“Then, Officer, you made absolutely no personal observation of any facts which would make me a danger to others, right?”
Opposing counsel was up again. “Your Honor, ‘personal observation’ would include also the inferences drawn from the observations of other credible people. For instance, the officer is entitled to rely on the observations of an FBI agent. . . .”
“Well,” I shot back, “that was a badly mangled statement of the law. But we’ll get to that later. Meanwhile, Your Honor, I can’t tell whether Ms. Cougin is making an objection or suggesting to the witness how he ought to answer my next line of questions.”
Ms. Cougin exploded over that one, even though I had caught her in one of the oldest trial tricks known to the legal profession.
Judge Levall quietly chastised me for insinuating that Ms. Cougin was trying to improperly influence the witness’s testimony. But underneath the ruling, his unenthusiastic tone made me think that, down deep, he hadn’t missed the opposing counsel’s high jinks.
I returned to my question. “Did you have any observations of my being a danger—?”
“FBI Special Agent Fainlock,” the witness cut in, utterly fulfilling my prediction, “is a credible witness, and he led me to believe that you were implicated in the murder of an assistant attorney general who had been found in your hotel room.”
I could have objected to his hearsay answer, but it would have accomplished nothing. The FBI agent was in the courtroom, and the other side would probably call him anyway and elicit the same facts directly from him.
The only thing left was to plant my flag and salute it. “But,” I asked, “none of that information from the FBI agent was from your own personal knowledge, was it?”
“Of course it wasn’t.”
“Any other reason for taking me into custody?”
“Yes. You were in a diner where I was having supper with my patrol partner. It was the same day that the limo was retrieved from the Mississippi and the dead limo driver was found in the trunk. And I noticed that you were sopping wet. Drenched.”
The judge gave the officer a wide-eyed look of disbelief.
Perhaps noticing His Honor’s reaction, the officer gave a boost to his answer. “In fact, you even paid the waitress a tip with sopping-wet money. And it hadn’t rained that day. The weather was clear as a bell. And the diner where you ate was walking distance from the river where we found the limo.”
“So you are assuming I had been in the limo, right?”
“Not just in it. Driving it. After you killed the driver and put him in the trunk.”
More creative speculation, but I ignored that and asked, “But none of that was personally observed by you, right?”
“No. But it seems logical.”
“Okay, let’s take a look at it logically. Were you present when the limo was dragged out of the river?”
“Sure was.”
“Was the driver’s-side door open or closed?”
“Uh . . . closed.”
“Was it locked?”
“No, unlocked.”
“How about the rear doors?”
“Well, they were locked.”
“Driver’s window open or closed?”
“Closed.”
“How about the window in the backseat?”
“Uh, it was open.”
“Open or actually smashed out?”
“The glass was broken, yes.”
“Was there a glass separation panel between the driver’s compartment and the passenger compartment that was shut?”
“Let me see . . . Yes, I guess there was.”
“So let’s concede for a moment that I was in that limo. Still, wouldn’t you agree it’s more logical to believe that I was just a backseat passenger and I was not the driver, and that I escaped through the busted window after the driver, who was the real killer, dumped the limo into the river?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”
There’s an old saying in trial practice. If you get a good answer from a witness, don’t gild the lily by trying to improve on it. I quit while I was ahead.
Then I looked at Levall. A judge who I thought couldn’t be judged by his face. Except that right then, he looked unimpressed by the case I was putting on.
Cougin decided not to question the officer. I must have inflicted some cuts, and she wasn’t sure how she would patch it up. “I reserve the right to recall the officer for examination during my case,” my opponent announced, but I was willing to bet Morgan Canterelle’s next dinner tab at Arnaud’s that she never would.
42
I rested my case. To win my freedom, I had to prove only one point—that my apprehension by a police officer under the mental health law was illegal because it wasn’t based on his personal observation. I thought I had shown it. But I wasn’t sure.
Attorney Cougin was smug when she argued for my petition to be dismissed. She seemed buoyed by Judge Levall’s apparent disinterest in my examination of the New Orleans officer.
“Mr. Black is wasting the time of this federal court,” the hospital’s attorney argued. “What is a mental commitment case doing here? It belongs down the street, in the Orleans Parish court.” Gaining steam, she not only argued that my case be kicked out; she also demanded that the judge assess attorney’s fees against me as a penalty for bringing “a frivolous, ridiculous case.”
Judge Levall nodded to me for a response.
I made it short and sweet. “Your Honor, habeas corpus has been held to be a perfectly legitimate approach to object to an illegal violation of the mental health commitment laws. I suggest the court read the opinion in Jackson v. Foti, a 1982 decision of the US Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit, right here in New Orleans.”
The judge didn’t waste time. “I’m familiar with the opinion in Jackson,” he said. He turned to Attorney Cougin. “Your motion to dismiss is denied. It’s your case now, Ms. Cougin.”
I glanced up at the clock. It was ten minutes after six. When would the sun go down and darkness fall? When would that ship glide past Port Sulphur? When would it be too late for the human traffic on board to be rescued?
Cougin called Special Agent Fainlock as her first witness. He described in great detail how he had interrogated me regarding the death of Assistant Attorney General Paul Pullmen, pointing out with exuberance that the victim had been murdered in my hotel room.
She asked, “Did you consider Trevor Black to be a potential suspect in that homicide?”
“Obviously,” Special Agent Fainlock replied.
“Did you consider Trevor Black to be a potential danger to the public?”
“Considering the violent way in which Paul Pullmen was murdered, I certainly did.”
“Were you present when Trevor Black recently delivered a speech to the American Bar Association convention in New Orleans?”
“I was there.”
“Describe for the court what happened.”
“Mr. Black went off on a rampage that upset the audience.”
“In what way?”
“By demanding an investigation into the death of an assistant US attorney by the name of Jason Forester, who died of natural causes but who Mr. Black thought had been the victim of some kind of voodoo curse.”
“When you were with the parish sheriff just minutes before he took Trevor Black into custody for mental observation and treatment, did you have a short conversation with Mr. Black?”
“Yes.”
“About what, pray tell?”
“About demons.”
Attorney Cougin feigned astonishment for theatrical effect. “Pardon me, but did you just say demons?”
“I did,” the FBI agent said. “I asked him about it because he has a reputation for chasing what he believes are demonic forces.”
“And what did Mr. Black say?”
“That demons are ‘everywhere.’ That’s the word he used. Then Mr. Black added, ‘You just have to know where to look.’ That is an exact quote.
”
As I stood for my cross-examination of the special agent, I had only one line of questioning. It was about his interrogating me at the FBI headquarters in New Orleans.
“Agent Fainlock, did you release me after questioning me about the murder of Paul Pullmen?”
“You were allowed to leave, yes.”
“Do you customarily release men who have murdered other men?”
“Not usually, no. But in your case, there were other factors.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that Mr. Vance Zaduck spoke to me. He’s the United States attorney for the District of Columbia.”
“What did he tell you?”
Attorney Cougin was up again, objecting on hearsay grounds.
“No, not hearsay,” I replied, explaining that I was not offering it for the truth of what was said, but only to show that Vance Zaduck had said it.
Judge Levall allowed the question and told the FBI agent to answer it.
Agent Fainlock said, “He told me he knew you, Mr. Black, professionally. And he was in the audience at the ABA convention when you spoke.”
“Any comments from Mr. Zaduck that I had run amok, acted like a crazy man during my speech to the ABA?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“Did Mr. Zaduck also tell you that as a result, it would have been impossible for me to have been in my hotel room killing Assistant AG Paul Pullmen and simultaneously in the auditorium giving my speech?”
“Mr. Zaduck and I are not pathologists, Mr. Black. Coroners and pathologists are the ones who fix the time of death.”
“But you’d agree with me, that it’s implausible to believe I killed Mr. Pullmen in a bloody melee in the hotel room, then cleaned up in a matter of minutes and calmly trotted over to the convention in time to deliver my speech. . . .”
“Not impossible.”
“But if you really believed that is what happened, would you have released me?”
Long pause.
“Probably not.”
I ended my cross there, and Judge Levall announced a break. When I turned to check the time, it was then 6:45 in the evening. I also noticed that Heather had left her seat in the courtroom and was quickly approaching me.
“Trevor, on that last witness, the FBI guy, I was just wondering . . .”
“Wondering what?”
“Why didn’t you try to nail him about your comment about demons being ‘everywhere.’ I mean, I was there, in the sheriff’s department when you said it. You were perfectly calm. Said it almost offhandedly. But he made it sound like you were totally crazy.”
“You’re wondering why I let that go?”
“Right.”
“Strategy. I’m leaving the demon stuff for the next witness.” Then I asked, “Did you strike out with Deputy St. Martin?”
“They wouldn’t let me talk to him.”
“Thanks for trying. You’re a trouper.”
“All rise.”
Judge Levall was striding back into the courtroom.
Ms. Cougin called Dr. Alex Schlosser to the stand as her next witness. As I had guessed.
43
A belabored introduction of Dr. Schlosser followed. His medical background and training. His professional accomplishments. His scholarly articles, and on and on. Time was running out. I rose to my feet and told the court I was willing to concede he was an expert in the field of psychiatry. We needed to get to the heart of his testimony.
Unfortunately, when we arrived at the heart of his opinion, Schlosser’s opinions were devastating. He testified that I was suffering from auditory and visual hallucinations most likely brought on by an early onset of paranoid schizophrenia. “Such a condition of mental illness,” he elaborated, “can often appear mixed in with rigid, fixed religious ideology—or in Mr. Black’s case, a hyper-extreme form of Christianity. It gives him the psychic defense, an intellectual justification, for his delusions. In his case, the delusions take the form of so-called demonic beings that regularly appear to him and with whom he thinks he is doing battle.”
“Dr. Schlosser, can a person suffering from such a condition pose a danger to other people or to himself?”
“Most certainly. And in Trevor Black’s case, his dangerousness is heightened by his rationale that God has blessed his mission against demonic forces. Some of the most horrendous crimes are committed by mentally impaired people who believe that God has commanded them to act in a certain way.”
Then the kicker. Cougin’s coup de grâce.
In this case, my reason for representing myself, among others, had been tactical: showing the judge that I was a man who could present a cogent, intelligent defense, with well-reasoned arguments and insightful questions. Raising grave doubts that such a man could be as mentally disabled as Dr. Schlosser said he was.
But Cougin was prepared for that.
“One last question, Doctor. Could a person suffering from paranoid schizophrenia, as you describe it, in the early stages as is the case with Trevor Black . . . could he have episodes of normality? In other words, appearing intelligent and mentally oriented, even capable of conducting a legal defense of himself as he is doing today?”
“Absolutely. There can be transient periods where the person seems poised and mentally healthy and confident, and could be mistaken by nonexperts for a person who is not mentally ill. Especially when his delusions are not challenged and he feels secure in his own private world of fractured reality. Eventually, however, he unravels. And that is when he can be the most dangerous, unless properly confined and treated, of course. Which is what we plan to do for Mr. Black at Morehaven.”
Cougin rested.
I took a few seconds before plowing in. In the old days it would have been a trial lawyer’s tactic. Letting the courtroom fall into silence, which would put Schlosser a little on edge and would also rivet the judge’s attention on what was about to come.
But that day, I needed a few seconds to pray silently. I glanced back at the clock. Ten minutes after seven. I could see, through the windows of the courtroom, the sun nearing the horizon. Barbaric inhumanity was on its way down the Mississippi and had to be stopped. I wanted to freeze the hands of that clock on the wall.
I took a relaxing breath. Then I began.
“Dr. Schlosser, I took good notes while you were testifying. You said a mentally impaired person—to be a precise, a paranoid schizophrenic, which you testified under oath that I am—that such a person can appear normal for periods of time and can even participate in complex legal proceedings, ‘especially when his delusions are not challenged.’ That is what you said, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Have you been in this courtroom today during all the testimony in this case?”
“I have.”
“Heard it all?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know that Judge Levall has heard testimony, first from a police officer, then an FBI agent, and now you, each of you attacking my mental state. So it’s clear my beliefs about demons have been aggressively challenged in this courtroom, have they not?”
“Of course.”
“So, according to your opinion, I should have unraveled. Now, have I unraveled before your eyes today?”
“That is for the judge to decide.”
“No, it’s for you to decide, because my question is put to you, the psychiatric expert. So I ask again. Despite having my beliefs assaulted in the most militant way, have I unraveled, sir?”
“Not entirely.”
“My beliefs as a follower of Jesus—do they make me vulnerable to mental illness?”
“That is not what I said.”
“You testified that my Christian views contributed to my delusions. That my ‘rigid, fixed religious ideology,’ ‘a hyper-extreme form of Christianity,’ as you called it, provided me with a convenient ‘psychic defense,’ which contributed to my psychotic beliefs about demons. You said that, didn’t you? I can have the court reporter rea
d it back if you doubt me. . . .”
“No need. I’ll concede the point. It’s getting late.”
Indeed it was, later than anyone in that courtroom really knew.
“I’ll be brief,” I said. “Here’s my question: Do you believe that Jesus was psychotic? Delusional?”
“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t have the chance to examine him.” Schlosser smiled and looked around the room, probably hoping for reinforcement and some evidence that his attempt at humor hit home, but if that was his plan, he found none.
“You do know,” I continued, “that the accounts in the New Testament describe Jesus meeting and talking with the devil. In your professional opinion, does that make Jesus psychotic and in need of mental confinement and treatment?”
“As I recall the story, he was in the desert. Hungry. Exhausted. Under such conditions a person can be rendered temporarily delusional.”
“But there are numerous accounts in the four Gospels where Jesus encountered, talked to, was recognized by demons, and then he in fact cast them out. In none of those instances does it say he was suffering from malnutrition or physical exhaustion.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, you took an oath to tell the truth by placing your hand on that Bible sitting over there on the clerk’s desk. I can pick it up right now and walk you through those accounts.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Some of the most brilliant minds in history believed in the God of the Bible and the miracles of Christ. The apostle Paul. Augustine. Copernicus. Francis Bacon. Johannes Kepler. Isaac Newton. Blaise Pascal. C. S. Lewis. And they believed in the existence of the devil and demons, too. Were they all hopelessly mad?”
“They can be excused as products of their times and cultures, I imagine.”
“How about you, Doctor, with your presuppositions against the supernatural world and against the reality of the spirit? Can your mistaken biases be excused as a product of your elitist scientific culture?”
Of course my question was argumentative. And of course my opponent leaped at the chance to object. And as expected, the judge sustained it. But sometimes, come hell or high water, the question simply has to be asked.
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