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 believe 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."
As they left the courtroom, Dennis said precious little. But the hollow expression in his eyes said it all.
29
They all needed sleep. And yet Ben could not make himself call it a day. Or a night, he supposed, since it was well after dark. The normal human diurnal cycles had little meaning during a trial. All the usual daily habits and procedures became meaningless. There was only the trial, omnipresent and all-absorbing. And a client who desperately needed him to succeed.
He stared out the window of their seventh-floor conference room at the slumbering city. Tulsa was lovely at night. He liked it during the day, too, but the day gave you not only the rolling hills and long lines of trees but also refineries and dirt and far too much pavement. At night all that faded away. The lights winked at you. The traffic moved slowly, oozing down Yale like neon gas in a very long tube.
A dramatic contrast to the turmoil roiling in his brain. No amount of visual tranquility was going to calm that, much as he might wish it would.
"We have to make a decision," Christina said, trying once again to drag them back on topic. "Preferably before we all pass out from exhaustion."
"We may have to spend the night at the office," Ben remarked.
"I am not wearing this skirt to court again tomorrow."
"I doubt anyone would notice."
"I would notice." She paused. "And you should notice." She flipped a pencil into the air. "I hate trials."
Dennis looked back at her with the same sad eyes he'd had all day. "Then why do you do it?"
"Because we're making a difference," Ben answered.
"Because we're making a living," Christina answered.
Dennis almost smiled. "And you two live together?"
Christina nodded. "We thrive on conflict."
"That explains a great deal."
Ben returned to the conference table. He looked at Dennis squarely. "Here's the main problem with putting you on the witness stand. It's not that I don't think you can handle yourself. I'm sure you can, probably better than most. But Guillerman is very good. He will score points at your expense. And there will be nothing I can do to stop him."
"I get that," Dennis said earnestly. "But surely the potential benefits outweigh the harms."
"Honestly, that's something we can never gauge until it's all over. But this is something I know for certain. He'll ask you what happened in that hotel room. So far as we know, you're the only person alive who can tell him."
"I don't remember."
"And that answer is not one that will please the jury."
"But it's true!"
"I know, Dennis. But the jury really wants to know who pulled that trigger. Do you blame them? I can't answer that question for them. I can't even put anyone else in the room other than Sentz himself. And I don't have anything to support that suicide theory."
"It's grounds for doubt," Dennis said.
"Yes, but is it reasonable doubt? I don't know. I can't show that he was suicidal, because no one I've talked to thinks he was. And I can't produce a motive for anyone else to kill him, even if they were in the room."
"What about Loving's investigation?"
"I haven't heard from him lately. Last I heard he had a lead at the hospital where your wife worked."
"What has that got to do with anything?"
"I don't know. Mike is all tied up, too. Neither of them is going to help us, at least not before tomorrow morning. I have to either call a witness or rest my case. And I don't like either possibility."
Christina slid in beside Dennis. "Don't you remember anything about what happened at the hotel?"
He thought for a moment. "I remember driving to the Marriott. I remember going inside, riding up the elevator. I even vaguely remember him letting me in. I think we talked about… something. And then-it's all a blank."
Ben gave Christina a searching look. This just wasn't good enough. The chances were too great that the jury would think he was hiding something.
"But what happens if I don't testify?" Dennis asked. "That DA told everyone that I have this raging temper, like the Incredible Hulk of English professors."
"The jury will make their decision based on their own observations."
"But if I don't take the stand, they don't have much to observe."
Ben sighed. Dennis was right, of course.
"
I want to set the record straight. Yes, of course Joslyn and I had problems occasionally. Who doesn't? But I loved her dearly. And I wasn't on any anti-cop rampage, either."
"I don't think anybody bought that shot in the dark," Christina said, "and I was watching the jury closely."
"Thank goodness."
"But they might think it predisposed you to anger, given what happened later."
"That's not good."
"No. It isn't."
Dennis drew himself up. "Ben. Christina. Put me on the stand. Let them see me. They'll realize I'm not violent, not an anger management case."
"I don't even know if that would be a good thing!" Ben said, exasperated. "Our whole case depends on them thinking you were temporarily insane. If you come across too normal, we lose."
"But it was just the extreme circumstances of the moment, right? It passed."
"Yeah, that's the argument. But the jury is going to be leery of that now that our witness has explained that temporary insanity is just a device to allow jurors to show mercy to sympathetic defendants. They don't want to be accused of doing anything inappropriate. Guillerman will hammer them in his closing, reminding them of their oaths and insisting that they apply the law."
"Let him do his worst," Dennis said defiantly. "He still can't prove I pulled the trigger. And I don't believe the jury will convict me if they like me and sympathize with me. I don't care what Guillerman says."
"I wish I shared your certainty," Ben said. "But I don't."
"What do you think, Christina?"
She contemplated a long time before responding. "I think the jurors do sympathize with you, Dennis. And they always will. But most also think you killed a police officer, and they will be concerned that showing any kind of leniency, regardless of your circumstances, sends the wrong message."
"So you think they'll convict me?"
She laid her head on the table. "I think that ultimately juries are unfathomable, and none of us will know what the jurors are thinking until the foreman tells us."
Dennis fell back in his chair. "So this is why you guys get the big bucks?"
Christina rolled her eyes. "Show me the big bucks. I've been waiting a long time. Instead, Ben keeps bringing home stray cats."
"What?"
She averted her eyes. "Never mind."
"Look," Dennis said, "I researched this whole trial six ways to Sunday. But even I can't pretend I know the answer to this question. I know this: I do not want to spend the rest of my life in prison. And I don't want to be executed."
Ben shrugged. "I know that, but-"
Dennis held up a hand to cut him off. "I just don't see any way I get out of this unless the jury likes me. I mean really genuinely sympathizes with me. And I don't think that can happen unless I take the stand."
Ben pressed his palms against his brow. "I hate to say it-because this is so fraught with risk-but I think you're right."
"So you're putting me on the stand?"
He closed his eyes. "Yes."
"Do you want me to cry?"
"No!" Ben shouted, too loudly. "I want no showmanship. No histrionics."
"I can do it."
"I know you can. But juries are smarter than you think. And as I said before, if they detect any falseness in you-"
"I'm history."
"Exactly. So I will put you on the stand, and you will tell them what happened. How hard you tried to find your wife. How hard you tried to get the police to help. And you can tell them as much as you remember about what happened the day Sentz died. But that's it. No irrelevant digressions. No big emotional plays. No Helen Hayes moments."
"Okay. Got it."
"Christina, I want you to watch the jury every second. If you think they're hearing something they don't like, you signal me immediately."
"Got it."
"Send me a note. Tell the judge there's an emergency. Whatever. Better that we stop and regroup than go on with something the jury doesn't like or believe."
"You got it, tiger."
"This is a very dodgy business we're undertaking. We have to be careful."
"Understood. We're skiing the black diamonds."
"But I still have one question," Dennis said. "What do I do during cross? That man will try to rip me to shreds."
"Answer every question directly and succinctly. Don't say any more than you have to say to be responsive. At the same time, don't let him walk all over you. He will try to suggest that this was a premeditated murder and that you concocted the insanity plea to get yourself off. Don't let him get away with it."
"I–I'll do my best."
"Good." Ben felt so weary he wasn't sure he could make it to the parking lot. "Let's all go home and get a little rest. Because tomorrow is the day when we determine how this thing ends."
Tomorrow is the day, Ben thought but did not say, when we determine how Dennis lives the rest of his life. Or whether he lives at all.
30
Sentz? Loving took a long look at the doctor's face, his age. The resemblance was unmistakable.
This doctor had to be the brother of Christopher Sentz, the police detective who was shot.
Curiouser and curiouser…
"Who are you?" Sentz asked, giving Loving a fast look up and down.
"You don't know?" Nurse Tubbs said. She turned to Loving. "I thought you said he called for you."
Oh, this was just peachy. Loving's brain raced. He had to defuse this situation and fast. He couldn't afford to get hauled in by the hospital security. In fact, he couldn't afford to stand here long at all, because it was only a matter of time before Shaw wandered out of that office to see what was happening. And he was sure to recognize Loving when he did. Not only would it blow his cover, but it would almost certainly mean he and the doctor would cancel whatever it was they had planned.
"He didn't call for me by name. He just called for one of the scrub boys."
Tubbs placed her fists squarely on her hips. "Well, why didn't you say so? If that's all it is-"
"Wait a minute," Sentz said. "I'm confused. I haven't called for anyone."
"Are you sure?" Loving replied. "That's what the boss told me." He glanced down at Sentz's name tag. "Oh my gosh. I thought you were Dr. Thomas."
Tubbs and Sentz exchanged a look. "You thought I was Dr. Thomas?"
"Yeah. Did I get that wrong?"
"You could say that," Tubbs replied. "Because Dr. Thomas was a woman. And she's been dead since April."
"Oh, gee, maybe I misheard."
"And who gave you these instructions?"
"Who?" Loving took a deep breath. "My boss."
"Yes, but who?"
"That would be, um… Bob."
"Bob Finlay?"
"Yeah. That's the one."
"When did they put him in charge of Intern Dispatch?"
"Just this morning. I think it's a temporary thing."
"Thank goodness. He's already off to a flying start."
The doctor cut in. "What did you say your name was?"
Loving coughed. "I don't think I said."
"Well, say it now, Einstein."
"My name is… um…"
"Is this too hard for you?"
"No, it's… Kit. Kit Car… lisle."
Sentz frowned. "I don't think I've heard that name before."
"I'm new."
"That explains a great deal. Are you sure they said Thomas? Perhaps it was Tomlinson."
Loving snapped his fingers. "You know, I think it was."
Sentz pointed to the opposite end of the corridor. "You need to be down there."
"Oh, wow. I didn't know. Hope I'm not too late. Thanks."
Loving skittered away, dragging his mop with him. Had he covered okay? He hoped so. He sensed more irritation than suspicion. In his experience, doctors were usually very smart, but that intelligence often came with a decided lack of patience. He hoped Sentz would go back to his work without any alarm bells ringing in his head, or anything else that might inspire
him to alter his plans.
He decided to wear the greens out of the hospital. He didn't want to spend any more time here than necessary. If Shaw spotted him he would be in serious trouble. And he would lose his only lead.
Loving left the same way he came in, careful not to attract the attention of the woman seated at the front desk, then made his way to his van. He climbed into the back, opened his tool box, and retrieved a small GPS homing device. He slid open the magnetic base and then, making sure no one was watching, attached it to the inside of the metal cover over the rear driver's-side wheel of Shaw's car.
Just in case their plans changed, Loving would be able to follow the man or find him anywhere within a twenty-five-mile range.
He returned to his van and called Ben. He didn't answer. Probably in court or prepping. He left a message telling him to reply. Not that Loving really had anything to tell him yet. But he at least had some prospects.
He drove to a nearby Starbucks. Personally, he thought the coffee was ridiculously overpriced, and he wasn't sure you could call it coffee after they slathered whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on it, but he wasn't really interested in the menu. He wanted the Internet access. He didn't have time to drive home.
He logged onto some of the PI websites and did a detailed search on Dr. Sentz. Dr. Gary Sentz, as it turned out, was indeed the brother of the deceased detective. One brother into med school, the other into the police department. That had to make for some interesting family reunions.
He kept searching. Dr. Sentz had graduated from OU medical school about ten years ago and had been working in Tulsa for most of the time since. He had only come to St. Benedict's in the last year. He was a specialist in nuclear medicine, whatever that was. Loving assumed it meant he had the unhappy job of administering chemotherapy and similar treatments. He had noticed signs inside the hospital bearing radiation warnings.
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