“I can deal with that,” James rumbled.
“Good. Then I’ll move on to Patricia and establish her connection to our law firm. From Patricia, we’ll go to Erika and her medical school status—just the term ‘med school’ makes people sit up and take notice. After Erika, I’ll call Charlie. We’ll briefly touch on the periodic meetings with Sergeant West. We don’t want to get Sergeant West in trouble, but I’ll need to show some connection between him and the boardinghouse group. You’ve had certain information that wasn’t available to the general public, and I need to be able to show Judge Compson how you came by it. All right?”
“Just as long as you don’t get my big brother all steamed up,” Charlie said. “He’ll kick my butt if we push it too far.”
“I’ll be careful,” Rankin promised him. “From Charlie, we’ll move on to Sylvia and her case history.” He looked at Sylvia then. “You did bring those tapes as I asked, didn’t you?”
She patted her oversize purse. “They’re right here, Mr. Rankin,” she replied.
“Good. We may not need them today, but let’s have them handy, just in case. I’ll probably be asking you questions in greater detail than your friends, since your case history’s fairly crucial.”
She smiled faintly. “Thank you,” she said.
He inclined his head in an almost courtly bow. This guy had a lot of class.
“Now, then,” he continued, “I can’t be sure how far Mr. Fielding will go with his cross-examinations, but I’m hoping that we finish up with Sylvia’s testimony by the noon recess. That should give me the entire afternoon for Mark’s testimony. We want Judge Compson to have the whole thing before she adjourns this afternoon. Loose ends are distracting, so let’s give her all she needs today so she can get on with her job.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get upstairs,” he said. “Judge Compson’s big on punctuality, so let’s not offend her.”
When we trooped into the courtroom, Fielding was already there. Bob West wasn’t with him, but Burpee was still camped in his back pocket, obviously not the least bit happy about this sanity hearing—and Judge Compson’s gag order was driving him right up the wall.
We went through the “all rise” routine, and the judge came in and took her place at the bench. She looked fairly tired. I’m just guessing, but I’d say that Fallon’s testimony had bothered her almost as much as it’d bothered me.
“You may call your next witness, Mr. Rankin,” she said.
“The defense calls Officer Mary Greenleaf,” Rankin said.
Judge Compson’s head came up sharply at that.
Mary came forward and took the oath, then she took her seat on the witness stand.
“You are a member of the Seattle Police Department, is that correct, Officer Greenleaf?”
“Yes, sir,” Mary replied.
“And you are related to Miss Renata Greenleaf, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. She’s my niece. Her father’s my brother.”
“After Miss Greenleaf had been released from Dr. Fallon’s sanitarium, she came to live with you, is that also correct?”
“Yes, sir. She wanted to attend classes at the university, and I live in the Wallingford district.”
“Now then, previous testimony has established the fact that Miss Greenleaf periodically exhibited some peculiar behavior, is that also correct?”
“Definitely, Mr. Rankin. Whenever I mentioned those incidents, I glossed over them by calling them ‘bad days,’ but they usually went way past ‘bad.’ I didn’t want to start using terms like ‘whacko’ or ‘bonkers’ or ‘screwball,’ so I just said ‘bad days’ and let it go at that.”
“Could you describe these incidents for the court?”
“She’d do a lot of moaning and screaming, and she’d say things that didn’t make much sense—things about wolves howling, blood, and cold water. Then she’d stop speaking English and switch over to a language that nobody else could understand.”
“And what was your usual response to these incidents?”
“I’d knock her out with a sleeping pill,” Mary replied bluntly. “I’ve been a police officer for quite a few years, Mr. Rankin, and I’ve had a lot of experience with people who suddenly go into hysterics. We don’t let that go on for too long. We don’t want the subject to hurt himself—or anybody else—so we just tap him out with a pill.”
“Excuse me,” Judge Compson interrupted. “Is that strictly legal, Officer Greenleaf?”
“Probably not, Your Honor,” Mary admitted, “but when a subject—or a prisoner—goes into hysterics, those of us who are on the scene have to take immediate steps. We don’t have time to wait for court orders or any of the other niceties of the legal system. The alternative would be to club the subject into submission, and that seems a little extreme, wouldn’t you say?”
“You get right to the point, Officer,” Judge Compson observed.
“It saves time, Your Honor, and in these situations we don’t usually have much time. A pill’s a lot kinder than a rap on the head with a club.”
“I see your point,” the judge conceded. “How long did your niece usually remain comatose after you’d sedated her?”
“Usually until the following morning, Your Honor,” Mary replied, “and when she woke up the next day, she’d seem perfectly normal. I’m fairly certain that she’d sleep the clock around after I’d sedated her, but I work the graveyard shift, so I wasn’t always around to keep an eye on her.”
“You may proceed, Mr. Rankin,” the judge said then.
“I believe you ladies have already covered everything, Your Honor. I guess I’m just taking up space here.”
“It wouldn’t be the same without you, Mr. Rankin,” Judge Compson told him sweetly.
“No further questions, Your Honor,” he said with a smile.
“Splendid. Your witness, Mr. Fielding.”
“No questions, Your Honor,” Fielding said. He may have been a bit green, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut.
“The defense calls Mr. James Forester,” Rankin said.
James was sworn in and took the seat in the witness stand.
“Are you acquainted with Miss Greenleaf, Mr. Forester?” Rankin asked him.
“We’ve met, Mr. Rankin. One of the residents at the boardinghouse where I’m staying is Mr. Mark Austin, who probably knows her better than anyone in Seattle—with the exception of her aunt Mary, of course. Miss Greenleaf was auditing a freshman English course Mr. Austin taught during the autumn quarter, and she wrote a paper for him entitled ‘How I Spent My Summer Vacation.’ She described life as a patient in a mental institution, and her paper was highly original and in many ways very disturbing. It gave us a thought-provoking glimpse into the world of the mentally disturbed.
“Our housemates are all graduate students in a wide range of disciplines: law school, medical school, advanced psychology, and engineering, as well as Mr. Austin’s major field—English—and my home base in philosophy. We’re a bit more mature than the underclassmen whose primary interest lies in parties. Miss Greenleaf’s paper struck sparks in our minds, and we all agreed that we’d like to meet this strange and gifted child. We asked Mark to invite her to dinner one evening. She agreed, and we found her to be thoroughly engaging. After that, we all followed her progress—particularly when Miss Cardinale, who majors in abnormal psychology, undertook a case history of Miss Greenleaf. We followed that unfortunate young woman’s ups and downs, and her recent mental disintegration struck us all as something akin to a death in the family.” James paused then. “These proceedings and the evidence that prompted them have elevated our sense of loss to the level of Greek tragedy,” he added. “The Renata we knew would not have been capable of these murders, but evidently there’s another Renata, and she was obviously driven by an overpowering lust for vengeance.” He made a wry face then. “That sounds pompous, doesn’t it? True, perhaps, but pompous all the same.”
“It doesn’t bother me all that much, Mr. Forester,” Ran
kin said. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Your witness, Mr. Fielding,” Judge Compson said.
“No questions, Your Honor,” Fielding replied.
Burpee glared at him, and he appeared to be right on the verge of an explosion.
“Call your next witness, Mr. Rankin,” Judge Compson said, after James had left the stand.
“The defense calls Miss Patricia Erdlund,” Rankin said.
Trish took the stand, and Rankin explained her connection to his law firm to the judge. “In point of fact, Your Honor,” he said, “it was largely at Miss Erdlund’s urging that I became involved in this case. As Mr. Forester has so eloquently testified, the students who live in the Erdlund boardinghouse are a tight-knit group, and they have an abiding interest in Miss Greenleaf.”
“The court recognizes that, Mr. Rankin. Proceed.”
Trish verified Renata’s impact on our little family, and then she began citing precedents. Lawyers are big on precedents, I guess. I noticed that Judge Compson was taking lots of notes while Trish was testifying.
Fielding had a few questions for Trish, mostly involving her citations. Trish spoke fluent legalese, and she impressed the heck out of both the judge and the prosecutor. She made a lot of points for our side.
Judge Compson ordered a short recess after Trish had stepped down, and when court reconvened, Mr. Rankin called Erika to the stand. Then he pulled a quick shrewdie on her. “Would you please tell the court how many classes you’ve taken from Dr. Yamada, Miss Erdlund?” he asked her.
“Oops,” Erika said mildly.
“Would you like to clarify ‘oops,’ Miss Erdlund?” he said with a faint smile.
“You caught me with my finger in the cookie jar,” she replied. “I do know Dr. Yamada quite well, and I did suggest that he might want to contact the Snohomish County Coroner’s Office for a DNA sample taken from the body of Renata’s sister. It was only a suggestion, Mr. Rankin. It wasn’t as if I’d planted any false evidence or anything.”
“It wasn’t an accusation, Miss Erdlund. It was just a loose end that I thought we should tie up. What prompted you to make that suggestion?”
“It seemed logical, Mr. Rankin. The business with that license plate suggested that there was additional evidence available that could prove that Fergusson was indeed the murderer of Regina Greenleaf—and of quite a few others as well. There’s a certain perverse charm in the notion of one serial killer murdering another serial killer, don’t you think?”
“I don’t believe I’d care to comment on that, Miss Erdlund,” he replied blandly. “No further questions.”
“Your witness, Mr. Fielding,” the judge said.
“No questions, Your Honor,” he replied.
“The defense calls Mr. Charles West,” Rankin said after Erika had left the stand.
Charlie was sworn in and took the stand.
“Would you please tell the court of your relationship to the prosecution witness, Sergeant Robert West?” Rankin asked.
Charlie shrugged. “He’s my big brother,” he replied.
“And would you describe your relationship as very close?”
“We stay in touch,” Charlie said. “He yells at me when I forget to call our mother every so often. He and I get together more often now than we did when I was still living in Enumclaw.”
“And why did you move to Seattle from Enumclaw, Mr. West?”
“I work for Boeing, and they bullied me into going to graduate school.”
“And what is your specialty, Mr. West?”
“I’m not permitted to talk about that. It’s classified.”
“Where did you and your brother customarily meet, Mr. West?”
“At the Green Lantern Tavern in Wallingford. Bob stops there for a couple of beers after he gets off work. Back in the early days of the Seattle Slasher killings, James, Mark, and I used to meet him there to get the inside dope on those killings. We weren’t drooling at the mouth or anything, but there are three ladies at the boardinghouse, and we wanted to know if they were in danger. Serial killers usually kill women, not guys, so we were worried. Bob told us to play it safe. We weren’t supposed to let them go out alone after dark. Then he suggested that the girls carry those little cans of pepper spray—just in case. Eventually, we all had pepper spray on our key rings.”
“And did he reveal any other information about the killings, Mr. West—things that weren’t appearing in the newspapers or on television?”
“I’m not going to rat my brother out, Mr. Rankin. Let’s say he gave us a couple of warnings and let it go at that, OK?” Charlie’s tone was almost belligerent.
“I’ll withdraw the question, Mr. West,” Rankin said.
I saw Burpee grab Fielding by the arm, and the two of them appeared to be arguing about something. Burpee seemed agitated, and Fielding was having trouble keeping him calmed down. It was fairly obvious that Burpee was ready to go off the deep end, and Fielding’s frequent “no questions” response was driving him wild.
It was about eleven-thirty when Charlie left the stand, and Judge Compson, Rankin, and Fielding had a brief conference at the bench—probably about when we should recess for lunch. Rankin really wanted to get Sylvia’s testimony in before the noon break, and it appeared that he’d persuaded Judge Compson that he’d cover everything before noon. I thought he might be rushing things, but he appeared to know what he was doing, so I kept my mouth shut.
He returned to the table, and then he said, “The defense calls Miss Sylvia Cardinale,” he announced.
Sylvia was sworn in and took the stand, and Rankin established her identity and residence.
“You are a graduate student in psychology at the University of Washington, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And your field of interest is abnormal psychology?”
“That’s right.”
“And you are acquainted with Miss Renata Greenleaf and have undertaken a case history of her mental problems as a possible subject for your master’s thesis?”
“Yes.”
“Would you please tell the court what prompted you to undertake this project?”
“It was the paper she wrote for Mr. Austin’s class,” Sylvia told him. “Mr. Forester described that paper during his testimony. It was of particular interest to me, since it gave me a glimpse into the perceptions of a patient at a mental institution. Miss Greenleaf struck me as a highly intelligent and articulate young woman who could provide insights that could be useful for those of us in the field. Many patients have a severely limited ability to communicate with a therapist, which makes it difficult to help them. It occurred to me that Renata could open doors in ways an ordinary patient could not begin to do. Moreover, her disturbed state originated in a trauma rather than a preexistent psychosis. It occurred to me that a case history growing out of an extensive personal relationship might suggest alternatives to standard therapy.” Sylvia threw a quick, sly glance in my direction. “I had a little trouble persuading Mr. Austin—he tends to be protective when it comes to Renata. Our discussions were quite lively, as I recall. Eventually, though, he came to realize that my case history was not some experiment on a laboratory animal, so he introduced me to Dr. Fallon. The doctor had some reservations until I advised him that my case history would be based on tape recordings.”
“You recorded every conversation you had with Miss Greenleaf?” Rankin asked her.
“I missed a few of the earlier ones,” Sylvia admitted. “At first I was simply taking notes, but as soon as Renata saw my notebook, she’d launch into wild stories that had no connection to the truth. Once I switched to recordings, though, Renata relaxed and talked freely.”
“And you were able to record her periodic lapses into raw psychosis?” Rankin asked her.
“Oh, yes,” Sylvia replied, “and those tapes still give me nightmares. Dr. Fallon has explained the fugue state in clinical terms, but those tapes are raw fugue, and they’re terrifying. At
first, we had no idea of what was causing them, but we do now. Mark will explain what was happening, since he was the one who ultimately tracked it down.”
“Do you have any of those fugue tapes with you, Miss Cardinale?” Rankin asked then.
“Yes, Mr. Rankin, I do.”
“Is it your intention to play the tapes in open court, Mr. Rankin?” Judge Compson asked.
“There are two dozen tapes, Your Honor,” he replied, “and they cover something in excess of sixty hours. We can play them for Your Honor if you wish, but . . .” He left it hanging.
“I see your point, Mr. Rankin,” she agreed. “I do want copies, but it wouldn’t serve any purpose to use this courtroom as an auditorium. Have you any further questions for Miss Cardinale?”
Rankin glanced at his yellow legal pad. “Ah—no, Your Honor,” he replied. “I think we’ve just about covered everything.”
“Good. Court stands adjourned until one-thirty this afternoon.”
When we hit the cafeteria for lunch, I was more than a little edgy, since it was obvious that Mr. Rankin planned to hang most of his case on my testimony. As Charlie put it, “The bases are loaded, Mark, and it’s your turn at bat. Knock it out of the park.”
“I don’t suppose he’d settle for a foul tip?” I said sourly.
“That wouldn’t hardly cut it, partner. We need a home run to win the series.”
“Quit, Charlie,” Trish scolded. “Mark, just relax and answer Mr. Rankin’s questions. He knows the story, so let him guide you. That’s what he’s getting paid for.”
Somehow that didn’t make me feel much better.
We went back to the courtroom at about one-fifteen, and Judge Compson resumed her seat on the bench at one-thirty on the dot. Sylvia returned to the witness chair, but Fielding didn’t have any questions for her. His continual “No questions, Your Honor,” had me worried—a prosecutor who just gives up on a case like this wouldn’t keep his job for very long. I was fairly certain that he had something up his sleeve.
“Call your next witness, Mr. Rankin,” the judge said.
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