Saving Max

by Antoinette van Heugten

  “Perhaps you could give us a brief summary?” asks Danielle.

  Marianne colors. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “Have you been hospitalized for these conditions?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “How many times?”

  “Too many to count.”

  “Would you say sixty-eight is an accurate number?”

  A gasp comes from the crowd. Before Langley can intervene, Marianne laughs. “That is ridiculous.”

  “Do you have evidence of this assertion, Ms. Parkman?” asks Hempstead.

  “I’m getting there, Your Honor.”

  “Not that I can see.”

  Danielle walks to the defense table. Doaks has taken Sevillas’s chair and hands her a notepad he has pulled from his battered briefcase. “Have you ever been diagnosed as having any psychological problems?”

  “Your Honor,” says Langley. “The mental condition of this poor woman is completely irrelevant to the murder charges brought against the defendant. We strongly object to any attempt on the part of the defense to impugn this woman’s character.”

  The judge gives Danielle a disapproving look. “Ms. Parkman, I intend to give you the same latitude I have afforded the State all day—which you obviously were not here to observe—but I agree that the physical and mental condition of the witness is irrelevant to the charges leveled against your son—and you.” She points her gavel at Langley. “The State has a running objection to all questions posed by Ms. Parkman. I will ensure that her questions are appropriate. Save us time, Mr. Langley, and keep your seat.”

  Danielle’s voice is calm. “Judge, as I am certain that both my mental state and that of my son have been put into question on direct, I believe it only fair that this witness, the mother of a disturbed child, be subjected to the same line of inquiry.”

  Hempstead frowns. “It’s your time, Ms. Parkman, but if you choose to waste it, I will shut you down. Understood?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Langley makes a big show of turning to the reporters and shaking his head. They scribble on their pads. Danielle turns back to Marianne. “Could you answer the question, please?”

  “I have never had any psychological problems.”

  “Have you ever been told that you suffer from a psychological condition?”

  “Absolutely not,” she replies haughtily. “I bear my troubles privately and rely upon the grace of the good Lord to get me through.” She gives the judge an offended look and fingers the cross that hangs from her neck in a pointed fashion.

  “Ms. Morrison, when was Jonas first diagnosed with any kind of problem?”

  “If I am totally honest, I have to admit that I knew something was wrong with Jonas long before any of the doctors did.” She turns to the judge. “A mother knows these things. He had apnea problems as an infant. He would just stop breathing, for no reason at all.”

  “How was this treated?”

  “Well.” She leans forward, as if warming to the subject. “It was absolutely the most terrifying thing for a new mother. I had to watch him day and night. When he stopped breathing, he turned this hideous shade of blue. I would have to call an ambulance or rush him to the emergency room.” Tears fill her eyes. She takes another tissue from the box the judge has provided and gently dabs her eyes.

  “What did they do for him?” asks Danielle.

  Marianne looks up with a pained expression. “They ‘bagged’ him—forced oxygen into his lungs so he could breathe properly.”

  “How often did this happen?”

  Marianne twists the tissue around her fingers. “I don’t think more than two weeks went by without my having to rush that poor baby to the hospital. Then they gave me an apnea machine. It set off an alarm when the baby stopped breathing. It was horrible.”

  “Did anyone at the hospital ever tell you that they suspected Jonas did not have apnea at all?”

  Marianne gives her a confused look. “I don’t understand the question.”

  Danielle takes a step closer. “Did any of the doctors tell you that they suspected you were smothering Jonas?”

  Langley jumps to his feet with a roar. “Your Honor! This is outrageous!”

  “Save yourself the trouble, Mr. Langley.” Hempstead points an angry finger at Danielle. “You will stop this line of questioning immediately, Counselor. You have laid absolutely no foundation of any abuse on the part of this witness. Maybe this is how they conduct cross-examinations in New York, but I will not have it.”

  Danielle shrugs. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Move on.”

  Danielle shifts her unperturbed gaze to Marianne. “Who told you that Jonas was autistic or mentally retarded for the first time?”

  Marianne’s look is full of hate. “I will never forget that day as long as I live. Jonas was four, and we were living in Pittsburgh. A specialist was traveling through.” She turns to the judge. “I wasn’t terribly satisfied with the care Jonas had been receiving. Anyway, the doctor tested Jonas for hours and then called me into the waiting room.” She sniffles into her tissue. The judge closes her eyes for a moment, clearly moved.

  “He sat me down and told me that my poor baby would never be normal. That his brain was—damaged—that’s all. That he was retarded and showed every sign of being autistic.” She wipes away the rest of her tears as she looks at Hempstead. “At that moment I decided to become an advocate for my child. I spent the next fourteen years of his life making sure he received the best care and all the love I could possibly give him. I never remarried or cared about anything again—except my son.”

  Danielle walks back to the defense table. A few of the spectators look at her as if she has just defiled a statue of the Virgin Mary. Langley gives her a gleeful smirk. She continues. “Ms. Morrison, did any of the doctors who examined Jonas imply that there might be some other cause for Jonas’s disorders?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve told us Jonas’s problems started at birth,” she says. “Did anyone ever tell you that these disorders in fact developed much later and what they suspected caused them?”

  “No, they did not.”

  “No one ever suggested that there was some intervening event that might have led to damage to his brain?”

  Marianne shoots her a smug look. “I don’t know what you’re trying to trick me into saying, Ms. Parkman. No one ever told me such a thing. I took excellent care of my child.”

  Hempstead fixes Danielle with a harsh look. “Ms. Parkman, the care given by the mother of the decedent during his childhood and later years is not at issue in this case.”

  “Perhaps it should be, Your Honor.”

  Hempstead arches her eyebrows. “If you have evidence of what you claim, produce it. If not, there must be some area of inquiry relevant to your defense. Find it.”

  “Of course, Your Honor.” She puts her hand on the witness stand and looks directly into Marianne’s eyes. “Ms. Morrison, you were educated as a physician and were a nurse for many years, isn’t that true?”

  Marianne’s face relaxes. “Indeed, I was. Nursing provided me with the flexibility to give Jonas the care he needed.”

  “What area of nursing did you specialize in?”

  Marianne smiles. “Pediatrics.”

  Danielle leans closer. “And isn’t it also true that in the course of your work you became very familiar with the computer systems of a number of hospitals and pediatric facilities?”

  “Of course.”

  Danielle’s voice is soft. “Isn’t it also true, Ms. Morrison, that you broke into other computer systems long before you told me how to obtain the password into the Maitland system?”

  It is as if a tidal wave hits the room. The judge slams her gavel on the block so hard it jumps. Langley bounds to his feet and throws his hands into the air. “Objection! We ask that the question be stricken and that Counsel be severely admonished.”

  Fury darkens Hempstead’s face. Her voice i
s ice and fire. “Counselor, are you per-fect-ly aware of what you are doing?”

  Danielle walks to the bench and stands there, hands behind her back. “Your Honor, I promise you, I am not engaging in idle character assassination. If the Court will permit me some latitude—”

  “Latitude!” Langley roars. “Your Honor!”

  Danielle takes a deep breath. “It was Marianne Morrison who broke into the Maitland computer system and manipulated Max’s entries—”

  “Stop.” Hempstead’s voice is harsh. “You may not proceed with this area of inquiry. Move on—immediately.” Before Danielle can speak, the judge continues. “And Ms. Parkman?”

  “Yes, Your Honor?”

  “If you have an overweening desire to join your former counsel, just keep going down this path. This is your last warning,” she says. “Knock it off.”

  Danielle turns and walks to the defense table. She pulls back the top flap of the box, looks inside, and turns to the witness. “Ms. Morrison, did you keep any kind of record of your life with Jonas?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Danielle peers further into the box and then straightens. “Oh, you know—photo albums, records, that sort of thing.”

  “Of course I did.” She turns to the judge with a sorrowful look. “Every mother keeps pictures of their baby. I must have hundreds.”

  Danielle nods thoughtfully. “Did you keep any other kind of record?”

  This time Marianne pauses. Her eyes fix on the box. When she speaks, her voice is measured and precise. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  Danielle shrugs. “Let me clarify. Did you keep what you might call a diary or a journal—”

  Marianne’s face is implacable.

  “—and write in it every day?” Danielle smiles.

  A chair scrapes behind the prosecution table, and Langley is on his feet again. “Objection. Whether Ms. Morrison keeps a diary has no bearing on whether Max Parkman killed her son. Counsel is harassing the witness.”

  “Sustained,” says Hempstead. “Move on, Ms. Parkman.”

  Danielle walks slowly past the witness box and then turns. “Ms. Morrison, where were you on the morning of your son’s death?”

  Marianne holds her hand up weakly. “At the hotel.”

  “I thought you visited Jonas every morning, rain or shine?”

  “Oh, I did. It was just that on that morning—of all mornings—I wasn’t feeling well and decided it was better if I stayed at the hotel instead of running the risk that I’d give Jonas my cold.” Tears shine brightly as she breaks down. “If only I’d known what would happen! I’d never have left him for a single minute!”

  Danielle continues calmly. “So you had not been on the unit until someone called and told you what happened?”

  Her sobs are fresh as she struggles to answer. “That’s right—yes.”

  “Is it possible that you’re mistaken?”

  Marianne glares at her. “No, it’s not possible.”

  Danielle walks slowly to the witness stand, places both hands on the wooden rail, and looks Marianne in the eyes. “Does the name Kevin ring a bell, Ms. Morrison?”

  Marianne stiffens slightly, but otherwise shows no reaction. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Danielle leans over the bar and gives her a small smile. “Oh, I think you do.”

  Marianne shakes her head.

  “How about the name Ashley?” she whispers. “I think it’s such a marvelous name for a little girl, don’t you?”

  Marianne looks imploringly at the judge.

  “Judge!” Langley slams his hand down on the desk. “She’s harassing the witness with inane questions in an attempt to intimidate her!”

  Hempstead’s face is a sight to behold. “Sustained. Ms. Parkman, stand back from that witness box.” Danielle steps back. “I’ve given you so much rope, you’ve obviously decided to hang yourself with it.” Her voice is brittle. “You will ask a relevant question of this witness, or I will excuse her.”

  “Of course, Judge.” Danielle pulls a blank piece of paper from her pad and hands it to Marianne, along with her pen. “Ms. Morrison, will you please write the following words—Maitland Psychiatric Asylum?”

  “Ms. Parkman, you have two minutes to connect all of this, after which I plan to terminate this hearing and put you in jail.”

  Danielle nods. Marianne flashes her a look of disgust before she writes the words in what appears to be an expansive script. She hands the paper back to Danielle.

  “Thank you.” Danielle pulls one of the rose diaries from the box. As she turns, she pauses to look at Marianne. Her mouth opens and, as quickly, closes. Her blue eyes turn to slits. Danielle hands the diary to Marianne. “I’ve marked this item as defense Exhibit A. Can you identify it, Ms. Morrison?”

  Marianne holds it a moment and then gives it back. “I’ve never seen this before in my life,” she says icily.

  “I’d like you to turn to the tabbed page and read it into the record,” says Danielle.

  “Objection! Lack of foundation,” says Langley. “The witness has just said she can’t identify it.”

  Danielle hands Marianne’s handwriting sample and the diary to the judge. “Your Honor, I’d like the Court to recognize that the witness’s handwriting is the same as that in the diary.” After a cursory glance, Hempstead shakes her head.

  “I’m surprised at you, Ms. Parkman,” she says dryly. “This is a tactic I would expect from a layman, not a reputable New York attorney such as yourself. You have put on no handwriting expert, nor have you laid any foundation to establish the chain of custody of this piece of evidence.”

  “Your Honor, I respectfully request that the cross-examination of Ms. Morrison be briefly postponed while I call Lieutenant Barnes of the Plano police force to the stand.”

  Hempstead’s face is stone. “I have no intention of permitting you to disrupt Ms. Morrison’s cross.”

  “But Judge,” she protests, “you won’t let me question the witness to establish a foundation. Once you read even part of this diary, you will know the truth.”

  “And what truth might that be?”

  Danielle takes a deep breath and points her index finger at Marianne, who now sobs uncontrollably in the witness box. “That this woman is not what she appears. She is no mother. She is a consummate liar, a blackmailer, a cheat and a murderer—”

  “Ms. Parkman—stop this instant!” The judge stands, her face dark, livid red. “Bailiff, take Ms. Parkman into custody.” The bailiff moves so fast his shoes squeak. Langley has made his way to the witness box and wrapped his arms around a hysterical Marianne.

  Hempstead’s eyes blaze. “Counselor, your behavior in this courtroom is contemptible.” She bites off each word. “Your attempt to malign and fling bizarre accusations at a mother whose child has been brutally murdered is not only wholly unprofessional, but morally appalling.”

  “Judge, if you would simply allow me—”

  “I do not intend to permit you to do anything to further traumatize this witness or make a farce of this proceeding.” She turns to the bailiff. “Escort Ms. Parkman to the county jail.”

  “Your Honor.” Danielle shakes off the bailiff and takes a quick step toward the bench. “I haven’t had an opportunity to respond to your ruling that I not be permitted to continue my cross-examination of Ms. Morrison.”

  Hempstead shakes her head in disbelief. “This is neither the time nor the place for you to lodge complaints about anything.”

  “Judge,” says Danielle. “I know you’re going to put me in jail. I accept that. But first I have to insist that you permit me to respond to the Court’s ruling. If not, the appellate court won’t be happy with either of us.”

  Hempstead gives her a wary look. “Fine, Ms. Parkman. Let’s go through the motions. The Court sustains the State’s objection. Your response?”

  Danielle’s voice is clear. “The defense wishes to file a bill of exception.”
>
  The judge’s eyes widen. “You what?”

  “The defense wishes to put on a bill of exception.”

  Hempstead’s face is now unbridled in its fury. “Ms. Parkman, I’m warning you. Think very carefully before you push me into this corner.”

  Danielle knows that Hempstead cannot refuse to permit the defense to file the bill. This age-old legal device allows the party who feels that the judge’s ruling is wrong to put on the very evidence that is being precluded. This evidence is incorporated into the record so that the appellate court can review precisely what is being excluded and determine if the evidence should have been admitted. But Hempstead knows what it really is. It’s a backdoor way to let Danielle do precisely what she wants—whether the judge likes it or not. If Danielle had simply stood in front of her and raised her middle finger, it would have communicated the same message.

  Hempstead crosses her arms and leans back. Her look says touché. “Please, Ms. Parkman. Put on your bill. The Court welcomes it.”

  Danielle makes a quick decision to put on only the evidence Doaks found in Marianne’s hotel room, which she reviewed on the courthouse steps. The judge can still shut her down if she varies even an inch from the relevant path. She glances at Marianne, who has recovered somewhat, but looks pale and pitiful as makeup sluices down her face. Danielle picks up the diary and walks to the witness stand. “Ms. Morrison, what is your room number at the hotel?”

  Her pinprick eyes stab at Danielle’s. Her voice is strong. “Twenty-three.”

  Danielle hands her the diary again. “And you claim that this journal does not belong to you and was not in your room this morning?”

  Marianne straightens. “That is correct.”

  “This is not your handwriting?”

  Her eyes narrow as she looks at the page Danielle has laid before her. She turns to the judge. “That is not my handwriting.”

  “Your Honor, we would like to dim the lights and ask the bailiff to pull down the projection screen in order to show the witness excerpts taken from some of the documents.”

  “Documents which she has not identified.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Marianne turns to the judge, sobbing hysterically. “Your Honor, if I could just have a moment to collect myself—”