by Adam Zorzi
He spread his palms across these pages. Calm radiated through him just by touching the photos that held such happiness. The flight there was his first. He'd gripped Bella's hand when the mountainous landing strip to St. Thomas came into view. She’d laughed and told him to finish his beer. The ferry between St. Thomas and St. John had felt like he was gliding on turquoise sea glass. The water had been so transparent he’d had seen vibrant tropical fish just by looking over the side.
When they’d docked, Bella had hopped into the family jeep and skillfully driven them up, down, and around the hillsides, slowing only for hairpin turns, and stopping occasionally for goats and donkeys to cross the roads. Roads. That's what Bella had called them. They were dirt trails. Bella easily had driven on the wrong or left side of the road and had laughed with the wind in her flying blonde hair all the way to the villa.
A photo of the two of them in from of villa. The family had called it modest, and he supposed it was. There was a great room with a tiny kitchen from which four latticed breezeways covered by blooming bougainvillea led to bedrooms. He'd taken pictures of the outdoor showers, salt water pool, and beach just down the hillside. He’d photographed the cistern. Water was a sacred commodity on the island. He’d learned to ration flushing toilets.
Dan closed his eyes and recalled everything he could of that first visit. Snorkeling, eating exotic fresh fruits and catches of the day, and sleeping in a hammock under the stars. That first trip had been the most magical experience of his life. On their last day, Dan had asked Bella to promise to have their ashes mixed and buried in the Caribbean.
He turned the page. More pictures of life at UVA. He was smart, but he recognized Bella's brilliance. She’d encouraged him without knowing it. He’d pushed for an extra edge. Not to compete with her, but to make himself better. He’d researched deeper because Bella read his papers aloud to hear how they flowed. She’d asked such piercing questions about game theory that he'd used the topic for his senior thesis.
A shot of their dorm room after a fight. Every pillow in the room was in a heap on his side of room. When their passionate natures had clashed, fireworks would ensue. Bella could and had cursed in three languages. She’d thrown pillows for emphasis. Why did they fight? Mørk. Depression made him feel insecure. He simply couldn't believe she loved him when she could have any guy on or off campus. Her answer had always been the same. Why would she want anyone else when she had him—her rare, precious gift of a soul mate?
Bella had had her own demons. Anxiety that she could lose him caused panic attacks. She’d said she couldn't imagine life without him. He'd said the same. Yet, they’d lost each other.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-THREE
“Dan?” His mother came in the den wearing a white velour bathrobe that flattered her short silver hair. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”
Despite the tears running down his face, Dan shook his head. “I'm good.”
Selma eyed the scotch. She looked like she was going to say something about him drinking alcohol while on psych meds, but didn't. Instead, she headed to the kitchen to make tea for herself.
Dan moved to the sofa. When she returned from the kitchen, his mother sat next to him. “Did your session with that new therapist today upset you?”
He shook his head. “Confused me. I woke up in a sweat and decided to come down and face some things.” He held up the book in his lap. He'd never discussed his affair with his mother. He didn't want to now, but he wanted to look at his past.
“You do love photographs.” She touched a corner of the leather photo album. “What have you got?” The book was open to a page of the party Bella had thrown for him before graduation. A big white outdoor tent. Friends, teammates, and even some faculty. A local band he’d enjoyed had played all afternoon.
“What fun. Bella certainly knew how to throw a party and keep it under control. It was a classic lawn party. That was for your All American award, wasn't it?” Division 1, Honorable mention for Lacrosse. “Your dad was so proud. Look, there's Rob and Suzanne. That was the day he introduced her as his fiancée.” She examined all the pictures. “You had so many friends.”
Yes, and Bella had invited all of them. “The party wasn't just for Lacrosse, Mom. It was for getting that internship. The one that led to a job offer once I'd gotten an MBA.” With Bella's support, Dan had won a coveted summer internship with a major talent agency. Even though it meant he'd spend the summer away from her in the agency's offices in Los Angeles, Detroit, and Nashville, she'd been the one who read, edited, and re-read his application, helped him select the best professors to provide references, and prepped him for the interview. He’d thought his chances were zero. Bella had thought he could do anything. She’d made him see the best in himself.
The remaining photographs were of year-end parties, graduation, and the last time he and Bella had seen each other. He'd asked a stranger to take a picture of them at the airport when she'd left for her fellowship at the Sorbonne in Paris. They looked so happy. Bella looked especially radiant. If he'd known he'd never see her alive again, he would've disintegrated into nothingness right at the gate.
“Dan, what happened? You two were a perfect couple. Your dad and I thought you'd be together forever.”
Dad certainly had changed his mind about that. “Mom, I was stupid and stubborn. It's that simple. Bella begged me to come to Paris with her. She believed I'd be accepted into MBA programs at prestigious places like Wharton, Yale, or London School of Economics. With my summer experience, references from some of the biggest names in entertainment and sports, and maybe some international experience if I studied or worked even a little in Paris. I'd start the following fall. In the meantime, we'd live in Paris and travel around Europe on her breaks.”
“Bella always was ambitious. That sounds so exciting.” She shifted to look at him directly. “Why didn't you do that?”
“I thought the agency might withdraw its job offer if I didn't get an MBA ASAP. I'd been accepted by University of Miami before I'd been offered the internship much less a job. I didn't want to wait a year before starting grad school. I couldn't count on being accepted at some more famous school. I didn't think there would be any difference in marketing or business law classes no matter what school I attended.”
“Oh, Dan.” Even his mother knew an Ivy degree made careers. “Did you discuss this with your father?”
“No. It was my life, my decision. I didn't want his opinion.”
She looked surprised. “Did Bella break it off when you didn't join her?” He shook his head. “No, she said a year was nothing and I'd visit her.”
“Then why, Dan?”
“When I got to Miami, I realized I'd made a huge mistake. School wasn't interesting. Almost everyone was bi-lingual. I felt like an interloper. I didn't make friends or find a mentor. I missed Bella. I was lonely. She wrote almost every day. I couldn't bring myself to answer. I was embarrassed. Finally, she wrote that she'd received offers of work in Europe after the Sorbonne and she'd take them if I wasn't interested in her. I didn't answer. I assumed she'd met someone else and was letting me down easy.”
She put her tea cup on the end table. “Why would you think that? Bella loved you. You loved her.” He couldn't respond. “Dan, you and Bella were the best-matched couple I've ever seen. The two of you almost glowed. Can't you see it these pictures? She'd never have left you for someone else.”
“Mom, I didn't believe that. I always thought she was on the verge of leaving me. I didn't know what she saw in me even though she told me I was everything to her.”
“You just let her go?”
He nodded. “After she was gone, I thought my life was over. Mørk arrived. I got so depressed I quit going to class, slept all day, and tried to commit suicide. You know the rest. I lived with you and Dad for the next three years because I was too sick to get out of bed.”
By now, tears flowed freely down his face, onto the towel, and on his tee shirt. Hi
s mother put her arms around him and hugged him. She hadn't held him like that since he was about six. “Dan, I'm sorry. I'm sorry Mørk made your life so hard.”
“Me, too, Mom. Bella's gone. Jill's dead. Dad's dead. Katie is who matters now. “
CHAPTER
SIXTY-FOUR
His improved health, the passage of time, and fresher news stories that turned media attention from Jill's stalled murder case allowed Dan to slowly emerge from hiding. Tomorrow would be Katie's last day of school. He thought both of them would be relieved not to be on St. Margaret's schedule. They'd have time to breathe away from academic requirements, sports schedules, and the still-prying eyes of the most die-heard Mean Girls and their mothers
Dan resumed running along his former route. He went early mornings just after Katie left for school. The weather was getting too hot to run later in the day. He found his zone where he heard only the rhythm of his feet and heartbeat. His mind was blank. He finished six miles, slowed to a jog/walk, and drank from his bottle of electrolyte charged water. He walked home and into the kitchen. The house was silent.
Dan showered, shaved, and dressed in the master bath. He felt right being in the bedroom he'd shared with Jill. He felt her sunshine there. Sometimes, he'd open her closet and just stand next to her hanging clothes. He'd cry. He'd talk about Katie. How she was doing in school, her newfound interest in photography, and her readiness to adopt another dog. He went downstairs to read in the den. His concentration was better after his hospital stay. He read non-taxing books such as celebrity autobiographies and found a surprising kinship with country music singers who had started with so little, endured a lot, and made a career. Not that they had become rich and famous so much as they made their lives and those of their families better by doing what they'd been born to do.
His schedule for the next few days was a happy one. His mother was coming home from Florida where she'd arranged a permanent move back to Richmond. He and Katie planned to go to the animal shelter to adopt a dog tomorrow. Rob and Suzanne were coming for dinner Sunday evening to celebrate his mom's return, Katie's completion of fifth grade, and the start of summer. He wondered what vegetables from Suzanne's garden might be ready to add to the menu. He'd text her. He'd become afraid of phones. They heralded panic and pain.
As if on cue, his cell rang. Lombardi. He hadn't seen her since that day in the police station parking garage.
“Lamb, update.”
“I'm better, thanks, Nina,” he replied. He wasn't going to piss her off, but he wasn't going to meekly allow her to steamroll him.
“I don't visit clients in their homes, but today's an exception. I'm turning into the neighborhood. I'll be there in five.”
Something awful had happened. His heart beat increased. He felt like he was being pulled back into a wind tunnel from which he had just escaped.
Lombardi was at the front door in less than five minutes. His first thought was that Monika Traymore would spread the news that he'd received a late morning visit from a sleek woman driving a late model Jaguar. Before he could pursue that notion, Lombardi was barking orders. She led him into the kitchen, sat at the wooden table, and motioned for him to sit opposite.
“Winston's on the move. You're going to surrender to Winston and Elba Monday. I'll pick you up at Starbucks off Exit 73 at ten o'clock.”
The worst case scenario had begun. His body reacted as it had throughout this ordeal. His stomach clenched, his muscles contracted, and tears flowed.
“You'll be booked and go straight to arraignment. You'll plead Not Guilty. I'll move that a psychiatric evaluation take place to determine your competency to stand trial. The Commonwealth Attorney won't oppose. You'll be evaluated as an outpatient at Richmond Memorial Hospital. The evaluation determination will be Not Competent to stand trial. You'll go to a psych facility under the jurisdiction of the Department of Behavioral Health Services AKA Commonwealth Psychiatric. There is no other forensic hospital under its jurisdiction.”
The worst psychiatric hospital in the state, possibly the country. “I'm going to be in the state psych hospital for an undetermined amount of time? How is that a good thing?”
“Lamb, I'm telling you what's going to happen. Hold your questions. You go off to Petersburg to be treated until you become competent. The court will check in with you every three months. Once you're found to be competent, you'll be released to stand trial. In your case, once you become competent, the case will be dropped.
“Your lack of competency is what provides the motive in this case. Once you're determined to be competent, you'll have no motive and the CA will drop the charges. The case will be dismissed with prejudice meaning there's a snowball's chance in hell of the charges being raised again.”
She stopped talking and looked quite pleased with herself.
As always, he felt like his head would explode during a conversation with Lombardi. He stood, drank a full glass of ice water from the refrigerator, refilled his glass and returned to the table.
Where to start? He wished Rob was here. He wasn't. Dan could have a conversation with his attorney without his big brother's assistance. He had to go slow. Lombardi would be irritated, but she seemed to be irritated with anyone who didn't speak Legalese.
“Monday, I'll meet Lieutenant Winston and Detective Elba. They'll arrest me, book me—that means fingerprints and mug shots like on TV, and then what's the word?
“Arraignment. You'll skip the night in jail waiting for arraignment.
“Arraignment is where I'm asked to enter a plea?”
“Your plea is Not Guilty. I'll immediately make a motion that you're Not Competent to stand trial. The CA won't object. The judge will order a hearing.”
“How do you know? You sound certain.”
“I am. That's the deal we made.”
“You made a deal without consulting me?” Lawyers weren't supposed to do that.
Lombardi stood. She was back to her habit of pacing back and forth in front of him. Still in a black suit. Still reminding him of a ticking clock.
“Not technically. I have the agreement for you to sign. Is there another route you'd like to take? Maybe going to trial where twelve people who can't get out of jury duty decide whether you killed your wife or whether you killed your wife while you were insane? Any ideas how often NGRI pleas are successful? Less than one percent. Do you prefer those odds? Remember, Lamb, if the jury doesn't buy insanity, the sentence is death. The death penalty is popular in Virginia.”
Dan pushed his chair back from the table so hard it fell on the ceramic tile floor. “Dammit, stop talking to me as though I'm stupid. I'm not. I don't understand anything about criminal law. I'm your client. I need you to explain things to me. This is my life.”
Lombardi looked him up and down. “That, Lamb, is exactly why you don't want to go to trial. You have a temper. You've been under psychiatric care since before I met you and you still vacillate between being dumbstruck or angry. Nice to see a show of spine, though.”
CHAPTER
SIXTY-FIVE
Dan stepped outside to get some air. He was angry, but he'd learned techniques to control his temper and cooperate. Otherwise, he acted against his best interest. He stood outside for about fifteen minutes. He didn't want to think about what Lombardi was doing. Probably ranking him in order of stupidity of her client roster. So what? He wanted to know why being at Petersburg was the best strategy.
Dan checked his watch. Time for a couple of meds. He returned to the air-conditioned kitchen, took his meds, and poured himself an iced tea. He wondered if Lombardi ate or drank anything substantial. He'd never see her drink anything other than black coffee.
“Do you want anything?”
“No, Lamb.”
Dan walked back to the table, picked up the chair, and sat. He noticed there was now a crack in two ceramic floor tiles. Easily fixed. He took three deep breaths before he felt ready to continue. “Please explain the difference between Competent, Not Competent,
and NGRI.” He liked using legal jargon. He felt like he was in the trenches now and had a glossary if not a guidebook.
“Pre-trial determination. Competency. The question is whether you're fit to stand trial. Competent means you're sane and ready to go to trial. Not Competent means you're not so sane, but there's a chance with some psychiatric treatment you'll become sane enough for trial. It's a low bar.
“Two part test. Understand the proceedings against you. Ability to assist with your defense.
“Solid on number one. You can identify courtroom, judge, and jury. Know what a prosecutor does. Charge is capital murder. I'm your lawyer. Ace.
“Epic fail on number two. Unable to assist in your defense. In fact, you created the case against you. With the dubious circumstantial evidence they have, I'd get the case dismissed. Hell, the CA would drop the charges. You, however, handed them a big fat motive with talk of an affair. Even that I could overcome.
“Problem? Your lover has been dead since 2001. Shrinks call her a delusion. Diagnosis—delusional disorder with psychotic AKA violent episodes. Whether your lover was alive or not, your mind believed she was alive. Killing your wife to be with your lover is a powerful motive.
“No one can overlook mental status. Your diagnosis is undisputed. No dueling shrinks. That, along with your persistent belief in this delusion, bring your competency into play. All the players want to win or at least not lose. No one wants a delusional defendant.
“I can't craft a defense. The CA doesn't want a conviction that can be overturned on appeal. The judge doesn't want to be overruled on appeal. Someone is going to raise the issue of competency, and I prefer that it be us. We're in control.”
He wish he'd taken notes. He almost understood. Almost.
“How? How are we in control?”