," Richardson interjected.

  "I'm sure," Quinn said. "But here's the bottom line: I'm prepared to waive all that. I'm prepared to sign a deal today, right now, that says I won't contest custody if Annie loses. But there is one condition."

  He had their attention. Even Richardson didn't interrupt.

  "Sierra can't handle a temporary custody battle right now. She needs stability. She needs a familiar environment. She's too emotionally distraught to be forced into a reconciliation arrangement with a father she doesn't even know." Quinn leaned forward and felt his throat tightening. There was so much at stake. "If Annie and I lose the case, even if the jury enters a compromise verdict of guilty but mentally ill, you get sole custody of Sierra. No court battles. No contest of any sort. Just a reasonable visitation schedule for me. In exchange for that promise, you agree not to file for custody or visitation rights until Annie's court case is resolved. And if Annie wins, she gets permanent custody, and you get reasonable visitation.

  "In the meantime, I'll put Sierra in a stable situation where she can get counseling and recover from some of the psychological blows she's been suffering. If you care about your daughter, you'll give her a chance to get back on her feet."

  For a few long seconds, nobody spoke. Quinn's heart rate spiked but he tried to seem calm, as if he held all the cards.

  "Give me a minute to talk to my client," Richardson said.

  Ninety minutes later, Quinn signed the documents and promised to get Annie's signature later that night. He thanked the two men and hustled out of the building before they could change their minds.

  The weight of the case now threatened to crush him. Quinn was a trial lawyer, accustomed to pressure and high-risk litigation decisions. But nothing in his past had prepared him for a case this personal, with stakes this high. If he won, he could save the lives of Annie and Sierra, the two women he cared about most.

  And if he lost, he might destroy them both.

  Only time would tell whether this was a brilliant litigation strategy or legal suicide.

  71

  The next day, Quinn received Dr. Mancini's written psychiatric evaluation of Catherine O'Rourke. They would, of course, only use it if Catherine could be convinced to plead insanity. The first part of the report was loaded with qualifiers--"This report assumes, without independent investigation, the integrity and credibility of the forensic evidence linking Ms. O'Rourke to the various crimes attributed to the Avenger of Blood." But the main part of the report was vintage Mancini, providing insights that had never occurred to Quinn--or anyone else for that matter.

  Later that day, Melanie set up a conference call for Quinn, Rosemarie, and Marc Boland so that the expert could explain her findings.

  "There are three factors that allow me to support a diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder," she said confidently. "First is the type of rape that Catherine experienced at William and Mary. It was a former boyfriend, compounding the emotional devastation of rape with the betrayal of trust. Also, it occurred while she was drugged, meaning that she endured this humiliation primarily at a subconscious level, wounding her psyche in a way that her conscious mind never totally comprehended.

  "Second, as I detail in the report, the identity for the Avenger of Blood seems to come from an undergrad comparative religions course Catherine was taking at the time of the rape. Alter personalities often exhibit traits consistent with the environment that existed when the personality was first created, even if the alter personality does not manifest itself until years later. It's almost like a snapshot frozen in time. This is one of the ways we distinguish between patients who fake an alter personality and patients who are genuinely psychotic. Catherine, of course, would have no way of knowing this."

  Rosemarie paused for a moment. "Are you guys still there?" she asked.

  "Just taking notes, professor," Quinn said.

  "Good stuff," Marc Boland echoed.

  "The third thing," said Rosemarie, "is that I think I've discovered the triggering event. I spent a couple of days digesting reams of newspaper articles written by Catherine. She's an excellent reporter. Her writing is clear, fair, objective, sometimes even detached. But the tone of her writing on Annie's case was very different.

  "From the beginning, she seemed more of a cheerleader than a reporter. Plus, it seemed to me that she almost obsessed over it. Her writing was much more emotional than the other articles. Quinn, I think this alter personality saw what Annie did and absorbed your strong defense of your sister, even before that case went to trial. In some ways, I think it gave this personality permission to seek its own revenge, mirroring what Annie did. Perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not, the blood avengers that Catherine learned about in college were the three female furies of Greek mythology, acting as bloodthirsty prosecutors for crimes against innocent victims. In a way, Catherine felt a sense of bonding with Annie--they're both female furies for the twenty-first century."

  It made sense, Quinn thought, scribbling furiously. He was already thinking about ways to dramatically illustrate this at trial. The jury would eat it up--Greek mythology, handwriting on the wall, a tortured subconscious. Freud couldn't have written a better script.

  "Once I started putting this together, I was curious about how Quinn came to be involved in the case," Rosemarie said. "Marc explained that it was Catherine's idea to hire him and that Catherine had been pretty adamant about it. This fits my theory, Quinn. Subconsciously
, Catherine's alter ego wanted Annie's defender to take her case too."

  Rosemarie paused again. "There's more, but most of it is in my report. Do you two gentlemen have any questions?"

  Quinn loved the report and remained quiet. Not surprisingly, Marc Boland jumped in.

  "I do have one question," he said. "How do we convince Catherine that pleading insanity is her best hope?"

  "I think that job is best left to her white knight," said Rosemarie.

  Quinn didn't argue. In fact, he rather liked the analogy.

  72

  Airplane flights had long ago lost any novelty for Quinn, but as he and Sierra left Vegas for Virginia Beach, his niece had her face plastered against the window. She had a perfect view of the Vegas skyline, the El Dorado range, and Lake Mead as the plane climbed to cruising altitude. The flight was not crowded, so Quinn took an aisle seat, leaving the seat between him and Sierra empty.

  When the Fasten Seatbelt light went off, Sierra broke out her iPod and moved into the center seat, closer to Quinn. Before long, the gangly teenager had curled into an awkward sleeping position, propping her pillow against Quinn's shoulder. Though it hurt the injured shoulder, he didn't move until Sierra fell asleep. Then he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. It was amazing how much his niece had already changed him.

  Quinn's thoughts turned to Annie and her stoic good-bye with Sierra last night. Though being separated from Sierra tore at Annie's heart, she had put on a brave face and tried valiantly not to show her emotions.

  Overall, Annie seemed to be weathering jail pretty well. She was a survivor. Plus, Quinn had called in some favors to get Annie her own cell in a minimum-security wing of the Vegas jail, with work responsibilities as a jail trustee. Doing time was never easy, but Annie's situation was certainly better than Catherine's.