As for his alleged intent to cover up the girl’s death by disposing of her body (an insanity plea no-no, which often indicates knowledge of wrongdoing), that’s explained away as also occurring during his temporary amnesia.
I consider the likelihood, and something else flags my interest. Hiding a victim after murdering her can be an act of remorse. But people who dissociate aren’t able to feel much of anything, which is why they check out in the first place. If Donny Ray went into an altered state during the murders, his hiding behavior could have been part of an unconscious pathology. Since he allegedly racked up ten victims, I’m even more curious. But what would be the trauma trigger?
While consistently concealing bodies is indeed an interesting and definitive pattern of behavior, it’s not yet at direct issue here. Until evidence is found linking him to the other disappearances, my patient only has to account for Jamey’s.
Reading on, I find more to pique my interest. Donny Ray Smith is no stranger to disappearing bodies. The first person in his life to vanish was his sister, Miranda, when they were children. At that time, detectives zeroed in on the father as their prime suspect, but they were never able to bring charges because the evidence wasn’t strong enough.
Miranda was never found.
Just a coincidence?
I scroll forward to the information about Donny Ray’s head injury. According to the medical reports, he claimed to have fallen onto the family tractor’s front bucket loader but couldn’t recall the exact date. Only that it happened the summer his sister disappeared. Nothing from detectives on whether they contacted the originating hospital to zero in on when the incident occurred. Nothing mentioned about it in the attorney’s notes, either.
Interesting.
About six months prior to Miranda’s disappearance, their mother passed away. Nothing suspicious about it: she had cancer of the pancreas. The father died about a year later of a massive heart attack, and Donny Ray spent the remainder of his childhood bouncing between foster homes.
I’m about to open a file containing photos of the ten victims, plus Miranda Smith, but that last bit of info about his lack of a stable home life tugs me in another direction—or rather, the potential for answers does. An increasing pattern of antisocial behavior can often be a precursor to psychopathy, so I investigate whether Donny Ray Smith has a juvenile record. After scrolling through more pages, I find a section titled “Criminal History,” but just beneath it is a rather rough-looking blank space.
That’s not right.
A juvenile’s criminal records are expunged when he reaches eighteen, but the defense team usually makes them available to experts. If Donny Ray has no history of illegal activity as a minor, this document would state so, as would be the case if his records remain closed. But seeing the header with only a gap beneath it raises my suspicions.
I dial Donny Ray’s attorney.
“Terry Campbell, please,” I tell the receptionist when she answers.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Campbell is no longer here.”
I check the screen to make sure I didn’t miss something. “This is Dr. Kellan at Loveland Hospital. My records indicate he’s representing one of my patients.”
She hesitates. “Unfortunately, not anymore. Mr. Campbell passed away.”
“Oh . . . I’m so sorry. When?”
“Last week. It was an accident off the coast of San Diego. They found his boat but no sign of him.”
“Dear Lord. How awful.”
“It is.”
“Well, I was just calling to get some clarification on my patient’s criminal records. Donny Ray Smith?”
Silence.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes . . . sorry. I’m here.”
“Is there something wrong?”
“No.” But she answers a bit briskly, nearly gulping down the word. “That case is in the process of being reassigned, but there have been a few unexpected delays.”
“What kind?”
“I really don’t have that information.”
“Do you know when the new attorney will take over?”
“I’m sorry, I actually don’t. But I can call you when we have more information.”
I give her my number, then hang up.
The receptionist was a bit closed-mouthed, but given how high profile this case is—plus having an employee tragically die—I suppose it’s not a complete surprise.
Hoping to find concrete instead of sand, I turn to the reports from Miller Institute, but that only lands me in another quagmire of ambiguity. Donny Ray’s imaging tests show none of the physical evidence typically seen with a moderate head injury that could cause lapses of memory. The EEGs, however, potentially suggest otherwise—they show slight abnormalities in some cognitive functions.
I flip to comments from the attending neurologist at Miller, Dr. Stephen Ammon, who says that despite the conflicting test results, he’s confident Donny Ray’s head injury has no bearing on this case. His reasoning is based on a review of the patient’s educational history following the accident: Donny Ray was never placed in any special ed classes, and, in fact, his grades were just fine. With that as a baseline, Ammon concludes that enough time has since passed for the brain to heal. In plainer language, Donny Ray’s defense is trying to parlay an insignificant head injury, which happened eleven years ago, into a Get Out of Jail Free card.
Diagnosis: malingering.
The psychologist, Dr. Sherri Philips, ran a different course with her opinion. Donny Ray’s assessment tests split right down the middle. His MMPI-2 validity index suggests he wasn’t being forthcoming about his stated psychiatric illness, but the PAI validity scales were within normal range. Because of that disparity—and because some of the PAI scales typically associated with trauma were slightly elevated—Philips felt there might be some other psychological disorder at play that she could not yet identify. According to her notes, she was working on a provisional diagnosis but needed more time to evaluate Donny Ray’s childhood history and get him to open up about it. Apparently, that was when she got pulled off the case, because her notes end there.