By Reason of Insanity

86
Catherine found out why Quinn hadn't objected about two seconds into his cross-examination.
"Wow," he said, buttoning his suit coat. "Isn't that straying a little far from your field of expertise--making predictions about crimes that haven't yet occurred? You're not a fortune-teller, are you?"
"Objection."
"Sustained."
Quinn smiled. "To your knowledge, did the police find any evidence that my client even knew where Mr. Towns lived?"
"No."
"Any evidence that she had contacted him since college?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"So your theory is that Catherine O'Rourke gets raped in college and then, eight years later, decides to kill her rapist but figures, 'Hey, before I even figure out where he lives I might as well kidnap a few babies and kill a few men I've never met first in order to deflect attention from me?'"
Gates stood, his face red. "Objection, Judge. That totally mischaracterizes the testimony."
"He can answer," Rosencrance ruled.
"When you don't deal with the kind of pain that Ms. O'Rourke suffered eight years ago, Mr. Newberg, it can cause you to do some pretty--" Chow hesitated as if searching for the right word--"desperate things."
"Is the word you were actually looking for more like bizarre or crazy?" Quinn asked.
"Objection."
"Sustained."
"Okay, let's switch gears. Were you aware that Detective Webb, acting as a confidential informant for the newspaper, told my client that Reverend Harold Pryor was a prime suspect and that he had no alibi?"
"I wasn't aware of that, no."
"Assuming that was the case," Quinn said, "does that affect your opinion on whether Ms. O'Rourke was just creating this 'mythical Avenger persona' to divert attention away from what you called her ultimate crime?"
Chow looked pensive, his brow knit. "No. I don't see why that would change anything."
In response, Quinn talked slowly, making sure Dr. Chow understood his point. "If Catherine O'Rourke knew she was the killer and wanted to deflect suspicions by inventing these visions, why didn't she provide a description of Reverend Pryor as the Avenger of Blood when she reported her visions to Detective Webb?"
Chow sat there for a moment, his brain apparently churning through different possibilities. "I'm not sure," he eventually admitted. "Perhaps she believed it would seem too obvious."
"Or perhaps," Quinn countered, "my client is telling the truth."
Quinn chipped away at Chow's opinion for several more hours on Friday, belittling the man's opinion that DID could not possibly have been caused by the rape that occurred during Catherine's college years. Quinn also suggested that the precipitating event Chow was supposedly searching for might have been Catherine's coverage of Anne Newberg's murder trial.
"Did it ever occur to you," Quinn asked, "that Catherine O'Rourke's extensive involvement with and coverage of that murder trial--where another woman took vengeance for years of abuse--might have triggered the manifestation of this alter personality in Catherine's life?"
Chow hesitated, but then answered confidently. "No, I don't believe that's the case."
"But you never even considered that possibility until this very moment, did you?" Quinn pressed.
"That's true," Chow admitted. "But that doesn't change my opinion."
"You've been paid too much to switch at the last minute; is that it?"
"Objection!" barked Gates. Then he mumbled loud enough for the jury to hear, "That's ridiculous."
"Sustained."
As Quinn battled with Chow, Catherine silently battled her own emotions. She still found it hard to believe this was her murder trial, her Vegas lawyer posturing and mocking and drawing objections left and right from the ever-serious Boyd Gates.
The emotion that surprised Catherine most, and the one she had the hardest time dismissing, was a growing attraction to the man who now commanded the courtroom. Catherine had always prided herself in being logical--a skeptical newspaper reporter who knew how to cut through appearances and smoke screens. And Quinn, she reminded herself, was a Las Vegas performer, a showman, a trial lawyer. He seemed to care deeply for her, but it was probably all just an act. Just a lawyer's way of bonding with a client.
Quinn obviously believed that Catherine had killed two men and kidnapped three babies. Bluntly put, he thought Catherine was certifiably crazy. How could he have feelings for her at the same time?
But there was no denying what had happened after court on Wednesday. Sure, Quinn had been comforting a troubled client. But there was more. Catherine had felt the electricity when they touched. She would never forget the way he brushed the hair behind her ear and grazed his fingers along her cheeks. Looking through the slot of the metal door, she had seen something special in Quinn's eyes, a look of pain because he couldn't hold her. Had she just been imagining that? Was this another way her mind was playing games on her, distorting reality by making her believe Quinn was a handsome prince here to deliver Cat from this nightmare, only to be disappointed when he moved on to another client at the conclusion of the case?
"No further questions," Quinn said, staring at the beleaguered witness for a moment before taking a seat. Gates did a quick redirect as the entire courtroom seemed to breathe a little easier, relaxing from the tension that Quinn had summoned for his cross-examination.
"It's nearly 4:00," said a weary Judge Rosencrance when Gates finished. "This may be a good time to adjourn for the weekend."
But Gates apparently did not want to leave the jurors with the words of Chow's cross-examination ringing in their ears. "The commonwealth has one more witness we would like to present today, if possible. Her direct examination won't take more than ten minutes."
Rosencrance sighed and turned to the defense lawyers. Quinn stood. "Your Honor, we'd like to let the jurors get a jump on the Friday afternoon traffic. And we wouldn't mind one ourselves."
The jurors, Catherine noted, looked grateful.
But Gates wasn't through. "As long as Mr. Newberg doesn't drag out this cross-examination, we can do both--hear the witness and get a jump on traffic."
"Okay," said Rosencrance, though her tone said she didn't like it, "call your next witness."
"The commonwealth calls Tasha Moorehouse."
Catherine couldn't believe it. She turned to the door that led to the holding cell. The deputy disappeared through the door and a few seconds later came back, trailed by Tasha. She took the stand, dressed in a nice pair of slacks and a blouse, her face stern and unyielding. She didn't even look in Cat's direction.
Why was Gates calling Tasha to the stand?
Maybe he just wanted her to provide corroborating testimony about Cat's fight with Holly or the day Cat went crazy when Kenny Towns appeared on television. Cat quickly scrolled through her memory of the thousands of conversations she'd had with Tasha, the way she had confided in her cellmate.
Cat couldn't recall a single incriminating statement. And even if she could, she couldn't imagine Tasha turning on her. They were both members of the Widows. Tasha had been on Cat's side since day one.
But Cat's stomach was in utter turmoil.
Why won't she look at me?



86
Catherine found out why Quinn hadn't objected about two seconds into his cross-examination.
"Wow," he said, buttoning his suit coat. "Isn't that straying a little far from your field of expertise--making predictions about crimes that haven't yet occurred? You're not a fortune-teller, are you?"
"Objection."
"Sustained."
Quinn smiled. "To your knowledge, did the police find any evidence that my client even knew where Mr. Towns lived?"
"No."
"Any evidence that she had contacted him since college?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"So your theory is that Catherine O'Rourke gets raped in college and then, eight years later, decides to kill her rapist but figures, 'Hey, before I even figure out where he lives I might as well kidnap a few babies and kill a few men I've never met first in order to deflect attention from me?'"
Gates stood, his face red. "Objection, Judge. That totally mischaracterizes the testimony."
"He can answer," Rosencrance ruled.
"When you don't deal with the kind of pain that Ms. O'Rourke suffered eight years ago, Mr. Newberg, it can cause you to do some pretty--" Chow hesitated as if searching for the right word--"desperate things."
"Is the word you were actually looking for more like bizarre or crazy?" Quinn asked.
"Objection."
"Sustained."
"Okay, let's switch gears. Were you aware that Detective Webb, acting as a confidential informant for the newspaper, told my client that Reverend Harold Pryor was a prime suspect and that he had no alibi?"
"I wasn't aware of that, no."
"Assuming that was the case," Quinn said, "does that affect your opinion on whether Ms. O'Rourke was just creating this 'mythical Avenger persona' to divert attention away from what you called her ultimate crime?"
Chow looked pensive, his brow knit. "No. I don't see why that would change anything."
In response, Quinn talked slowly, making sure Dr. Chow understood his point. "If Catherine O'Rourke knew she was the killer and wanted to deflect suspicions by inventing these visions, why didn't she provide a description of Reverend Pryor as the Avenger of Blood when she reported her visions to Detective Webb?"
Chow sat there for a moment, his brain apparently churning through different possibilities. "I'm not sure," he eventually admitted. "Perhaps she believed it would seem too obvious."
"Or perhaps," Quinn countered, "my client is telling the truth."
Quinn chipped away at Chow's opinion for several more hours on Friday, belittling the man's opinion that DID could not possibly have been caused by the rape that occurred during Catherine's college years. Quinn also suggested that the precipitating event Chow was supposedly searching for might have been Catherine's coverage of Anne Newberg's murder trial.
"Did it ever occur to you," Quinn asked, "that Catherine O'Rourke's extensive involvement with and coverage of that murder trial--where another woman took vengeance for years of abuse--might have triggered the manifestation of this alter personality in Catherine's life?"
Chow hesitated, but then answered confidently. "No, I don't believe that's the case."
"But you never even considered that possibility until this very moment, did you?" Quinn pressed.
"That's true," Chow admitted. "But that doesn't change my opinion."
"You've been paid too much to switch at the last minute; is that it?"
"Objection!" barked Gates. Then he mumbled loud enough for the jury to hear, "That's ridiculous."
"Sustained."
As Quinn battled with Chow, Catherine silently battled her own emotions. She still found it hard to believe this was her murder trial, her Vegas lawyer posturing and mocking and drawing objections left and right from the ever-serious Boyd Gates.
The emotion that surprised Catherine most, and the one she had the hardest time dismissing, was a growing attraction to the man who now commanded the courtroom. Catherine had always prided herself in being logical--a skeptical newspaper reporter who knew how to cut through appearances and smoke screens. And Quinn, she reminded herself, was a Las Vegas performer, a showman, a trial lawyer. He seemed to care deeply for her, but it was probably all just an act. Just a lawyer's way of bonding with a client.
Quinn obviously believed that Catherine had killed two men and kidnapped three babies. Bluntly put, he thought Catherine was certifiably crazy. How could he have feelings for her at the same time?
But there was no denying what had happened after court on Wednesday. Sure, Quinn had been comforting a troubled client. But there was more. Catherine had felt the electricity when they touched. She would never forget the way he brushed the hair behind her ear and grazed his fingers along her cheeks. Looking through the slot of the metal door, she had seen something special in Quinn's eyes, a look of pain because he couldn't hold her. Had she just been imagining that? Was this another way her mind was playing games on her, distorting reality by making her believe Quinn was a handsome prince here to deliver Cat from this nightmare, only to be disappointed when he moved on to another client at the conclusion of the case?
"No further questions," Quinn said, staring at the beleaguered witness for a moment before taking a seat. Gates did a quick redirect as the entire courtroom seemed to breathe a little easier, relaxing from the tension that Quinn had summoned for his cross-examination.
"It's nearly 4:00," said a weary Judge Rosencrance when Gates finished. "This may be a good time to adjourn for the weekend."
But Gates apparently did not want to leave the jurors with the words of Chow's cross-examination ringing in their ears. "The commonwealth has one more witness we would like to present today, if possible. Her direct examination won't take more than ten minutes."
Rosencrance sighed and turned to the defense lawyers. Quinn stood. "Your Honor, we'd like to let the jurors get a jump on the Friday afternoon traffic. And we wouldn't mind one ourselves."
The jurors, Catherine noted, looked grateful.
But Gates wasn't through. "As long as Mr. Newberg doesn't drag out this cross-examination, we can do both--hear the witness and get a jump on traffic."
"Okay," said Rosencrance, though her tone said she didn't like it, "call your next witness."
"The commonwealth calls Tasha Moorehouse."
Catherine couldn't believe it. She turned to the door that led to the holding cell. The deputy disappeared through the door and a few seconds later came back, trailed by Tasha. She took the stand, dressed in a nice pair of slacks and a blouse, her face stern and unyielding. She didn't even look in Cat's direction.
Why was Gates calling Tasha to the stand?
Maybe he just wanted her to provide corroborating testimony about Cat's fight with Holly or the day Cat went crazy when Kenny Towns appeared on television. Cat quickly scrolled through her memory of the thousands of conversations she'd had with Tasha, the way she had confided in her cellmate.
Cat couldn't recall a single incriminating statement. And even if she could, she couldn't imagine Tasha turning on her. They were both members of the Widows. Tasha had been on Cat's side since day one.
But Cat's stomach was in utter turmoil.
Why won't she look at me?



89
One thing about solitary confinement--it gave a person time to think. And to read. On Friday night, her third consecutive night in solitary, Cat did a lot of both.
She might have been the only one, but she still believed in her own innocence. Most of the time. Not just innocence by reason of insanity, a game that lawyers played, but total and complete exoneration. She wasn't the Avenger of Blood. She hadn't killed Paul Donaldson. And she certainly hadn't killed those babies. Why wouldn't anyone believe her?
Cat was convinced that her visions were the key to solving this case. A few weeks ago, when she had embraced this conclusion, she'd decided to explore every possible explanation for the visions. If she knew what caused them, maybe she could figure out why she stopped having them. And, more importantly, the identity of the real killer.
She'd read the biblical book of Daniel at least three times. In Cat's visions, there was handwriting on the wall. Belshazzar, king of Babylon, had seen handwriting on the wall. Daniel had interpreted what that handwriting meant. All throughout the book of Daniel, kings had dreams or visions, and Daniel interpreted them. All the dreams and visions were messages from God. His finger literally wrote the words on the wall.
Dr. Mancini had seemed to embrace this spiritual explanation, at least in the early days before she had proffered her report about Cat's insanity. "God communicates through His written Word," she had told Cat. "And He showed us what love was like when He sent His Son to live among us. But occasionally, He also communicates through dreams and visions. Treat it as a gift, Catherine. Embrace these visions as God working through you."
But Cat was sitting in prison as a result of the visions. They certainly didn't feel like a gift.
She explored other explanations as well, scientific theories, but few of these seemed very plausible. Cat had read two books about science and the paranormal cover to cover. One book, Spook, dealt with scientific explanations of various aspects of the afterlife. It was, according to the author, "spirituality treated like crop science." The other book, Ghost Hunters, was about William James and a group of scientists called the Society for Physical Research, detailing their search for scientific proof of life after death.
Cat thought the scientists were every bit as confused as she was. They did, however, provide a few theories that made Cat think. Some members of the Society for Physical Research believed that telepathy could be viewed as a unique way that certain gifted humans communicated. Perhaps, in addition to the audible waves generated by voice patterns, humans also communicated through invisible and inaudible waves much like electromagnetic waves. Maybe some humans, like Catherine, were exceptionally tuned in to such waves, more so than the normal person.
This could mean that Cat's visions were the result of receiving information subliminally from another person who knew about these crimes. The most likely suspect was her confidential source, Jamarcus Webb. Maybe she had received subliminal information from Jamarcus and stored it away until it came out during the visions. Such an explanation would also account for why Cat hadn't received any more visions recently, since she had stopped meeting with Jamarcus.
Other scientists believed that dying persons sometimes gave off strong invisible signals--they called them "crisis apparitions"--which explained why many times people reported having an uneasy feeling at the precise moment of a relative's death, even if the dying relative lived quite a distance away. But Cat wasn't related to any of these folks. And her first two visions had occurred well after the actual kidnappings.
There was a final explanation, one so troubling that Cat rejected it out of hand. Demonic forces were sometimes responsible for dreams and visions, especially if someone had dabbled in the occult. Surely this couldn't be the case in Cat's life. She wasn't exactly a nun, but she hadn't been flirting with the dark side either. Not even in her childhood could she remember being part of a seance or even having her palm read by an amusement park gypsy.
On Friday night, Cat fell asleep still reading her books. She awoke, as usual, at 4:30 a.m. to the annoying sound of a guard scraping a flashlight over the prison bars. It had been another dreamless night. Wherever this power was coming from--whether it was spiritual or telepathic or something else--it had apparently deserted Cat during her hour of greatest need. Frustrated, she picked up her books and started reading again. Maybe she was missing something.


90
On Saturday, Rosemarie Mancini and Sierra came into town, and Quinn spent most of the day with his niece. He could tell that Sierra's time with Rosemarie had done her a lot of good. She seemed more self-confident and relaxed, full of chatter about her new D.C. friends. She and Quinn spent the afternoon lying on the beach, though neither of them set foot in the water. They went shopping for Sierra's school clothes at the Lynnhaven Mall and ate dinner on the back deck of a fish house nestled along the Lynnhaven River. They talked a lot about Annie, Quinn virtually guaranteeing an acquittal for Sierra's mom the next time around.
"I like D.C.," Sierra said. "And I like Rosemarie."
The first time Quinn had heard his niece use Rosemarie Mancini's first name, he had winced. "She told me to call her that," Sierra had said. Now, it seemed natural, indicative of a growing level of friendship and trust between them. It was hard to believe that a few months ago this same young girl had been suicidal.
On Sunday, Quinn and Rosemarie got down to work, slugging through her direct examination and practicing the questions Gates might bring up on cross. They still had a lot of ground to cover at 5 p.m. when Quinn received a phone call from Billy Long. "Can I call you back?" asked Quinn. "I'm meeting with Dr. Mancini."
"No," said Billy. "This won't keep."
Billy sounded serious enough that Quinn decided not to argue. "Okay, what's up?"
"You need to be alone when you hear this," insisted Billy.
"It's okay. I'm with Dr. Mancini."
"That's not alone."
Annoyed, Quinn asked Rosemarie if she could give him a minute. After she left the conference room, Quinn said, "This better be good. I trust Rosemarie with my life."
"I found one of the Carver babies," Billy said.
"What?"
"I found one of the Carver twins. The little boy."
"You found the body?"
"I found the baby, Quinn. Alive. Healthy. Crying and crawling and pooping in his diaper."
It took Quinn a second to catch his breath; he wanted to pump his fist in the air. Alive! But before he reacted, a crushing truth hit him. This would complicate things. It was great for the Carvers, but what about the case?
"Where?" Quinn asked. Before Billy could answer, another thought: "How'd you find him when half the cops in Virginia are looking for him?"
"He's in L.A.," said Billy. "Asian Central. I put the word out that I had a wealthy client who wanted to adopt a little boy without all the red tape. One thing led to another, and I stumbled across a few black-market baby operations. From there, you probably don't want to know, but let's just say I can squeeze folks in a way the cops can't."
"How do you know for sure it's Chi Ying?"
"I've seen him," Billy responded. "And everything fits. The timing, the age, and he looks just like the pictures. I even sent two digital photos via e-mail to a colleague of mine who does digital facial analysis. He says it's the same kid."
Alarm bells went off for Quinn. "What did you tell this colleague?"
"I'm not a complete idiot," Billy said. "I told him one was a picture of the kid while he was with the Carvers and the other, we think, is a picture of the kid when he was still in China. I told him we were trying to locate Chi's birth parents in China to ask them some questions, and we wanted to make sure we had the right kid."
The cover story sounded like a stretch to Quinn, but he let it pass. "Did you track down how Chi got to this new family?"
"I hit a lot of dead ends on that line. To be honest, I wasn't sure I wanted to know."
"Why?"
"Well . . ." Billy stretched out the word, apparently measuring his thoughts. "If Ms. O'Rourke's innocent, somebody's done a masterful job setting her up. If that's the case, I'm presuming they would have made it look like the money for those babies somehow went to Ms. O'Rourke. If she actually killed Donaldson and Archibald, it's even worse."
Billy paused and coughed, then picked up on his line of thought. "One of the things that always made me think our client might actually be insane is the fact that somebody killed those babies. Frankly, I've never heard of a woman killing a little baby unless she was totally nuts. But now we know that somebody went to a lot of trouble to make sure at least one of those babies didn't die. It seems to me somebody just wanted people to think the babies were dead so everyone would assume that whoever did this was crazy. I was afraid that if I figured out who sold those babies to the black-market folks, we might not like the answers."
Quinn reached the same conclusion even as Billy was talking. This would not be good for their case unless they could tie somebody else to the kidnappings. It would be quite a stretch to make a jury believe that the Avenger of Blood, Catherine's alternate personality, had kidnapped Chi only to sell him on the black market. Killing a baby would indicate insanity. But kidnapping a baby and selling him on the black market showed premeditation and deception over an extended length of time.
"Whom have you talked to about this?" Quinn asked.
"I work for you," Billy said. "Why would I talk to anybody else?"
"Are you still in L.A.?"
"Yeah."
"I need you on the first flight back to Norfolk. We might want you to testify."



91
Quinn Newberg and Marc Boland had not requested to meet together with Cat since Quinn entered the case. But on Sunday night, the deputy escorting her to the attorney interview booth told her that her "lawyers" had requested a meeting.
"Which one?" Cat asked.
"Both."
When she arrived, Bo was sitting in the chair on the other side of the bulletproof glass, and Quinn was standing behind him--two men squeezed into a booth designed for one.
Cat sat down, nerves prickling the back of her neck. "What's going on?" she asked, trying to read their faces.
"We've got some important news," Bo said.
They both looked so serious that Cat felt her stomach drop. Have they discovered another body?
"Billy Long thinks he has found Chi Ying, the Carvers' little boy, alive and well in Los Angeles."
Cat gasped and put her hand over her mouth. She felt herself trembling, tears welling in her eyes. She tried to say something but couldn't speak.
"Obviously, this is great news," Bo said, though his face indicated otherwise, "assuming we can verify it. Billy had an expert look at some digital photos to confirm the identity, but we don't have any fingerprints or DNA analysis yet."
"I don't know what to say," Cat managed. A wave of gratitude flooded her, washing away emotions that had tormented her since her arrest. It took her a few seconds to regain her composure. She wiped at her eyes, then took a deep breath. "What about his sister?"
"We don't know about her yet," Bo said. "Or about Rayshad Milburn. But we think there's a good chance they're alive too."
Cat couldn't believe this. It was the break she had been hoping for, praying for.
"The thing is," Bo continued, "we haven't been able to track down how the little Carver boy ended up out there. Billy tells us that Chi got placed through a black-market baby operation but that he ended up with a good family. We can't get a bead on who delivered him to the operation in the first place."
The seriousness of Cat's attorneys took the edge off her euphoria. What did this mean for the case?
Bo anticipated her question. "Quinn and I have been kicking this around for the past hour or so." Both lawyers stared intently at Cat as Bo talked, apparently searching for some type of reaction. "If this information gets out, it would dramatically impact our case in two ways, both negative. First, it would demonstrate a level of planning and deceit that would make it much harder, maybe impossible, to prove insanity. And second, it would look like you had purposefully misled the investigators when you described your visions, since you described the babies being strapped into an electric chair. Boyd Gates will argue that you created this scenario of dead babies just to make a case for insanity if you got caught when you went after Towns."
"But I didn't go after Towns," Cat protested. "And I didn't kidnap those babies. This is what I've been telling you."
"We understand that," Quinn said, though his tone was unconvincing. "But it's our job to do what's best for you. If we try to change our plea now, the judge and jury will crucify us. We need to keep making our case for insanity but at the same time have Billy continue this investigation. If we can link somebody besides you to the kidnappings, we can change our plea when we have hard evidence. If not, we continue to push insanity. Even if we lose the case, we can always move to reopen based on the results of Billy's investigation."
Cat's head swirled with confusion. Bury the fact that one of the twins is still alive? How can that be right? She realized, more from the looks on her lawyers' faces than from the words they were saying, that they didn't want to know who had sold the babies. They still believed she was guilty.
"I'm not on trial for the kidnappings. Would we be able to reopen this murder case based on information relating to the Carver twins?"
Both men hesitated, which told Cat everything. "It's not a certain thing," Bo said. "And it depends on the type of evidence. But we think it's likely."
"What happens if this little boy disappears in the meantime? I mean, maybe his parents find out about our case and put two and two together. What then?"
Bo leaned forward and lowered his voice. "This isn't without risk, Catherine. But we've got no legal obligation to reveal this information. Both Quinn and I believe it's not in your best interest to have it come out right now."
Catherine looked from Marc Boland to Quinn Newberg and back to Marc.
"You've got to trust us, Catherine," Marc said. "You're not objective in this. We are."
She put her face in her hands and tried to think. Images of the babies in the electric chairs came rushing back to her, making her shudder. She felt pressure building inside her head, saw the walls of the small interview room start billowing.
"What if I say no?" she asked.
Quinn spoke, his expression showing the strain. "We'd ask the court for leave to withdraw," he said softly. "We're committed to the insanity defense, Catherine. I know it's hard for you to accept, but on these facts, it's the only thing that makes sense."
She looked at Bo, who nodded his head.
"Then I don't know why you came by," Cat said, the frustration overwhelming her. "Just do what you've got to do."
She stared at them, her own lawyers, two men she admired and trusted--but even they couldn't accept the possibility that their client just might be innocent.
"Are we done?" she asked.
"We're done," Bo said softly.
"Good." Cat rose from her seat and turned to the door, knocking loudly. She left with the deputy, not bothering to thank her lawyers or tell them good-bye.


92
Back in her cell, Catherine wrestled with her emotions. Concealing the information about Chi Ying just seemed so wrong. She wanted to call Quinn collect and talk with him alone, but she didn't have phone privileges in solitary confinement.
She knew Quinn and Bo cared about her. But she also knew that in their minds she had killed two people and kidnapped three kids. Technically, they might consider her not guilty by reason of insanity. But on a deeper level, they believed she was guilty as sin.
The incredible thing was that for a while she had even doubted herself. She still did, at times. But something about this newest piece of information seemed to shake her out of a fog. I didn't do that. The doubts weren't entirely gone, but they no longer dominated.
Cat couldn't shake the image of little Chi Ying from her mind. Should he have to stay with a family that would buy a baby on the black market just because Cat's lawyers thought it was a good legal strategy? And then a thought hit her that chilled her to the bone. What if the real kidnapper, the real Avenger of Blood, realized that the baby had been discovered? Would he or she contact the people who ran the black-market agency? Would those people find a way to eliminate the evidence if they thought they might get caught? Would the Avenger do it first?
Stirred to action, Cat pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. She had to do this. Maybe her lawyers would resign, maybe this would lead to a smoking gun against her, but how could she just sit back and do nothing?
Jamarcus,
I have protected your confidences on occasions too numerous to count. I have gone to jail for you rather than breach that confidence. You have trusted me and, despite some of the allegedly incriminating information that is coming out in this trial, you need to know that your trust was not misplaced.
With this letter, I'm placing my trust in you. I'm begging you to look into a matter but not to talk to anyone else about it.
It has come to my attention that my private investigator, a man named Billy Long, has located a baby in Los Angeles that he believes is Chi Ying. I do not know how Mr. Long located Chi. Perhaps you could privately question Mr. Long and find out the details. My concern is for the baby. If certain persons find out that Chi has been located, what would keep them from "eliminating" that problem?
I am completely innocent of these crimes, and I am trusting you to handle this with discretion so it won't come back to haunt me.
Yours,
Catherine
She read the letter twice, placed it in a sealed envelope, and addressed it to Jamarcus Webb. She would deliver it tomorrow morning in court.
Assuming she didn't lose her nerve first.
The courtroom seemed larger, but the players were all the same. Judge Rosencrance scowling from the bench. Jamarcus Webb frowning in the front row. Just in front of him, at the counsel table, sat a sneering Boyd Gates, his bald pate reflecting the harsh courtroom lights. Cat's lawyers were there, of course, as was her family. In the back, standing against the wall, quoting Scripture and damning Cat to hell, was the Reverend Harold Pryor.
"Do you have a verdict?" Rosencrance asked, raising her voice to be heard over the rantings of Pryor.
A woman stood in the middle of the jury box. At first Cat didn't recognize her, but then it sunk in. The refined looks. The sorrow etched into the worried face. Marcia Carver! The jury foreperson was Marcia Carver!
"We've reached a verdict," Marcia said.
Pryor stopped talking, and the courtroom fell silent.
"Will the accused please stand?" Rosencrance asked.
Trembling and weak-kneed, Cat stood, Marc Boland on one side, Quinn on the other. An eternity of silence followed while all eyes turned toward Catherine as if the spectators expected a spontaneous confession. Catherine glanced toward Marcia but couldn't hold the woman's severe stare.
"What is your verdict?" Rosencrance asked.
"Guilty," Marcia Carver said, "of murder in the first degree."
Shaking uncontrollably now, Cat nearly collapsed to the floor. How could this have happened?
"So say you all?" Rosencrance asked.
The other jurors nodded their heads. Cat tried to get her bearings.
"I hereby find the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree," Rosencrance pronounced, her words ripping at Cat's heart. "We will begin the sentencing phase tomorrow morning."
"Amen," said the voice of Pryor.
But Marcia Carver did not sit down. "Not the defendant," she said, her voice trembling as the other jurors nodded along. She extended a long, accusatory finger.
"Him!"



93
Exhausted from a late night of trial prep with Rosemarie Mancini, Quinn arrived just a few minutes before the start of court on Monday. He had not told Mancini about the discovery of the Carver baby. He and Marc Boland, as Catherine's attorneys, were protected from having to divulge such information, but an expert witness for the defense, subject to cross-examination on the witness stand, would have no such luxury.
Most mornings, Quinn loved getting to the courthouse early enough to spend a few minutes with Catherine before court started. But after last night's disagreement, he sensed his time and energy might be better spent focusing on the testimony. Tonight he would spend hours in the small attorney-client interview booth with Catherine, preparing for her testimony tomorrow. Talking through some of these issues could wait until then.
Still, he found himself craving his time with her and worrying incessantly about what last night's decision might have meant to their relationship. He had to remember that first and foremost she was a client--one facing death row. The decision by Quinn and Bo not to immediately reveal the whereabouts of the Carver baby had been made for Catherine's benefit. Quinn knew she couldn't understand that yet, and he hoped it didn't tear the fabric of their complex relationship beyond repair, but he had to look out for Catherine's legal interests first.
Quinn mechanically unpacked his briefcase, glancing at the courtroom's side door leading to the holding cell where Cat waited. The truly crazy thing was that recently, Quinn would often catch himself thinking about a possible future with her. After a not-guilty verdict. After treatment by Mancini that successfully brought the Avenger character to the surface and helped Cat deal with the past. Quinn and Catherine, spending time together, giving in to the irresistible impulse to be with each other, exploring the undeniable chemistry that existed between them.
How insane was that? Of all the women in the world, Quinn wanted to spend time with only one: a client who was an admitted serial killer. Maybe, he mused, it's just that old problem of wanting the one thing you know you can't have.
"All rise," the bailiff said, and Quinn knew his personal problems would have to wait.
"You ready?" Bo whispered.
"I was born ready," Quinn replied.
Rosencrance settled into her seat, greeted the lawyers, and had the bailiff bring in Catherine. She looked even more tense than Quinn had expected, her eyes darting around the courtroom. Her normally graceful gait seemed forced. She took her seat between her two lawyers and leaned toward Quinn, latching on to his right forearm. He felt a stab of pain shoot through his rotator cuff.
"We've got to talk," she said. "The first chance we get."
Boyd Gates ended his case on a whimper, calling a fingerprint expert to the stand to confirm that the toothbrush with the pointed end found in Catherine's mattress did indeed belong to her. When Gates finished his questioning, Quinn and Bo looked at each other, as if both expected the other to conduct the cross. Bo stood. "No questions, Judge."
When Gates announced that the commonwealth rested, Quinn stood quickly, wanting to show the jury how excited he was about his first witness. "The defense calls Dr. Rosemarie Mancini to the stand."
Rosemarie walked into the well of the courtroom, nodded curtly at Quinn, and took her oath. She climbed into the witness chair and lowered the mike.
Quinn quickly marched her through the preliminaries while Rosemarie snapped off succinct answers about her experience, training, and background.
As always, Quinn wanted to get the payment question out of the way early so opposing counsel couldn't make a big deal of it on cross.
"Are we paying you for your time?" Quinn asked.
"Not enough," Rosemarie deadpanned.
"How much is 'not enough'?"
"Two hundred fifty an hour," the psychiatrist shot back. "A total of about nineteen thousand on this case to date."
"That sounds like an awful lot."
"Not compared to what you make."
The jury giggled a little, though Rosemarie kept a straight face. "And I'm glad you brought up the subject," she continued, "because so far I've yet to receive a dime of payment. My bills are nineteen thousand. My collections are zero."
That subject out of the way, Quinn walked Rosemarie through her diagnosis in the case.
"Assuming that the DNA and hair evidence linking Catherine O'Rourke to the crime are reliable," Rosemarie testified, "my working diagnosis is dissociative identity disorder."
Rosemarie explained the basics of the illness, switching into lecture mode as she cited the DSM-IV diagnostic manual, the "bible" for psychiatric evaluations. She admitted that she had not yet been able to surface this alternate personality, the Avenger of Blood, though the conditions for her treatment of Catherine were clearly not optimal. "After the pressure of the trial has concluded, I believe that Ms. O'Rourke will be in a psychological state that is much more conducive for treatment.
"The idea of DID is that a person's primary personality has fractured into several 'alter personalities' and that two or more of these subpersonalities share a single body, each with its own identity, each taking a turn controlling that individual's personality and behavior. These alter personalities emerge as a result of trauma and, to some extent, serve to protect the person from overwhelmingly painful memories. In Catherine's case, it's the memory and trauma of being raped by a man she once loved and possibly by his friends as well.
"In cases of DID, the core or primary person generally experiences periods of amnesia and may even find herself in a strange place with no idea how she arrived there. Sometimes, she feels like she has been asleep and has woken up tired. This is called an amnesic barrier between identities. One personality may have full access to the memory bank, while others get only partial access, and some may be altogether unaware of the others. Many times, someone who suffers from DID may have vague flashbacks, dreams, or visions, which are actually repressed memories of what happened while the alter personality was in control."
Quinn noted that a few of the jurors were taking notes. "Dr. Chow, the state's expert, insists that DID could not have been the result of one incident of rape," Quinn pointed out. "He says that this psychosis, if it actually exists, is almost always the result of repeated sexual abuse during childhood. Do you have an opinion on that?"
Rosemarie glared at Quinn as if he were the one with the contrary opinion. "Dr. Chow's analysis is patently ridiculous," she replied.
"Would you care to explain why?"
"First, it's demeaning to every woman in this courtroom."
"Objection!" Gates said.
But Rosemarie didn't wait for the judge. "To say that rape is not a sufficient precipitating event is nonsense."
"Dr. Mancini," Rosencrance interrupted.
"Yes, Your Honor?"
"You've served as an expert witness enough times to know that you need to wait on my ruling before continuing your answer."
"Sorry, Judge," said Mancini. "You're right. I just assumed you would overrule it, since this goes to the heart of what I'm saying."
"I am going to overrule it," said the judge.
"May I proceed?"
"Certainly."
"Where was I?" Mancini mused. "That's right, I was explaining how insulting it is for Dr. Chow to try to minimize rape. I've treated hundreds of rape victims. It's a life-shattering event that should never be downplayed. The very act of rape violates the sanctity of a woman's sexuality and shatters her emotional security. This is especially true if a woman is raped by someone she loves. Can it cause that person to have a psychotic break with reality? Absolutely."
"Can it also cause you--?"
"Mr. Newberg," Rosemarie interjected. "I'm accustomed to being interrupted by opposing counsel. Usually my own lawyer shows a little more courtesy."
"Sorry," Quinn said, resisting a smile. "I thought you were finished. Please continue."
"Thank you. Dr. Chow is right in saying that most cases of DID come from childhood abuse--85 percent to be exact. Which means that 15 percent originate from other traumatic experiences. With Catherine, we're dealing with a case in that other 15 percent."
Quinn stole a quick glance at the jury. They were listening. The Mancini magic was beginning to weave its spell. "What about this notion that Ms. O'Rourke is just faking it? Dr. Chow said this alternate personality is just a ruse concocted so that if she got caught on a killing spree, she would have an excuse."
Rosemarie nearly snorted at the idea. "I can detect malingerers, Mr. Newberg. I wasn't born yesterday. This would be a very difficult illness to fabricate. But here's the more important fact: Catherine O'Rourke didn't even try to fake it. Certainly someone of her intellectual prowess would know that her case would be stronger if I could say in court that I had been able to draw out this Avenger character, if I could assure the jury that we had begun treatment and that we would be able to integrate this personality into her core personality without further danger to herself or to society."
Rosemarie paused, but Quinn knew better than to interrupt again.
"Unfortunately, I can say none of those things. You can accuse Ms. O'Rourke of a lot of things. Faking an alter personality is not one of them. How can you say somebody is a terrible actress if she doesn't have a part in the play?"
Quinn nodded. The examination was going well. Maybe too well. It worried Quinn when opposing lawyers didn't fuss and fight--no objections, just the kind of fastidious note taking that Boyd Gates was doing.
It usually meant they had something devastating for cross.