Saving Max

by Antoinette van Heugten

  Smythe studies the photographs. “I was informed that the decedent had these tendencies for self-abuse. And I must admit that I have considered at great length what impact this may have had on the wounds I observed after his death.” He pauses. “I would like to preface what I say by noting that I have carefully studied the pertinent photographs and my autopsy notes on this issue. My answer is that yes, although it is highly unlikely, these wounds could have been self-inflicted. It is possible.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Sevillas says quickly, avoiding the asphyxiation issue for the moment. “Now, onto another area. I see here that you admit you have never seen the alleged murder weapon Counsel has referred to—is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And if the police had managed to retain the object, a lab would have been able to identify whatever prints were on it. In turn, they could have confirmed whether those fingerprints matched those of the decedent and helped you ascertain if the comb was used by the decedent to cause his own death. Is that correct?”

  Langley jumps up. “Your Honor! Objection—talk about calling for speculation. ‘If he saw, he might…’”

  “Withdrawn.” Sevillas turns to the witness. “Doctor, isn’t it true that if the alleged object were on the scene when you arrived, you would have been able to observe a ridge, or latent—if either were present—which the police could then compare to fingerprints of Jonas, my client or another third party?”

  “It is, of course, possible to obtain fingerprints from a metal object under the proper circumstances.”

  “Let me ask you something else,” says Sevillas. “Given that there was no object provided you by the police to compare to the wounds you observed, you did not have a means of determining if my client’s fingerprints were present on such an object, did you?”

  Smythe gives him a smile. “Of course not, Mr. Sevillas.”

  “And you found no latent fingerprints on the body?”

  “No. That is very rare under the best of circumstances, and we are simply not equipped for that kind of analysis.”

  “Fine,” says Sevillas. “Let me look at my notes. It says here that you established the primary cause of death as the severing of both the femoral artery and the femoral vein, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell us why death would occur more quickly if both the artery and vein are punctured simultaneously?”

  “Certainly,” he says. “As I mentioned previously, puncturing the femoral artery causes a massive arterial spray, which would have resulted in death within about ten to fifteen minutes. However, by also puncturing the femoral vein, air then enters the vein from the outside and causes an embolism, which causes death to occur in mere minutes.”

  “I see. And what happens when an embolism occurs?”

  Smythe leans back. “When both are punctured in the way I have described, the victim goes into shock and becomes unconscious. Although it is not possible to pinpoint the exact moment any given person will become unconscious by virtue of an autopsy, it is certain that death would take only a few minutes at most.”

  Sevillas walks the length of the judge’s bench. “And what happens physically to the body after a person is unconscious and death occurs?”

  “The lungs fail and the heart, although it is beating extremely fast, has no blood to pump because it all flows out of the wounds I mentioned earlier. This results in oxygen starvation and, usually, cardiac arrest and failure.”

  The courtroom is silent.

  “Doctor, you also mentioned that the decedent had petechial hemorrhaging,” says Sevillas. “What does that mean?”

  The doctor shrugs. “It means that the autopsy revealed that the decedent had ruptured blood vessels in the eyes—and actually, in his face as well.”

  “Is this common?”

  “Yes. It is evidence that someone has experienced a heart attack prior to death.”

  “So, it is your opinion that Jonas Morrison also sustained a heart attack before he died?”

  “Yes.”

  “Doctor, would you expect to encounter petechial hemorrhaging in any other situation?”

  Smythe looks up. “I’m not sure I understand what you are asking.”

  “Is petechial hemorrhaging invariably present when a decedent has been, let’s say, asphyxiated?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Let me ask you this,” says Sevillas. “Since petechial hemorrhaging is typical of a strangulation victim and is also, according to you, a sign in this case that the Morrison boy suffered a heart attack as a result of an air embolism—” he pauses a moment “—how are we to know which caused the death of Jonas Morrison?”

  Smythe raises an eyebrow. “An interesting question.”

  “In fact, Doctor, do you not agree with me that, given the angle of the wounds and other observations you have made—including that of extensive petechial hemorrhaging—you cannot tell us with absolute certainty whether the decedent’s actual death was caused by his own self-inflicted wounds or whether he was killed by someone who might have severed the arteries, as well as asphyxiated him simultaneously?”

  Smythe takes a deep breath. He then answers slowly and resolutely. “I cannot be absolutely certain whether the young man was killed only by the severing of the femoral artery and vein—which I said earlier could have been self-inflicted—but which now, as you so rightly explain, does not rule out the possibility of concomitant asphyxiation.” He pauses. “It is possible that the death could also have resulted from the killer administrating the fatal puncture wounds in conjunction with the asphyxiation.”

  Sevillas sighs. “Thank you, Doctor. I have one more area of questioning, and then we’ll let you go.” He walks back to the defense table and picks up a stapled set of papers, which he then hands to Smythe. “Please take a look at these for me, would you?” While Smythe studies the documents, Sevillas takes a copy over to Langley.

  He turns back to the witness. “Now, Dr. Smythe, do you recognize what has been put before you?”

  Smythe flips the page over and looks up. “Yes, although I have not seen this document before.”

  “What is it?”

  “It appears to be a toxicology report performed on a blood sample of one Max Parkman.”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Langley is on his feet. “This has absolutely no relevance to this case and certainly should not be put in through this witness.”

  Hempstead motions impatiently for Sevillas’s copy of the document. As she reads it, her expression is skeptical. “All right, Mr. Sevillas. I’m intensely curious to see how you purport to link this up.”

  Sevillas clasps his hands in front of him. “Your Honor, it has been suggested by other witnesses that Max Parkman had a history of violent behavior with the decedent and that he was increasingly labile during his stay at Maitland.” He takes a deep breath. “Dr. Smythe is fully qualified to look at the toxicology report issued pursuant to Jonas Morrison’s autopsy and to compare those results with what was in Max Parkman’s blood, which we believe will give an entirely new meaning to the facts of this case.”

  “Keep talking, Mr. Sevillas,” she says. “You’re not there yet.”

  “It is the defense’s contention that another suspect exists in this case—Maitland.”

  The courtroom is still. Langley is on his feet again. “Your Honor—this is preposterous!”

  She waves him away. “Continue.”

  “We issued a subpoena for one Dr. Fastow of Maitland, the psychopharmacologist who gave Max Parkman and Jonas Morrison the same medication. And—” he pauses dramatically “—we will put on witnesses and show that this medication was experimental in nature and had graveside effects, which may explain many, if not all, of the behaviors of Max Parkman. In addition, we believe that it is entirely possible that Dr. Fastow had ample motive and opportunity to murder Jonas Morrison for fear that his actions would be discovered. It also would explain why Max was found in Jonas’s room. Fastow was
trying to set up Max to take the blame—or worse. It is entirely plausible that he planned to kill Max, too, but was scared off when he heard Ms. Parkman coming down the hallway.”

  The judge makes a note and then stares at him. “All that may be true, Mr. Sevillas, but you know very well that it isn’t the M.E.’s specific area of expertise. If you want to introduce that report, you had better get Dr. Fastow down here and quick. Mr. Langley has informed me that he has one final witness to put on today, and then you’re up.”

  Sevillas shakes his head. “I can’t do that, Judge.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I subpoenaed him to appear this morning, and I just received word that he will not be coming to the courtroom.”

  The judge rubs her temples. “And why would that be, Mr. Sevillas?”

  “It appears that Dr. Fastow has left the country. We believe that his flight bolsters our claim that he could well have been the murderer of Jonas Morrison. In fact, we are in the process of having criminal charges brought against him. This may be moot now that he has left the country, but if he is found, we will have him brought to justice.”

  Hempstead snaps her head toward the bailiff. “Get someone over to that hospital and find Dr. Fastow. Until then, this court is recessed. Dr. Smythe, stay close. It won’t be long.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  As the airplane makes its approach into Des Moines, Danielle’s nerves thrum. She is finally at the end of Marianne’s CDs—a good thing, because her laptop is almost out of juice.

  Dear Dr. Joyce,

  Yesterday I was flipping through one of my psychiatric magazines and came across an article about the Maitland psychiatric hospital in Iowa. It’s the crème de la crème. Eminent doctors from all over the world go there to explore cutting-edge methods of treating psychiatric and neurological disorders. Imagine conferring with that caliber of specialist—just thinking about it gives me goose bumps!

  The application arrived today. Even though they asked for all of Jonas’s medical and psychiatric records, I was selective. They don’t need to know everything. Here’s where the rubber meets the road, as they say. All my years of research, experimentation and creation are culminating in this flash of brilliance. It’s high time my intelligence is recognized. This will be my finest moment.

  Carpe diem!

  Danielle inserts the final CD into her laptop with trembling hands. This is Marianne’s last record before she and Jonas went to Maitland. She hopes that Doaks has found additional evidence in Marianne’s hotel room. What she has is damning, but it isn’t murder. Not yet.

  Dear Dr. Joyce,

  Jonas is in! I couldn’t be prouder than if he had been accepted at Harvard. It hasn’t happened a moment too soon. Jonas has gone from rebellion to physical violence. Last night I sat down at my vanity table, looked myself in the mirror and admitted the simple fact that he’s becoming a man. It certainly isn’t anything I ever intended, because my other babies were taken from me so young. Now I’m forced to find a more creative solution. I have to give up any soft, motherly notions and get down to brass tacks. There’s really only one question: What kind of life will Jonas have when I’m gone? It’s clear—none at all. I am also driven by the stark financial reality of the situation. If I am to live comfortably, I can’t have Jonas continually draining my reserves. So I have planned everything down to the last detail. I’ll be matching wits with the best minds in the world, and everything must be perfectly choreographed.

  Maitland is my moment. I’ll do what must be done.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “All rise!”

  Shuffling feet scrape the linoleum floor like the rumblings of a dawn cattle call. The courtroom is packed to capacity now that word has leaked from the D.A.’s office that Marianne Morrison will be taking the stand. Langley organizes his notes as Marianne sits calmly in her front-row seat. Sevillas has given up on either Danielle or Doaks showing up in time. After the beating Sevillas has taken today, he is fed up with Langley’s snide smirks.

  Max and Georgia are back in the courtroom. Sevillas hopes that Georgia has managed to calm Max down. He leans over and puts an arm around the boy’s thin shoulders. “Don’t worry, son. I’ll handle things until she gets here. I’m not bad at this, you know.”

  Max gives him a half smile. It’s better than nothing. Georgia squeezes Max’s hand from the other side. Sandwiched between them, he seems to be comforted.

  “Counsel, please approach,” says Hempstead. They stride to the bench. The judge looks at them over her steel-gray glasses. “Welcome back, gentlemen. By my watch, it is now two twenty-five. Mr. Langley, do you have an educated guess when we might conclude the festivities today?”

  Langley bobs his head. “Yes, Your Honor. The State plans to call no more witnesses after Ms. Morrison, which will conclude our testimony on the proof-evident and bail aspects of the case.” He casts a sly glance at Sevillas. “Of course, we can’t speak for the defense.”

  “Counselor?”

  Sevillas clears his throat. “Judge, as the District Attorney has managed to spend the entire day putting on his version of the evidence, it appears that the defense will not have the opportunity to put on its case until tomorrow.”

  Hempstead gives him an edgy look. “I don’t see it that way at all, Mr. Sevillas. Now that I’ve been forced to postpone my other trial until tomorrow morning, I’m perfectly willing to go late into the evening. It seems to me that what you lack here is one of your defendants to put on the stand. Or perhaps you would like to swear in young Mr. Parkman?”

  Sevillas turns to look at Max. His eyes beg like those of a hungry child on a street corner. Sevillas walks back to the defense table. Max grabs his arm. “Tony, no!” he hisses. “I can’t!” Sevillas gives him a comforting nod and turns to the judge. “We will not be putting Max Parkman on the stand.”

  “Very well, then. Mr. Langley, let’s speed this up.”

  Langley shifts uncomfortably. “Your Honor, we’re making every effort to be as brief and succinct as possible.”

  The judge taps her fingernails, as if the concept of a lawyer being succinct is as likely as her levitating from the bench and flying around the room. She nods dismissively. Both men return to their battle stations. “Let’s play ball. Call your next witness.”

  Langley springs up. “The State calls Marianne Morrison to the stand.” Max blanches. Sevillas watches as Langley makes a production out of helping her out of her chair and wrapping his arm around her shoulder, as if she lacks sufficient motor ability to propel herself forward. He leads her slowly to the witness stand. Marianne wears a black-and-white hounds-tooth suit, her hair sprayed into a severe helmet. Her white blouse is simple and professional. She stands before the bailiff, Bible in hand.

  “Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  She looks at the judge. “I do.” Her voice is clear. With that, she clasps her hands and mounts the steps to the witness stand.

  “Ms. Morrison, could you give us some general information about yourself?”

  Marianne smoothes her pageboy, which has not a hair out of place. “I’d be happy to. I was born in Pennsylvania. My father was a sergeant in the United States Army and my mother was a homemaker—just like me.” She glances at the judge. “Once I married, I devoted my life to making a happy home for my husband and, after that, for Jonas. My husband was a physician until he passed away.”

  “Now, Ms. Morrison, was Jonas your only child?”

  Marianne’s eyes look as if someone has poured thimblefuls of water into them. Whole droplets glide down her cheeks. She pulls a simple lace square from her skirt and dabs at each eye. “Yes, Mr. Langley.” Her voice quivers. “Jonas was the only baby I ever had. He was the light of my life, my only reason for living after my husband was taken from me.”

  Langley heaves a theatrical sigh. Sevillas’s stomach threatens to drop low in his gut.

  �
�Ms. Morrison,” asks Langley, “could you give us a thumb-nail sketch of your life with Jonas?”

  Marianne clasps her handkerchief. “Well, after my husband passed away, I raised Jonas all by myself. God knows it wasn’t easy—it never is for any widow—but I suppose you could say that my situation was a bit more…involved. My poor boy had his share of difficulties. He was mentally challenged, autistic, and did not speak well.” She manages a small smile. “But somehow we muddled through, just the two of us.”

  “Would you call yourself a devoted mother?”

  Marianne raises sad, blue eyes. “I don’t customarily engage in self-aggrandizement, Mr. Langley. But I have to say that if there’s one thing I’ve done well, it’s to be the best mother I could be. Children are a gift, not a burden. Even with all of Jonas’s problems, I can honestly say that being his mother has been the greatest honor and blessing of my life.” Eyes brimming, she casts a pained glance at Hempstead, who gives her a sympathetic nod and hands her a box of tissues.

  Langley gives her a few moments to collect herself. “Now, Ms. Morrison, could you tell us the circumstances which led you and Jonas to Maitland?”

  Marianne draws a deep breath. “Certainly. As you may know, I attended Johns Hopkins and am a medical doctor myself. I think every mother of a special-needs child owes it to that child to remain at the forefront of all possible treatment and medication protocols.” She continues in an earnest voice. “I also made a point of identifying those doctors who specialize in autism and other neurological disorders. During my studies, I came across Maitland and decided that if anyone could help my boy, it would be them.”

  “Ms. Morrison,” says Langley. “I know that the rest of our discussion today will be extremely painful for you, but I want to begin at the point when you and Jonas arrived at Maitland.”