“What action did you take?”
“I gave him a prescription. For Risperdal. It’s a stronger medication I thought would help calm him down. And I told him I wanted to see him the next day.”
“Why?”
“I felt that part of his problem stemmed from his feeling of helplessness, that there was nothing he could do about the situation. We have techniques for helping someone out of that mental state. Helping them turn their grief into something positive.”
“Did he show up for the next appointment?”
“He did not. And that night, on the news, I heard what happened.”
“Have you seen Dennis since his arrest?”
“Yes. Many times.”
“Have you drawn any conclusions about what happened?”
“Yes.”
“Would you share them with the jury, please?”
Estevez straightened up. “I believe that his mental capacity was severely diminished at the time of Detective Sentz’s death.”
“Is that all?”
“No. I also believe that he was motivated by an irresistible impulse to want to harm Detective Sentz.”
“When you say he had diminished capacity, what exactly do you mean?”
“That his ability to control himself was greatly reduced. That his ability to comprehend the nature and quality of his acts was all but eradicated. That he could no longer discern the difference between right and wrong.”
“How long did this condition last?”
Estevez thought a moment before answering. “I can’t say with certainty, but after the shooting occurred, Dennis suffered a blackout. I believe this was the brain shutting down, protecting itself from the overload caused by too much stress, too much guilt. With Detective Sentz’s death, the target of all that negative energy had been eliminated.”
“Are you saying this is the result of Dennis’s actions against Detective Sentz?”
“No, and perhaps I should make that more clear. I have no idea what happened in that hotel room. Neither does Dennis. From a psychological point of view, it makes no difference who did what. What matters is that Detective Sentz did in fact die, and when that occurred, the subject of Dennis’s abnormal fixation was gone. With nothing to fixate on, the obsession began to lose its hold. The blackout signals a sort of mental changing of the guard, if you will. The brain shut down so it could begin healing itself.”
“And did it?”
“Yes. He’s been getting better ever since the incident, and now I believe he has returned to the same mental state he was in before his wife disappeared. He’s still dealing with a great deal of stress, obviously, as a result of the charges and this trial. But he’s much better than he was before.”
“Does he present a danger to others at this time?”
“Objection,” Guillerman said, undoubtedly grateful to finally have an opportunity to break up the flow. “Not relevant.”
Technically, he was correct. The defendant’s current mental state didn’t matter; what mattered was his mental state at the time he allegedly pulled the trigger. But Ben wanted the jury to hear it, just the same.
“I’ll allow this,” the judge ruled.
“No. He is not a danger to anyone. The extreme circumstances that produced this anomalous situation will not and cannot recur.”
“Thank you,” Ben said, returning to his seat. “I’ll pass the witness.” And pray to God for deliverance from the barrage he knew was soon to follow.
28
Guillerman strode up to the witness box without missing a beat. He was coming on strong, and clearly he wanted everyone to know it. He couldn’t afford to let this witness step down without putting a few dents in his highly educated armor.
“Just so the jury knows where everyone stands, Doctor, are you being paid for your testimony today?”
“No. I’m being paid for my time.”
“So you are being compensated for being in the courtroom today.”
“Yes. Just as you are, counsel.”
Guillerman smiled. “I’ll bet you’re getting more. What’s your hourly rate?”
“I get two hundred dollars an hour normally, but I charge three hundred for court time. Obviously, there are more problems when I have to come to court.”
“Gosh, I’d hate to think of you being inconvenienced. What are the additional problems?”
“Having to drive downtown, find a parking place. And put up with cross-examination, of course.”
Even though his delivery was totally flat and dry, Estevez was managing to get in a few zingers. Ben had no idea how that would play with the jury, but he was enjoying it.
“Does that three hundred dollars an hour include time spent in preparation for appearing in the courtroom?”
“Yes.”
“How much of that time have you logged?”
“About twenty hours.”
Guillerman whistled. “This little murder trial is turning into a real cash cow for you, isn’t it?”
Estevez’s reaction was cold. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“During this preparation, did you meet with the defendant?”
“Of course.”
“And you met with his attorney?”
“I talked with Mr. Kincaid and his partner, Ms. McCall.”
“And they told you what they wanted you to say?”
“Don’t be offensive. I told them what conclusions I had reached regarding the incident. They didn’t tell me anything.”
“And you pocketed about ten thousand dollars for your trouble.”
“Something like that.”
“I would imagine you could get most people to say just about anything for ten thousand dollars.”
“Objection,” Ben said. He kept it quiet. The objection had to be made, but he didn’t want to start a fuss. Expert witnesses got paid and the jury could do with that what they would.
“That’s all right,” Guillerman said. “I think I’ve made my point.”
Several times over, Ben thought.
“Dr. Estevez, you mentioned that at some point prior to the murder you prescribed medication for Dennis.”
“Yes.”
“You described it as a mild anti-anxiety drug.”
“Yes.”
“It sounded as if his anxiety levels were rather high, at least at the time.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you prescribe something stronger?”
“This was the first time he had taken anxiety medicine. You don’t start anyone on the strongest medication. You start with something mild, then see if more is required.”
“But you could have prescribed something stronger, right?”
“I have the ability, if that’s what you mean.”
“And you chose not to. Tell me, sir—is it correct to say that if you had prescribed something stronger before all this happened, we might not be here today?”
“Objection,” Ben said. “Speculation.”
“I’ll allow it,” the judge ruled. “He is an expert.”
The witness answered, “I seriously doubt it. I mean, I suppose if I had given him something so strong that it knocked him out he couldn’t have done anything. But short of that, I don’t think it would’ve made any difference.”
“And that was because his anger was so intense, he was going to kill that cop no matter what.”
“Objection,” Ben said. Again, he played it weary, rather than angry. Better to give the impression the objection was obligatory, even though he knew no juror could be foolish enough to be swayed by it, rather than to act as if it were of great importance.
“Sustained.”
“Well, let me come at this a different way.” Guillerman rested his hands on the witness box and stared directly at Dr. Estevez. “That stuff you prescribed later—Risperdal. It’s actually used for a variety of reasons, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And one of those reasons is that it’s supposed to improve impuls
e control. Or to put it another way, to suppress strong feelings. Violent impulses.”
“It is used sometimes for that purpose, but—”
“So what you actually prescribed was something to help the defendant control his violent and angry temper.”
“I had no reason to believe—”
“Tell me, Doctor. Is having a bad temper the same as being insane?”
“Of course not.”
“But the defendant does have a history of violent temper, right?”
“I would not agree with that statement.”
“He was in fact having troubles with his wife, the one whose loss supposedly drove him over the brink, right?”
Estevez took a deep breath. “Every marriage has its problems. Even the good ones.”
“And he had in fact been violent with his wife.”
“There was one incident that—”
“Dr. Estevez, isn’t it true that the defendant was angry, even before his wife disappeared, because he believed his wife was having an affair?”
“Objection!” Ben rose to his feet. This one would require more strength. Where had this come from? He glanced at Christina. She was just as puzzled as he. “This is not relevant.”
Judge McPartland tilted his head to one side. “I suspect it may be. Overruled.”
“Please answer the question,” Guillerman directed the witness.
“Dennis did believe that at one time.”
“And he was particularly angry,” Guillerman said, “because he believed she was having an affair with a cop, right? Isn’t that the truth?”
The courtroom buzzed with whispering and murmuring. Spectators moved back and forth as if a fire had been lit beneath them. Several reporters made for the rear doors.
Ben glanced at Dennis. He was doing an admirable job of not reacting to this latest bombshell. But Ben himself would like to know if this was true. Because if it was, it changed everything. The jury would never be satisfied until they knew the truth.
And the only one who could tell them about that was Dennis.
Even Estevez seemed surprised by this revelation. “He never mentioned that.”
“Did he mention an affair?”
“He had some suspicions, but—”
“And if his wife was cheating on him with a police officer, that would certainly give him additional motivation to kill a police officer, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose, but—”
“So in fact, the defendant’s vendetta against police officers began even before his wife disappeared!”
“Objection!” Ben insisted.
Judge McPartland nodded. “This time I have to agree. The witness already said he hadn’t heard this before. Rein it in, counsel.”
“Of course, your honor.” Guillerman tucked in his chin. “I just want the jury to understand the source of the defendant’s anger.” He looked at the witness again. “Because it’s possible for someone to be so angry that he is driven to extreme action without being insane, isn’t it?”
“It’s also possible to have anger, frustration, guilt, and worry consume the normal personality and produce an aberrant psychological reaction.”
Ben was glad to see their witness earning his money.
Guillerman did not relent. “But it doesn’t always happen that way, does it? In fact, that would be the exception, not the rule.”
“True.”
“And isn’t it also true that insanity should not be assumed in cases of extreme or atypical action simply to grant mercy to sympathetic cases?”
Ben eased forward in his chair. He didn’t like where this was headed. He wanted to object, but he knew the judge would slap him down, since he had been implicitly asking the jury for mercy all along.
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way,” Estevez answered weakly.
“Oh, but Doctor, you did put it exactly that way.” Guillerman returned to his table and pulled out a thick book. “Dr. Estevez, are you the author of a book called The Psychotherapy of Extreme Violence?”
Estevez did not evidence the usual pride Ben associated with authorship. “It’s been some years.”
“But I’m sure you genuinely believed what you wrote when you wrote it.”
“Well, yes.”
“Have you subsequently determined that what you wrote was wrong?”
“No, but—”
“In fact, you won some awards for this book, did you not?”
“The American Psychiatric Association was quite kind about it.”
“You have published excerpts from it in professional journals.”
“That’s correct.”
“You have several copies in the waiting room of your office.”
He smiled slightly. “That’s true.”
“And it helped you obtain a part-time position at the University of Tulsa, correct?”
“It didn’t hurt any.”
“So I think we can assume that not only did you believe what you wrote, but you still do and others do as well. Right?”
Estevez seemed resigned. Ben desperately wanted to know what was in that book.
“That’s correct.”
“Good. Let me read what you wrote specifically on the subject of the use of the insanity defense in criminal trials. You said, and I quote: ‘Too often, the definition of true insanity is muddied for the purpose of justifying mercy in criminal actions.’”
“Objection,” Ben said. “This book is not on the prosecution exhibit list.” It was a weak objection and he knew it, but he had to distract the jury and break up Guillerman’s flow.
Judge McPartland was unimpressed. “I don’t believe the prosecutor is planning to admit it as an exhibit. Are you?”
“No,” Guillerman answered. Because then he would have had to list it and Ben would’ve been alerted to this tactic. “Just using it to impeach the witness.”
“Very well. The objection is overruled.”
Guillerman continued reading. “You go on to say: ‘It is normal for persons in civilized societies to believe that certain individuals do not merit the harsh penalties dispensed for criminal actions. Consequently, the concept of temporary insanity was defined into existence in order to allow courts to absolve those who undoubtedly committed the crimes but whose circumstances are sympathetic and whose behaviors are unlikely to be repeated.’” Guillerman closed the book with a slam. “Is that true, Dr. Estevez? Was this whole idea of temporary insanity … what were your words … ‘defined into existence’?”
Estevez appeared supremely uncomfortable. “Every psychological diagnosis is an intellectual construction. We define terms so that we may treat real illnesses.”
“But according to you, Doctor, this one was ‘defined into existence’ in order to get criminals off the hook.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what it sounded like to me.”
Estevez leaned forward, straining. He was starting to look as if he was struggling to maintain his credibility, never a good sign. “You have to make a distinction between the psychiatric concept of temporary insanity and the legal concept of temporary insanity.”
“Why? Because one is real and the other is invented to get guilty people off?”
“Mercy is the best attribute of humanity. There is nothing wrong with it.”
“No, but there is something wrong with trying to pull a fast one on the jury. Let me ask you one final question, Doctor. Do you believe Dennis Thomas killed Christopher Sentz?”
Estevez was already flustered, and now it became worse. He pursed his lips and swallowed. “I wasn’t there.”
“I know you’re not an eyewitness. You’re a psychiatric expert. And based upon your examination of the defendant, your awareness of his mental state, not to mention his temper, do you believe he pulled the trigger and killed Detective Sentz?”
“Dennis was functioning under an extreme psychological—”
“You’re not answering the question, Doctor. Do you beli
eve that Dennis Thomas killed Christopher Sentz?”
“I—I don’t know.”
Guillerman leaned forward, his frustration apparent. “What do you think? You’re an expert witness. Give us your expert opinion.”
Estevez looked across at Dennis, then returned his gaze to the district attorney. “I assume that he did.”
“Thank you. Finally. No more questions.”
And he sat down, with Ben still gritting his teeth. Guillerman had handled that brilliantly. If he had gone one question further, Ben would’ve been on his feet. But Guillerman hadn’t let it go that far. He’d made his point and sat down. He would return to the theme later, no doubt, in closing argument. When it really mattered.
Ben considered redirecting. He hated to leave it as it was, particularly as the last bit of testimony of the day, what the jurors were most likely to remember. But he couldn’t think of anything he could do to fix this. Better just to let it go and not make a bigger deal of it than it already was.
Judge McPartland recessed the trial for the day and the jury was dismissed to their sequestration hotel. Christina began packing up. She did not look happy.
Guillerman did. Their eyes met briefly and he winked at Ben. The message was all too clear. You tried for jury nullification, and I just killed it. Your move.
Dennis had a worried expression on his face. “That didn’t go as well as we had hoped, did it?”
“We’ll talk about it when we get back to the office.”
“I saw the looks on the jurors’ faces, and—”
“We’ll talk about it when we get back to the office.” Among other reasons, Ben needed more time to process what had happened. At this point, he wasn’t sure which was worse. Was it the suggestion of the affair, which gave Dennis an additional motivation to murder a cop and also suggested that he had a violent temper? Or the testimony indicating that the temporary insanity defense was a kind-hearted crock? Or the fact that, ironically enough, their own expert was the first witness who could actually portray Dennis pulling the trigger? None of them was good.
“We’ll get some dinner, then we’ll try to sort this all out.”
“Is—Is it too late to ask for a mistrial?”
“I’m afraid so. That ship has sailed.”
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