Protect and Defend

by Richard North Patterson

  “I’m dimly aware of that,” Lara answered wryly, “and I don’t want Macdonald Gage picking on my sweetheart. I was just curious about how you two moral leaders think this trial should come out.”

  “I was curious, too,” Clayton said with equal dryness. “So I asked our pollster to whistle up some numbers. I thought it might be useful in steering Caroline through the process.”

  This, though a surprise to Kerry, was typical of his cautious friend. “What came back?” he asked. “A landslide?”

  “About what you’d expect,” Clayton answered with a shrug. “Sixty-one percent for the parents, and thirty-nine for the daughter.”

  “That’s closer than I’d have thought,” Lara observed. “Maybe this trial is making people think.”

  Clayton turned to Kerry, as though gauging his subtle chemistry with Lara. Smiling faintly, Kerry told her, “It’s even making me think a little. Whenever I can find the time.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ANGER WAS not an emotion Sarah enjoyed feeling, but it had its uses. Facing Dr. David Gersten, she no longer felt tired.

  “Don’t worry,” she said quietly. “I won’t come any closer. I don’t want to seem too ruthless.”

  Gersten summoned a tentative smile, which Sarah did not return. “Or was it ‘ruthlessly determined’?” she asked.

  His smile vanished. “All I said, Ms. Dash, is that you seemed that way.”

  Sarah cocked her head. “Have we ever met?”

  “No.”

  “So you don’t claim any insights into my dark nights of the soul. Or, for that matter, my upbringing.”

  Gersten pursed his lips. “I was talking about what you model for Mary Ann Tierney—independence and autonomy.”

  “Would you agree, Dr. Gersten, that becoming ‘independent’ and ‘autonomous’ is a developmental process?”

  “Definitely.”

  “And that this process begins in childhood?”

  “Begins? Yes.”

  “So you’re not suggesting that I magically became what I seem to you at sixteen, or twenty-two, or last year.”

  Gersten touched his chin. “No. That involves, as I said, a process.”

  “And that process includes fifteen-year-old girls, doesn’t it? I mean, it doesn’t just skip the fifteenth year.”

  At the defense table, Martin Tierney looked up from his notes. Gersten’s smile seemed wan. “Of course not, Ms. Dash. That was never my position.”

  “But it is your position that Mary Ann’s pregnancy confirms her immaturity?”

  Gersten crossed his legs, seeming to jiggle on the witness stand. Carefully, he said, “It suggests that.”

  “Well it certainly suggests something.” Sarah’s voice was harsher, implying repressed anger. “Do you believe that the parents of a fifteen-year-old girl should talk to her about sex? Or should that be left to chance?”

  At the corner of Sarah’s vision, Martin Tierney seemed about to stand. Sitting back, Gersten said, “I think at least some information is appropriate.”

  “Some? Such as that sex for a teenage girl may actually involve a teenage boy?”

  “I don’t know what you’re driving at.”

  “You don’t think much of the maturity of teenage girls. Would you assert that when it comes to sex, teenage boys are more mature, judicious, and farsighted?”

  Gersten’s smile was without humor. “No,” he said with elaborate patience. “Their hormonal drives are very strong.”

  “Really?” Sarah’s voice filled with mock incredulity. “Strong enough to cause them to actually mislead a teenage girl in order to have sex?”

  Gersten braced his shoulders. “Boys go through a process, too, before they become sexually responsible. If ever.”

  Sarah paused a moment, deliberately gazing at Martin Tierney. “Then shouldn’t ‘loving’ parents with a ‘wealth of perspective and experience’ discuss that with their fifteen-year-old daughter?”

  Gersten, too, glanced at Tierney. Softly, he said, “It would be helpful, yes.”

  “Or, failing that, at least bring up birth control.”

  “It depends on the family, Ms. Dash. But it’s certainly something a fifteen-year-old can handle.”

  Martin Tierney bit his lip, pale eyes focused on Sarah. “Then would you also agree,” she asked Gersten, “that a parent’s failure to discuss sex with their fifteen-year-old might, in your words, ‘retard the growth of personal competence which parental involvement brings’?”

  Pondering his answer, Gersten pursed his mouth. “Some families,” he said, “for reasons moral and religious, prefer to treat all premarital sex as wrong. Which may limit discussion.”

  “So when should their ‘parental involvement’ kick in? After the girl gets pregnant?”

  Gersten offered the same forced smile. “In my view, parental involvement at any stage can be quite beneficial.”

  “Including forcing a fifteen-year-old to have a child because of sex they never prepared her for?”

  Once more, Tierney started to rise. “It would depend,” Gersten answered, “on the dynamic within the family.”

  “Okay. In all your hours with the Tierneys, did you ever ask them if they discussed sex with Mary Ann?”

  “No,” Gersten answered slowly. “I did not.”

  “Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it? Especially for her.”

  “Your Honor,” Tierney said in an angry voice. “Ms. Dash is distorting our family—”

  “I apologize,” Sarah said with sarcasm. “I wouldn’t want this to resemble Dr. Gersten’s remarks about your daughter. Or, for that matter, me …”

  “All right,” Leary told Sarah. “If you want to make a point, ask a question. And you, Professor Tierney, can sit down.”

  Turning to Gersten, Sarah said evenly, “You’ve interviewed both Mary Ann and her parents. Is it your understanding that the Tierneys have ordered Mary Ann to have this child?”

  Gersten glanced at Tierney. “They’re trying to stop an abortion, if that’s what you mean.”

  “And their objections are religious, aren’t they?”

  “Yes. And moral.”

  “That objection has nothing to do, does it, with whether the Tierneys are better qualified than Mary Ann to decide?”

  “No. Except, as I said, that the Tierneys’ moral beliefs are well considered and well formed.”

  “Well formed enough, in fact, to order their fifteen-year-old to have a child without a cerebral cortex.”

  Gersten frowned. “They also believe—quite reasonably— that aborting this child will harm their daughter emotionally.”

  Sarah looked at him in feigned bemusement. “In your expert opinion, Dr. Gersten, is Mary Ann able to grasp the fact that her fetus will likely lack a brain?”

  “Yes.”

  “About that, she understands what her parents understand, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Pausing, Sarah cocked her head. “By the way, have you ever undergone a classical cesarean section? Personally, I mean.”

  There was a small ripple of laughter from the media. Forced to smile, Gersten answered, “It’s an experience I’ve missed.”

  “Me too. But do you share my understanding that— however you calculate the odds—a classical C-section can possibly lead to infertility?”

  “Yes.”

  “And is Mary Ann Tierney as capable of grasping that as you or I?”

  Gersten nodded. “As I said, she’s focused on it.”

  “So she understands both medical risks—hydrocephalus and infertility—just as well as her parents do?”

  “Yes.”

  Sarah turned, walking back to Mary Ann. “So why can’t Mary Ann Tierney decide not to risk a classical cesarean section for a child likely doomed at birth?”

  Gersten considered Mary Ann, whose own expression—to Sarah’s satisfaction—commingled anger and challenge. “The issue,” he said at length, “isn’t her medical cognizance. What concerns me
is the potentially severe emotional consequences of late-term abortion, in violation of her deep belief that a fetus is a life.”

  “An inviolate life?” Sarah asked. “Under all circumstances? She’s never faced these circumstances before, has she?”

  “No. But her Catholic faith remains strong.”

  “Are you seriously telling me, Doctor, that from childhood Mary Ann had the unalterable religious conviction that fifteen-year-old girls should deliver hydrocephalic fetuses by means of a cesarean section—at whatever risk of infertility?”

  Gersten shifted in his chair. “We’re talking about broad principles, Ms. Dash. Which, in the ethic in which she was raised, apply to this pregnancy.”

  “Isn’t a fifteen-year-old,” Sarah pressed, “capable of deciding—as to this difficult situation—that her beliefs differ from her parents’?”

  “Intellectually, perhaps. At least in theory. But I still worry about the emotional impact.”

  “What about the impact of being forced to have this child? Wouldn’t that be traumatic to Mary Ann, and devastating to the family?”

  Pensive, Gersten paused to sip from a glass of water. As he did, Sarah noticed Margaret Tierney, hands clasped in anxiety.

  “In the short term,” Gersten said, “it’s harmful. But I think the Tierneys will be healed by love and shared beliefs.”

  “Short term? What about the birth of a severely disabled baby, who then dies, leaving Mary Ann infertile for life? Would you say all bets are off?”

  Grimacing, Gersten wagged his head from side to side. “Infertile for life?” he repeated. “That would present a much larger problem. If that’s how things turn out.”

  “Then let’s talk about a more immediate problem.” Glancing down at Mary Ann, Sarah finished, “This trial.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You’re a noted expert, Dr. Gersten, with a sensitive grasp of the emotional life of adolescent girls. Wouldn’t you say that her parents—by having you portray her as immature, minimally competent, and a virtual pawn of her lawyer—are doing serious damage to their relationship?”

  Martin Tierney sat straighter, watching Gersten intently. “This trial,” Gersten answered, “was forced on them, as is the need to address the issues you raise …”

  “Forced on them? The United States government was ready to defend this case.”

  “The United States government,” Gersten rejoined, “is not her parents. In my mind, their intervention is an act of courage …”

  “Answer the question,” Sarah snapped. “Is your portrayal of Mary Ann potentially humiliating to her, and toxic to her relationship with her parents?”

  Gersten frowned. “Toxic? I don’t know if I accept that. Nor do I accept that it’s the Tierneys’ fault—or mine.”

  “Oh? Then it must be Mary Ann’s. Or—better yet—mine.”

  Gersten exhaled. “At this juncture, there’s no point in assigning fault. This trial will certainly leave scars.”

  Sarah nodded. “Then let’s move on. Are you aware that, in 1989, C. Everett Koop, the Surgeon General of the United States, advised President Reagan that the psychological risks of abortion are virtually nonexistent?”

  “I am. But that was all abortions …”

  “And that Koop reported that the prior research on psychological risk—including the study you rely on—was so inept that it could not support either side?”

  Gersten folded his arms. “My own experience suggests that late-term abortion is qualitatively different. Especially when it conflicts with the woman’s own beliefs.”

  “Might not that supposed trauma, at least to Mary Ann, be relieved by the hope of preventing infertility?”

  Briefly, Gersten examined his fingernails. In grudging tones, he said, “It could. I don’t know that it will.”

  “Wouldn’t it further minimize any trauma if the Tierneys gave her love and support—even if she chose abortion?”

  “Again, it could.”

  “So your prediction of trauma is a self-fulfilling prophecy, based on the Tierneys’ permanent disapproval.”

  Gersten glanced at Martin Tierney. “It will be hard for them, given their deep beliefs, not to feel wounded …”

  “What about the wounds they’ve inflicted on Mary Ann?” Resting her hand on Mary Ann’s shoulder, Sarah spoke each word with precision. “In your opinion, do the Tierneys love their daughter enough to forgive her for violating their beliefs?”

  Stricken, Martin Tierney turned to Mary Ann. “They love her,” Gersten said at last. “Of that I’m sure. But the question of forgiveness is beyond my sphere of competence.”

  Grim-faced, Mary Ann looked away. “Indeed,” Sarah said. “Yet you say the Protection of Life Act serves a salutary purpose. Would that be true if the Tierneys were physically abusive?”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Or where the father rapes the daughter?”

  “No—not then.”

  “Or if the parents are fundamentalists, and want to punish their daughter for having sex?”

  “No.”

  “Or come from a culture which views a daughter’s sexuality with shame?”

  Gersten hesitated. “Shared cultures,” he said, “often have shared values—”

  “Congress,” Sarah interjected caustically, “didn’t make those fine distinctions, did they?”

  “No.” Gersten folded his hands. “But in each case you mention, Ms. Dash, the minor child can go to court.”

  As before, Sarah summoned an artificial expression of surprise. “So a minor too immature to choose abortion has the maturity to select a lawyer and file a lawsuit?”

  Gersten started to speak, then stopped himself. Tentative, he said at last, “Mary Ann Tierney did.”

  “Really?” Smiling faintly, Sarah skipped a beat. “I thought I dragged her here.”

  Perplexed, Gersten stared at her, unable to find an answer. Glancing at her watch, Sarah told him softly, “Make up your mind, Dr. Gersten. I’ll give you all the time you need.”

  Twenty-six

  WAITING IN her office for Martin Tierney, Sarah treasured the silence, a few moments respite.

  It was past nine o’clock; the corridors were empty, and the lights tracing the span of the Bay Bridge glowed against the inky darkness below. But, in late afternoon, when Sarah had returned, pickets from the Christian Commitment surrounded the building, and a hysterical woman had chained herself to a leg of the reception desk on one of Kenyon & Walker’s seven floors. John Nolan had hastily hired security guards for each floor; a few of the older male partners expressed their anger at Sarah by ignoring her.

  On her desk were several stacks of letters—some admiring, many not, a few anti-Semitic or overtly threatening—and her voice mail was clogged with interview requests and hate-filled tirades. In a vain but kindly effort to buffer this assault, her secretary had left a favorable clipping from the New York Times in which legal experts, evaluating her trial skills, referred to her as a “twenty-nine-year-old legal superstar.”

  She had become famous without noticing, Sarah supposed, because she had no time to notice. Nor did she have time now. A trial required tunnel vision: introspection was a waste of time at best, perilous at worse. She could not look past tomorrow.

  Her telephone rang.

  It was the security guard on the first floor. Martin Tierney was in the lobby.

  Tierney scanned her office, noting the mail strewn across her desk with a look of bleak acknowledgment. “Have you been inundated, too?” Sarah asked.

  “Of course.” He sat, his fine scholar’s face filled with sorrow. “I contemplate Patrick Leary, and I wonder whether he has any concept of the cruelty he’s perpetrating. Or even the capacity to imagine it.”

  “Leary,” Sarah answered, “can’t see past the mirror. But he’s got no patent on cruelty.”

  Tierney’s pale blue-gray eyes regarded her. “You want us to rest our case tomorrow.”

  Sarah did not di
rectly answer. “She’s over six months pregnant,” she told him. “This afternoon, I called Mark Flom. He’s afraid that the stress of a trial may cause Mary Ann to deliver prematurely. She’s trapped in the legal process like a prisoner while the whole country watches, waiting for Judge Leary—or you—to let her go—”

  “You will never understand,” Tierney interrupted. “All three of us are prisoners in a death watch far more terrible than a vigil at an execution. Tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, Patrick Leary may sentence an innocent life to death. And then you’ll do your damnedest to make sure that sentence is carried out.

  “You act as if we were being stubborn, as though our defense of life is optional, a matter of foolish pride.” Tierney’s voice thickened with emotion. “I can see—I can feel—the price all of us are paying for it, and there’s no good ending. Only a choice, between the moral and the immoral, right and wrong.”

  Against her will, Sarah acknowledged the immutability of his beliefs and the justice of his words—if this was murder, pure and simple, Martin Tierney was as entrapped as Mary Ann. “All the more reason,” Sarah answered, “not to testify tomorrow.”

  Tierney folded his hands. “And end the defense of our grandson’s life with Dr. Gersten.”

  “Gersten was a choice,” Sarah retorted. “I didn’t make you call him. Why should Mary Ann pay the price for that?”

  Tierney did not flinch. “It was a mistake …”

  “A mistake?” Sarah echoed. “Maybe for you. Maybe for your grandson. But not for Barry Saunders and his friends.

  “This trial’s great for them—all the fundamentalists will be sending their grocery money to the Christian Commitment, to stop the kind of antifamily outrage inflicted on Mary Ann’s martyred parents.” Sarah’s voice rose. “Saunders sees this trial as a telethon: ‘Send your money to Barry’s kids.’”

  To her surprise, Tierney expelled a short, bitter laugh, more eloquent than speech.

  “The final boost for his ratings,” Sarah finished, “would be the aggrieved, pro-life parents testifying against their wayward daughter. You might take time out to wonder if Saunders suggested Gersten to force your hand.”