By Reason of Insanity

by Randy Singer

  Saunders paused, as if the images he would be forced to describe were too horrible for him to continue. "Although I wasn't there, my opinions are based on the evidence I reviewed. Mr. Donaldson would have been straining against the straps with almost superhuman strength. There would have been the awful stench of burning flesh and probably smoke, maybe even sparks emanating from the spots where the electrodes were attached. Mr. Donaldson would have been convulsing with pain, probably screaming for mercy. He had no stomach contents at the time of the autopsy, meaning that at some point during the execution he probably vomited. His skin would have turned bright red, his eyes bugging out."

  Saunders lowered his eyes, signifying that he had subjected the jury to enough gruesome details. "It would have been awful."

  "That's all I have," Boyd Gates said. His wingtips clicked on the floor as he returned to his seat.

  Before Gates could sit, Marc Boland was up and asking a question.

  "It's hard to imagine any sane person inflicting that kind of torture, isn't it, Dr. Saunders?"

  "Objection," Gates said, swiveling toward the judge. "Dr. Saunders is not proffered as a psychiatrist."

  "Sustained."

  "Nothing further," Boland said.

  81

  "The commonwealth calls Detective Jamarcus Webb," Gates announced.

  Rosencrance checked her watch. "I'm assuming you will be keeping Detective Webb on the stand for quite some time, counsel?"

  "That's correct," Gates said.

  "Then let's resume after lunch when everybody is fresh." The judge banged her gavel, and the bailiff called the court into recess.

  Over lunch, Marc Boland reiterated his strategy for Webb. "We've got to give the jury a reason to go with our insanity defense," he told Quinn. "For us to succeed, they have to want us to win. The insanity plea just gives them a means to make it happen."

  Quinn didn't really disagree, so he just shoved another bite of sandwich in his mouth.

  "Paul Donaldson was no Boy Scout," Boland continued. "He raped and killed Sherri McNamara. The jury needs to believe he got what he had coming.

  "Plus, we've got to suggest other potential villains. Even though Catherine pled insanity, it doesn't hurt to plant some subtle seeds of doubt about whether she even committed the crimes. Jamarcus Webb will be a good place to start."

  * * *

  An hour later, Webb settled his large frame into the witness chair after affirming his oath with a look of grim determination. He cast a quick glance at Catherine before he shifted to face Boyd Gates and the jury.

  For most of the afternoon, Jamarcus Webb presented a painfully detailed overview of the investigation linking Catherine to the death of Paul Donaldson--the hair on the envelope sent to the Richmond Times, the DNA evidence on the paper towels, the methohexital, the visions Catherine had shared with Webb, the gash on Donaldson's scalp found when his body was recovered and Catherine's question about whether Donaldson had been bleeding from the scalp. Jamarcus also discussed various issues related to chain of custody for the evidence and the standard police procedures involved in crime scene investigations.

  "Is the death of Paul Donaldson the only crime you have investigated by this so-called Avenger of Blood?" Gates asked.

  Marc Boland rose immediately to object. The subject matter of other crimes had been the basis of a lengthy pretrial motion to exclude, which the judge had already ruled against. In a written opinion, Rosencrance had held that the prosecution could refer to the other crimes, even though for strategic reasons O'Rourke had not yet been charged with them, because that evidence was critical on the issue of O'Rourke's state of mind and because the other crimes showed a pattern of conduct. For example, both the Carver and Milburn kidnappings tied the methohexital to the modus operandi of the Avenger of Blood.

  "We renew our earlier motion to exclude this evidence," Boland said. "It's highly prejudicial and not relevant to the sole crime Ms. O'Rourke is being charged with in this proceeding."

  "And for the reasons I stated earlier, I'm allowing the testimony," Rosencrance ruled. "It might be relevant to show an alleged pattern or MO, and it goes to the defendant's state of mind at the time of this crime."

  Marc Boland gave the obligatory "Thank you, Your Honor" and sat down.

  The jury, whose collective interest had been waning a little, now looked riveted to the witness, and Boyd Gates took maximum advantage. He had Jamarcus detail the evidence regarding the Avenger's use of methohexital on Marcia Carver and Sherita Johnson, and he asked Jamarcus to describe the notes sent by the Avenger after those kidnappings. Next, Gates asked the witness to discuss any evidence that suggested a pattern of premeditation for the Avenger's crimes.

  In response, Jamarcus calmly took the jury through a litany of devastating facts. The defendant had apparently stalked Paul Donaldson and his girlfriend, taking pictures of Donaldson's girlfriend with another man in order to lure Donaldson into a meeting. The photos, heavily damaged by the brackish water of the Dismal Swamp Canal, had been found under the front seat of Donaldson's vehicle.

  The Avenger of Blood had used an even more elaborate scheme to ensnare attorney Rex Archibald. First, the Avenger had sent several different e-mails from a variety of publicly accessible computers, posing as Reverend Harold Pryor and pretending that Pryor wanted to hire Archibald. To pay the retainer, the Avenger had procured five two-thousand-dollar money orders at five different convenience stores over the course of several days and had sent that money to Archibald.

  The Avenger had then lured Archibald to a meeting at the North Williamsburg Baptist Church, Jamarcus told the jury. Before Archibald arrived, the Avenger had changed the marquee in front of the church to reflect a Bible verse--Ezekiel 18:20--conveying the Avenger's message about justice and punishment.

  Gates asked Webb to read the verse, and the jury hung on every word:

  "'The soul who sins is the one who will die. The son will not share the guilt of the father, nor will the father share the guilt of the son. The righteousness of the righteous man will be credited to him, and the wickedness of the wicked will be charged against him.'"

  "What happened to Mr. Archibald after he met the Avenger at this church?"

  Jamarcus hesitated and swallowed. "He hasn't been seen or heard from again."

  Boyd Gates pretended to check some notes so the answer could hang in the air and poison the atmosphere. "This sounds like an impressive level of advanced planning for these crimes, Detective Webb. Would you agree?"

  Marc Boland jumped up. "Objection. Leading."

  "Sustained."

  Gates shook his head, as if reprimanding himself. "Does this level of planning--and this level of cover-up, to the extent that virtually no scientific evidence is left behind at these crime scenes--seem consistent with someone who goes temporarily insane and does things she doesn't even remember?"

  Boland stood and just spread his palms. "Judge . . ."

  "Sustained," said Rosencrance. But the point had been made.

  Boyd Gates collected his notes from the lectern and headed back to his counsel table. Webb's testimony had caused a type of somber hush to settle over the courtroom. This was the trial of a serial killer, after all, someone who had probably kidnapped babies even though she was "only" being charged in this trial with the murder of a single adult.

  Before Boyd Gates sat down, he turned back to his witness, who was now taking a sip of water. "When the evidence first started piling up against Ms. O'Rourke, did you want to believe the evidence or did you want to believe that she was innocent?" Gates asked.

  Boland objected again, but Quinn marveled at the brilliance of the question. One of Webb's vulnerable points would be his betrayal of Catherine's confidence. But Boyd Gates had just turned it into a strength.

  "It goes to his lack of bias against the defendant," Gates explained to the judge. "Certainly that's relevant."

  "Objection overruled," said Rosencrance.

  Webb put down his water gla
ss and looked directly at Catherine. "The defendant and I were friends," he said. "As a newspaper reporter, I trusted her with confidential information I thought the public needed to know. She guarded that information with her life. One time she went to jail rather than reveal me as her source."

  Webb pursed his lips and shook his head a little. To Quinn, the angst did not seem manufactured. "I trusted her and believed in her until the evidence became overwhelming. She lied to me. And she used me to get inside information about the police investigation so she could govern her conduct accordingly."

  Webb looked down to deliver his most devastating statement, one that Quinn realized would swing any remaining undecided jurors to Webb's side. "I failed in my duties as a detective," he confessed. "I let a personal friendship get in the way."

  As if the testimony hadn't been harmful enough, Judge Rosencrance decided to increase its impact by letting the jurors think about it overnight. "It's nearly 5:00," she said. "Mr. Boland, we'll start with your cross-examination first thing tomorrow morning."

  The judge warned the jurors not to discuss the case with anyone and not to listen to, watch, or read any media coverage of the trial. They all nodded solemnly, and the bailiff recessed the court. For a few seconds after the judge left, Catherine and her lawyers just stood there, the enormity of their task sinking in.

  "We've got some work to do," Marc finally offered. "But tomorrow will be a new day. And I've got a few questions of my own for Detective Webb."

  82

  A deputy sheriff led Catherine into the small chamber adjacent to the courtroom and locked her in the cramped holding cell where she would change back into her jumpsuit. A few moments later, as he had done on other days, the deputy came back into the courtroom and let Quinn know he could go talk with his client.

  Quinn walked into the small enclosed chamber that separated the men's holding cell from the women's and connected both to the courtroom. Catherine was in the women's cell, on the other side of a locked metal door with a six-inch opening about waist high so prisoners could slide their arms through to be cuffed or uncuffed.

  Quinn heard Cat rustling around as she changed her clothes and thought he heard her quietly crying as well. "Are you okay?" he asked.

  She didn't answer.

  "Cat? Are you okay?"

  The movement inside the cell stopped, and Quinn imagined Catherine sitting on the metal bench attached to the far wall.

  When she spoke, her voice seemed small. Frail. "Whoever did those things deserves to die, Quinn. Whoever did those things is an animal."

  "Cat, now's not the time--"

  "We're talking about babies, Quinn," she said sharply. "Somebody is killing babies. If I did that . . . I deserve to die."

  The comment left Quinn struggling for a response. In the past few weeks, Cat had seemed to accept her illness, even embrace it. The testimony of Saunders and Webb had apparently shattered that. "Even if you did those things, Cat, that doesn't mean it's who you are. It's a sickness. A disease. It's not something you could help anymore than you can keep yourself from getting cancer."

  "Stop," Catherine said. "I know you're trying to make me feel better about all this, but it's just not working. Those babies are dead. Those men are dead. And Jamarcus is right--whoever killed them planned the whole thing with premeditated malice and a cold heart that would make Hitler proud." Cat paused and sniffled back a tear. "Even if we win, I'm still the one responsible in everybody's mind. The insanity defense doesn't change that."

  Quinn leaned against the wall. He ached to be with her. "I told you we would have to be strong," he said softly. "I told you we would have moments like this."

  "Do you think I did those things?" Catherine asked. Before he could answer, she added, "And I don't want your usual lines about the Catherine you know couldn't have done it. I need to know: do you think I did it--any part of me, any personality?"

  Quinn thought about it for a long time. "I don't know," he said at last. "I honestly don't know." He almost left it at that--probably should have. But Catherine wasn't the only one emotionally drained, and Quinn let his emotions run ahead of him. "I only know that I care about you, Catherine. If you did these crimes, I just want you to get help. If you didn't, I want you to forgive me for doubting you. Either way, my only goal right now is to save your life, and the only way I know to do that is through the insanity defense."

  This generated another silence that made Quinn realize again how much he hated the steel door separating them. He couldn't see Catherine's face or place a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. He had no idea what was going through her mind at this critical moment.

  "Thanks, Quinn," she said. "Thanks for being honest."

  On impulse, Quinn walked a few steps to the door and knelt down, reaching his forearms through the slit as far as he could. "Are you dressed?" he asked.

  "If you call an orange jumpsuit dressed."

  Quinn looked through the slit just in time to see Catherine kneel on the other side and take his hands. He winced as the pain in his shoulder stabbed at him, but he didn't say a word. She leaned closer so her face was nearly touching his hands. Instinctively, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Her face was raw from crying, her eyes red. He wiped the tears away from her cheeks.

  "We'll get through this," Quinn said.

  He heard the door start to open behind him, and he jerked his hands back, scrambling to his feet. Pain pierced his shoulder a second time.

  "You about done in here?" the deputy asked.

  "One more minute," Quinn said.

  The deputy obligingly shut the door, and Quinn knelt again. This time, he slid his left hand through the slot, and Catherine grabbed it with both of hers.

  "Promise me you won't do anything drastic," Quinn said.

  "I appreciate everything you're doing for me," Catherine said haltingly. "Everything." She paused, her voice catching. "But honestly, Quinn, I couldn't live with myself if this is who I am."

  The door opened again, and the deputy came through without seeking permission.

  "You can talk with her in the jail, Counselor," he said.

  "I know," Quinn answered. He squeezed Catherine's hand one last time and rose to his feet.

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Quinn had talked his way into an audience with Judge Rosencrance in her chambers. Boyd Gates was there for the commonwealth. Marc Boland was already gone, probably on the courthouse steps answering questions from the press.

  "I'm requesting that the court put my client on suicide watch until further notice," Quinn said. "I can't divulge attorney-client confidences, but I'm very concerned about her well-being."

  Gates snorted. "That's page three of the defendant's standard playbook, Your Honor. Request suicide watch and then leak it to the press. It helps the defendant seem more insane."

  "Everything's a game to Mr. Gates," Quinn countered. "Everything's a strategy. I'm talking about a woman's life, Your Honor. And if we're worried about appearances, think about how it will look if we don't put her on suicide watch and something happens."

  "Mr. Newburg's right," Rosencrance said to Gates. "I don't think I can take the risk of not doing this. The jury will not be told about it, so it won't prejudice your case." She turned to Quinn. "News about this had better not leak out."

  "Thank you, Your Honor," said Quinn. He left as quickly as possible before the judge could change her mind.

  * * *

  Catherine waited in the holding tank for the deputy to return and take her back to jail.

  He showed up about ten minutes later, put the cuffs on her, and opened the door. "You're going in solitary confinement," he said. "Judge's orders."

  He escorted Catherine through the long underground tunnel that connected the courthouse to the jail, through the double solid-metal doors that sealed off the jail facility and through another set of double doors to the isolation cells.

  "You missed dinner, but I'll see if I can get something brought in," h
e said.

  The man locked Catherine in her cell and had her slide her wrists through the bars so he could release the handcuffs. She thanked him and collapsed onto her cot, emotionally exhausted.

  That night, she slept fitfully, awakened by nightmares of hooded executioners coming to her cell and calling her name.

  * * *

  She woke at 4 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep.

  She had survived three months in jail by telling herself that the trial would set things straight. She had two of the best lawyers in the business helping her. She was being tried by a jury of her Virginia Beach peers. But now, after the first day of testimony, it seemed things could only get worse.

  If convicted, she would spend years on death row exhausting one appeal after another. And even if she won, the press and public would demonize her. She should know. How many criminals had she demonized in the past?

  She could see the headlines now: Confessed Killer Found Not Guilty. She might survive the trial, but the real test of strength would be surviving the public scorn.

  All she could do was take it one day at a time. Today, Marc Boland would get a chance to cross-examine Jamarcus Webb. In a few days, Catherine would take the stand and tell her story. She thought about the way Boyd Gates would tear into her on cross-examination. She envisioned the news stories that would follow, even the ones that would be printed by her own paper. She tormented herself with these thoughts for another half hour before the deputies came around clanging their flashlights against the prison bars.

  Another cruel day had begun.

  83

  After a long night of research and trial prep, Quinn slept through his alarm and awoke in a panic thirty minutes later. He fought Virginia Beach traffic, searched in vain for a parking spot within a half mile of the courthouse, elbowed past Reverend Harold Pryor and his brood, and arrived in Virginia Beach Circuit Court 7 just a few minutes before 9:00.