Degree of Guilt

by Unknown

  ‘Maybe you got through to her anyhow,’ Paget said quietly. ‘Hopefully, that’s why she’s making Marnie call Mr or Ms X.’

  ‘Whoever it is,’ Terri answered, ‘we’re about to find out what it is that Mamie’s always known.’

  Terri took an elevator to the first floor, avoiding reporters.

  Here, the Hall of Justice broke into a maze of bleak green corridors. She followed one, then turned down another, until she found an empty telephone booth.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she ducked inside.

  There was a telephone directory, but the overhead light was broken. Terri squinted at the pages under ‘United States Government’; at length, she found the heading ‘Postal Service.’

  What did I do for postage? Mary had asked.

  Beneath the heading was a page-long column of telephone numbers – area post offices, express mail, complaints, employment verification. The only one that looked promising was ‘Dead Letter Branch.’

  I’m not so foolish, Mary had said, as to mail them to myself.

  This was foolish, Terri thought. But the conversation with Mary would not leave her; Mary’s chilly exercise in logic was either a heartless game, played to no purpose, or designed to trace the rigor of Terri’s thoughts.

  They were not very rigorous, Terri knew. But she was certain that her opening premise was the same as Marnie Sharpe’s: that Mark Ransom died in possession of the tapes.

  Terri picked up the telephone and dialed.

  ‘Dead Letter Branch,’ a woman’s voice answered.

  Hesitating, Terri formed a vision of her: black, substantial, and middle-aged, phlegmatic from years of inquiries.

  ‘I have a question,’ Terri ventured.

  ‘That’s why we’re here, ma’am.’

  ‘What I wanted to know is what happens if someone mails something but forgets to put the whole address on. Or any address at all.’

  ‘It depends.’ The woman coughed. ‘Sorry, but I can’t seem to kick this cold. Anyhow, some things we just throw out. It depends on whether we think they have value.’

  ‘How do you determine that?’

  ‘We open the parcel. If it’s just a letter, and we can’t tell where it should go from looking at it, we get rid of it. If it looks like something of value, we keep it for a while.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Usually three months.’

  It was about five weeks, Terri thought, since Mary Carelli had shot Ransom. ‘What happens then?’ she asked.

  Terri heard the stifled sound of a repressed sneeze. ‘Then we sell it at auction,’ the woman answered. ‘If it doesn’t sell, then we give it away or throw it out. Why, what did you lose?’

  Terri paused, trying to envision the fate of Mary’s tape at a public auction. ‘Cassette tapes,’ she said finally. ‘Like for a car stereo.’

  ‘Yeah, we might keep them.’

  The voice was becoming bored and taciturn. Once more, Terri hesitated. ‘If I described them, could you take a look?’

  There was silence. ‘Didn’t you already call about tapes?’ the woman asked. ‘A few weeks back?’

  Terri was stunned. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘It wasn’t me. I’ve never called before.’

  ‘Would there have been postage on them?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Terri replied.

  ‘Well, this isn’t the lost and found, ma’am. If it had no postage and you want it, you got to go to the post office and look yourself. You know what zip code this got mailed from?’

  ‘I know it was Nob Hill.’

  There was silence, then a sudden loud cough. ‘I think that’s Station O,’ the woman wheezed. ‘Van Ness Avenue. You might go look there.’

  The witness was a round-faced man with thick glasses and a blond fringe of hair. His face was reflective but good-humored; his voice – deep, slow, and authoritative – had the trace of a southern accent. There was something quite gentle about him.

  ‘Who,’ Terri whispered to Paget, ‘is Dr George Bass?’

  Wary, Paget watched him. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And you’re a psychiatrist,’ Sharpe was asking, ‘licensed in the state of Florida?’

  Bass nodded. ‘That’s correct.’

  Paget felt Mary touch his arm, suddenly tense. ‘What’s this about?’ she demanded.

  ‘Just let me listen,’ he snapped. ‘If this guy’s Ransom’s psychiatrist, I’m about to object.’

  Sharpe moved forward. ‘And was Mark Ransom one of your patients?’

  Bass nodded. ‘Whenever he visited Key West. He started about four years ago, and our last session was about three months back.’

  ‘When Mark Ransom first visited you, Doctor, what reason did he give?’

  Bass looked faintly sad. ‘At first, it wasn’t any reason he gave, so much as what he talked about.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘Women, and his feelings about them.’ Bass frowned. ‘It took me some time to get to know what he saw as the root of the matter.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  Bass paused. ‘Impotence,’ he said quietly. ‘Mark Ransom could no longer achieve intercourse with a woman.’

  There was a sudden startled buzz. Paget was on his feet abruptly. ‘Objection,’ he called out. ‘Is the witness speaking from personal knowledge? Because if not, his testimony is hearsay, and I request that he be excused.’

  ‘Your Honor,’ Sharpe responded, ‘Ms Carelli is claiming an attempted rape by a man who, Dr Bass now tells us, was impotent. Surely Mr Paget is not claiming that Mr Ransom lied to Dr Bass about that.’

  ‘I have no basis for knowing,’ Paget responded. ‘Nor does Dr Bass. The court should not hear his testimony.’

  Caroline Masters leaned forward. ‘It may seem archaic, Mr Paget, but as a matter of evidence. Mr Ransom’s admissions on this subject are deemed so embarrassing as to be reliable. This witness may help shed light on Mr Ransom’s state of mind, and the question of sexual capacity is important. Overruled.’

  Sitting down, Paget could see the fear in Mary’s eyes at Masters’s ruling: Bass already looked like a good witness, and Mark Ransom’s supposed impotence went to the heart of her defense. ‘No wonder,’ Terri murmured, ‘that Johnny couldn’t find any women.’

  Silent, Paget wondered how long Sharpe had known this. Before Melissa Rappaport had appeared, he realized, and perhaps even before the indictment. It turned his understanding of the case upside down.

  Sharpe was moving closer to the witness. ‘Was Mr Ransom’s impotence the result of some physical incapacity?’

  Bass shook his head. ‘Mr Ransom told me that he was capable of having an erection, but that he became flaccid whenever he attempted intercourse. Understandably, Ransom felt that he was not the same man.’

  ‘And this upset him?’

  ‘To put it mildly. His chosen self-image was one of virility. It took a number of sessions before he could admit this, even to me.’

  Sharpe nodded. ‘And to what do you attribute Mr Ransom’s impotence?’

  ‘According to Mr Ransom, or my own analysis?’

  ‘Your own analysis, Doctor.’

  Bass nodded. ‘The superficial answer is that Mr Ransom disliked women. But the result of that hostility was guilt and ambivalence. About himself and his own sexuality.’ Pausing, Bass removed his glasses. ‘Mark Ransom wanted to subjugate, and even humiliate, women. But in his subconscious, he felt he had to inhibit himself. The ultimate result was impotence. You can view it as a kind of sexual policeman, dispatched by his conscience.’

  Terri leaned close to Paget. ‘Are we supposed to feel sorry for him?’

  Slowly, Paget nodded. ‘At least see him as human,’ he murmured. ‘Marcy Linton hurt them – if not with Caroline, then with the public. Sharpe means to turn all that around on us.’

  ‘To what do you attribute Mr Ransom’s hostility toward women?’ Sharpe was asking.

  ‘In part to his feelings toward Siobhan Rans
om, his late mother. She was a domineering woman and seems to have served as an archetype for any woman he perceived as strong and agressive – those of independent accomplishment, or ardent feminists. Women who he believed might dominate him, or criticize him, or simply not think well of him. As I say, Mark Ransom was a frightened and vulnerable man.’

  To his left, Paget felt Mary’s rising anger. The testimony regarding impotence was eating through her self-control; she stared at Bass with barely repressed rage. Once more, against his will, Paget wondered what had happened in Mark Ransom’s suite.

  Keep your concentration, he told himself. Look for a line of attack.

  ‘How serious,’ Sharpe was asking, ‘did you consider Mr Ransom’s sexual problem to be?’

  Bass looked grave. ‘Extremely serious, and very deeply rooted. At the time of our last visit, he had not been able to have intercourse for nearly four years.’

  Paget saw Caroline Masters’s eyes widen. Sharpe waited a moment. ‘And did Mr Ransom specify to you,’ she asked quietly, ‘the last time in which he achieved intercourse?’

  ‘It was the same occasion that he blamed for his impotence.’ Pausing, he turned to Masters. ‘The rape of the young woman you saw yesterday – Marcy Linton. After that, Mark Ransom became impotent.’

  The courtroom was silent. Softly, Sharpe said, ‘No further questions.’

  Rising from the defense table, Paget saw Mary’s sudden look of defeat. Behind her, Carlo stared at his shoes. Paget felt their reactions as his own; with her final question, to his utter disbelief, Sharpe had pointed Marcy Linton’s testimony back at Mary Carelli.

  Slowly, he walked toward Bass.

  ‘You mentioned Siobhan Ransom as an archetype,’ Paget began. ‘Did Ransom develop a counterarchetype? That is, was there a particular woman who he imagined represented his needs?’

  Bass watched him for a moment. ‘Yes. The actress Laura Chase.’

  Paget felt a spark of hope. ‘So he mentioned her in analysis?’

  ‘Frequently.’

  ‘And what role did Ms Chase play in Mr Ransom’s psychic landscape?’

  Idly, Bass tapped his glasses, ‘in shorthand, she represented security and sexual fulfillment. The Laura Chase he invented in his mind would have done anything to please him. She not only would have catered to his sexual desires but, equally important, she would have admired him.’

  Paget gave him a curious look. ‘Did he specifically associate Laura Chase with sexual performance?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bass sounded rueful. ‘He came to believe that with Laura Chase, he would have been the sexual man he wished to be. He saw her as someone mysterious, yet available; a woman who wanted to maintain a distinct and exotic role that was not in competition with him.’

  ‘Is it fair to call this preoccupation with Laura Chase a fetish?’

  Bass nodded. ‘In a sense. It’s not at all uncommon, Mr Paget, for men with doubts about their sexuality to seek arousal through fetishes or rituals. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but the incident with Ms Linton traumatized him. He was deeply afraid of failure.’

  Paget felt himself slown down. ‘Did Mr Ransom also have a preoccupation with rape?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. It was part of his desire to subjugate women.’

  ‘Is it fair to say that rape is a crime of violence rather than of passion? As evidenced by the blow to the face he inflicted on Ms Linton?’

  ‘I would agree, yes.’

  ‘And it’s true that Mr Ransom derived sexual stimulation from physically abusing women? Also as evidenced by Ms Linton?’

  ‘That is possible. At least it is consistent with his psychology.’

  Paget moved closer, glancing up at Caroline Masters. ‘It is even possible, is it not, that he might view slapping a woman’s face as a way of achieving and/or maintaining an erection?’

  ‘Yes. That also would be consistent.’

  ‘So that we have now identified two factors which helped Mr Ransom achieve erection: striking a woman, and his fetish for Laura Chase. Is that correct?’

  Bass gave him a thoughtful gaze. ‘Those could be factors.’

  It was time, Paget thought, to take a chance. ‘Did you ever become aware that Mr Ransom had obtained tapes of Laura Chase’s sessions with her psychiatrist, Dr Steinhardt?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bass looked defensive. ‘I don’t approve, incidentally. I’m here because my patient was killed, and because Ms ‘Sharpe was quite insistent. In fact, I find it quite ironic to be here discussing Mr Ransom’s confidences.’

  ‘I understand,’ Paget said. ‘But fairness to Ms Carelli requires that I pursue this. Specifically, did Mr Ransom tell you that he had obtained the tape described by Ms Carelli – one in which Laura Chase described having sex with two men?’

  Bass nodded unhappily. ‘He did. Yes. He was quite excited about it.’

  ‘Did Mr Ransom believe that this tape might restore him sexually?’

  ‘Objection,’ Sharpe called out. ‘The question asks Dr Bass to speculate.’

  Caroline Masters gave her a droll look. ‘People who live in glass houses, Ms Sharpe, are likely to get glass in their eye. Carry on, Mr Paget.’

  ‘That would be speculation.’ Bass paused. ‘But yes, I think so. I do know that once Mr Ransom got that tape, he stopped seeing me.’

  All at once, Paget understood the doctor’s rueful tone: Mark Ransom had chosen Laura Chase as a substitute for therapy, gone down what Bass believed to be a sad and fruitless path. ‘But after that, Doctor, he did see Ms Carelli. So let’s briefly reprise your testimony. Slapping women helped Mr Ransom stay erect, true?’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘The Laura Chase fetish also helped Mark Ransom stay erect?’

  Bass nodded. ‘It was a primary source of stimulus, yes.’

  ‘So isn’t it quite possible that stimulated by the Laura Chase tape and by slapping Ms Carelli, Mark Ransom could have tried to rape her?’

  ‘It’s possible, yes. But after Ms Linton, that would have put Mark Ransom at great risk of personal embarrassment.’ Pausing, Bass glanced at Mary. ‘It’s difficult to envision him taking that risk with a woman like Ms Carelli.’

  ‘But weren’t women “like Ms Carelli” – independent women of achievement – the very type of women Mark Ransom despised and wished to subjugate?’

  ‘True, on one level.’ Bass shifted on the witness stand. ‘But to me, the operative word is “fear.” The man I saw was far too mired in fear to attempt penetration with an unwilling woman.’

  Paget’s voice went cold. ‘That’s called rape, Doctor. Which is the third factor we’ve identified as a sexual stimulus to Mr Ransom.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Bass said. ‘But I saw the man for almost four years, and what you describe is hard for me to imagine.’

  It stopped Paget again. He stared at Bass, feigning incredulity, while he tried to think of a way to end on a better answer. ‘But isn’t it possible,’ he finally asked, ‘that Mark Ransom could have achieved an erection under circumstances that would convince Ms Carelli she was going to be raped, including the infliction of a blow to the face, whether or not he could actually do it?’

  ‘That’s possible, yes.’

  ‘Or whether or not, in the end, he intended to even try penetration?’

  Bass looked at Sharpe, then turned again to Paget. Slowly, he answered, ‘I suppose that’s also possible.’

  When Paget glanced up at Caroline Masters, her gaze was cool. But there was nothing more that he could do.

  He turned back to Bass. ‘I have no further questions, Dr Bass. Thank you for your patience.’

  Walking back to the defense table, Paget saw that Sharpe was already on her feet.

  ‘During the four-year period of Mr Ransom’s treatment,’ she asked Bass, ‘did he ever discuss raping anyone?’

  Bass shook his head. ‘No. As I said, the consequences of his attack on Ms Linton tormented him. His fantasy concerning rape, when he acted it out, came a
t a great cost to both people involved.’

  ‘Did he indicate any predisposition to rape anyone again?’

  Bass paused, looking at Mary Carelli. ‘No. None.’

  Sharpe nodded. ‘In fact, did Mr Ransom talk of sexual contact with anyone?’

  ‘No one.’

  Sharpe paused for a moment. ‘Did he ever mention Mary Carelli?’

  Bass shook his head. ‘If he had a particular interest in Ms Carelli, I was not aware of it.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Bass. No further questions.’

  As Caroline Masters excused her last witness, Sharpe walked to the prosecution table with an air of satisfaction. Watching, Paget felt disheartened.

  From the bench, Masters faced the lawyers again. ‘I’d like to compliment both prosecution and defense on an admirable presentation of the evidence. I’ll hear final argument at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  Abruptly, she banged her gavel.

  ‘All rise,’ the courtroom deputy called out, and Caroline Masters left the bench, the sudden tumult of the courtroom trailing after her, the legacy of Sharpe’s final witness.

  PART SIX

  The Court

  FEBRUARY 19 – FEBRUARY 22

  Chapter 1

  Teresa Peralta pulled up in front of the post office.

  She sat in her car for a moment, watching the pedestrian traffic on Van Ness. It was one o’clock; men and women on lunch breaks filed in and out of restaurants and shops and the stereo outlet across the street, in no particular hurry. The desultory rhythm of normal life seemed alien to Terri; the day was unseasonably warm, and the brightness of the sun surprised her.

  The cloistered world of a trial was unnatural, she realized; a forced obsession which so consumed its protagonists that they thought of little else. For two weeks, the hearing had been her life; the witnesses her chief concern; Christopher Paget and Caroline Masters and Marnie Sharpe and Mary Carelli her human reference points. She had watched them stumble, grow, confront the relentless pressure of the courtroom and of life in the third person – watching their every act replayed on television – until, finally, it was almost finished.