Shattered

by Allison Brennan

  “Yet you’re an expert witness,” the DA said. “You can speculate.”

  “Based on the original psych evaluation of Mrs. Caldwell and her interviews with police, not once did she ask any specific questions about her son’s murder. She showed no emotional connection to her son. In her outburst to her husband, she specifically said, ‘Why are they doing this to me? Why ask me all these awful questions?’ While on the one hand it’s absolutely normal for a parent to be frustrated with law enforcement for not being out looking for their child’s killer, not once did she ask the police why they weren’t doing more to find the real killer, as she said to her husband. She reserved those statements solely for her husband.

  “Narcissists want to be the focus of everyone in their lives. They need the attention. Peter Caldwell was, by all accounts, a loved and exceptional child. He was a good student. He and his father shared a love of baseball. His father doted on him. Took him on field trips. Volunteered in the school. Spent time with him. One thing stood out in the original psych evaluation. When Dr. Opner asked about time spent with her son, Mrs. Caldwell responded…” Dillon looked down at his notes. “This is on page seventeen of the evaluation, Your Honor. ‘We do everything with Peter. Our lives revolve around him. In fact, John brought him on our anniversary vacation to Cabo last year.’ She said John brought. Not they brought. I suspect this was a sore point with her, and one of the triggers in her plan to remove her son from the family unit.”

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained. The jury will disregard the last sentence and it will be stricken from the record.”

  “Dr. Kincaid, do you think that Blair Caldwell was jealous of the attention her husband gave to her son?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Is this common in other cases you’ve consulted where a parent killed a child?”

  “Objection!”

  The DA said, “Your Honor, I’m simply asking Dr. Kincaid based on his extensive experience and already stipulated credentials to offer an expert opinion as to cases similar to this.”

  “The question itself prejudices the jury.”

  The judge said, “Jurors, the question presented to Dr. Kincaid reflects a generic observation regarding all suspects and victims within Dr. Kincaid’s scope of knowledge, not specifically the defendant. Proceed.”

  “Dr. Kincaid?” the DA prompted.

  “There is not one answer to that question,” Dillon said. “I would focus specifically on premeditated homicides. There are surprisingly few. Most parental-involved deaths involve neglect or gross abuse, and most of those involve very young children who are more fragile. In the cases where an older child—over the age of six—is killed, if the parent is not addicted to alcohol or drugs, which impairs their judgment or creates a violent home, or where there is no history of abuse, there are sometimes cases that are technically child abuse called Munchausen syndrome by proxy, where a parent or caregiver fabricates or creates symptoms in a child. In eighty-five percent of the cases, the mother is responsible for causing the illness, usually through poison.”

  “Peter Caldwell didn’t die of a medical condition.”

  “No, and Munchausen syndrome by proxy is a mental illness that is extremely rare. I don’t believe this is specifically what we’re dealing with here—I bring it up because of the reason behind the illness. It is solely for attention. Where some people will fabricate stories about grand adventures or accomplishments to the point that they will create false narratives that they believe—pathological liars—someone who suffers from Munchausen will create false illnesses in those in their care in order to gain attention. However, in this case Peter was extremely healthy. I’ve reviewed his medical records and he was rarely sick, statistically less than most children of his socioeconomic position. Yet I think the underlying cause—the need for attention—is the primary reason for his death. Secondarily, there is the complete disassociation of Mrs. Caldwell from her son.”

  “What do you mean by disassociation?”

  “In all of her interviews and in the psych eval, not once did Mrs. Caldwell express any emotions related to questioning about Peter and his death. She did not once refer to Peter as our son or my son. She never asked police during the three interviews she had before her arrest what happened to Peter. She never asked about the autopsy or what the police were doing in their investigation—the only person she appears to have shown any emotion toward was her husband. And even then, as the clip showed, she didn’t mention Peter by name or even by association as their son. The subject of the sentence was ‘they’ meaning the police.”

  “No further questions, the state reserves the right to redirect.”

  The judge allowed the defense to cross-examine.

  “Dr. Kincaid, psychology is not a real science, is it?”

  “It’s sometimes called a soft science, but it’s based on research and observation, like all sciences.”

  “But human beings are complex. They don’t all react to the same situations in the same way.”

  “Correct.”

  “So Mrs. Caldwell’s seemingly cold or haughty interview with the police could be a defense mechanism because she felt attacked.”

  “I do not think so.”

  “But that’s just your opinion.”

  “Correct, my opinion based on years of experience.”

  “You showed eleven minutes of interviews out of more than three hours.”

  “I viewed all recorded interviews and read every transcript.”

  “So we’re relying on what is essentially your nonscientific opinion.”

  “Objection,” the DA said. “Dr. Kincaid’s credentials have already been stipulated by the defense. I can read them for the record.”

  “Withdrawn,” the defense said. “Dr. Kincaid, the original psych evaluation indicated that there were no clear signs that Blair Caldwell was capable of killing her son.”

  “Let me read the conclusion.” Dillon flipped a few pages. “According to Dr. Opner, ‘After spending two hours with Mrs. Caldwell, I’ve determined that there are no clear signs as to her guilt or innocence. This observation is due in large part to the fact that four weeks has passed since Peter Caldwell’s murder and the stages of grief manifest in different ways. At this point, I would say that Mrs. Caldwell is in the denial stage. She is cool, refined, polite, but not willing or able to discuss her son’s murder.’”

  The defense counsel said, “Because she was grieving.”

  “She could have been. I wasn’t there during the evaluation.”

  “No further questions.”

  “Redirect?” the prosecutor said. He stood. “Dr. Kincaid, based on the evidence, would you concur with the lead detective who testified yesterday that Peter Caldwell’s murder was premeditated?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you believe it was premeditated?”

  “For all the reasons Detective Jackson said, and one more: whoever killed Peter had to grind and dissolve the Valium that was used to incapacitate him. Based on the coroner’s report, the drugs were originally in pill form. They had to be crushed, dissolved in water, then administered to Peter. Nothing was found in the house with any residue. That means the killer brought the drug into the house already prepared to be used.”

  “Would that mean that Mrs. Caldwell is not guilty? After all, she didn’t even have a prescription for Valium.”

  That was good, Max thought—already working to destroy one of the key defense arguments.

  “It doesn’t go to her guilt or innocence,” Dillon said. “It’s a fact. It means that every step of this murder was planned including preparing the drugs, how long it would take to get to the Caldwell house, take Peter to the sand pit, bury him, then disappear. It was planned carefully, down to the minute. The amount of drugs in his system was excessive. They would take approximately ten to fifteen minutes to affect an adult, shorter for a child. The drugs were administered in sweetened water. That still wouldn’t have masked the bi
tter taste, and suggests that the killer was someone Peter trusted. The babysitter testified that she heard Peter cough and use the bathroom. When she went to check on him, he was back in bed. I would postulate that he was already drugged at that time, and the killer was hiding in the adjoining bathroom. Such a theory fits the timeline established by the police and the medical examiner.” Dillon sipped water that was at the podium.

  “So my question has been from the beginning, who has a motive? Who would go to such lengths to kill Peter Caldwell? Someone who simply didn’t want Peter to exist. The crime had no passion, no anger or rage or hesitation. It was cold, methodical, and carried out to the letter—as it was planned.”

  * * *

  Max couldn’t find John during the break. Her cameraman was following her because she had a scheduled two-minute clip to air live.

  She was worried about John—his expression during Dillon Kincaid’s testimony had changed from stoic to disbelieving to pain-filled. She didn’t want him to do anything stupid. She wasn’t as worried about him killing Blair as she was about him hurting himself. Maybe that’s what Dillon had meant last night. She sent David a brief text message that she needed his help to track down John.

  The docket after the lunch break was for a computer expert. Max knew the only reason to bring in a computer expert was to confirm what had originally been Lucy Kincaid’s theory that Blair Caldwell knew the details of Justin Stanton’s murder and copied them—all except for the stuffed animal because that wasn’t in the public reports.

  “Max, we need to do this now. Ben is yelling at me.”

  “Fine,” she said and looked around. She pointed to a corner of the second floor. “That should be sufficient.”

  Once lighting and sound were established, and her cameraman set up the live feed with NET, Max began.

  “We’re in the middle of the second day of the trial of Blair Caldwell, the corporate attorney accused of murdering her eight-year-old son last April. This morning’s testimony focused on Dr. Dillon Kincaid, a renowned criminal psychiatrist who was called by the prosecution as an expert witness. In the two hours, nine minutes of testimony, Dr. Kincaid provided the court with…”

  She went through the key points of his testimony in a clear, concise and unemotional way—reporting the facts as he represented them without his extensive details. She had two minutes, not the two hours that Dillon Kincaid was ultimately on the stand.

  Max wrapped up with: “Dr. Kincaid ended with a possible motive: whoever killed Peter Caldwell simply wanted Peter to no longer exist.” She paused for effect, then said, “For more about the trial, visit the NET Web site at the address on your screen and click on ‘Maxine Revere’ for all my articles, commentary, and nightly in-depth report about the day’s events. This is Maxine Revere for NET.”

  She waited a moment until her cameraman told her she was off-air, then she continued her hunt for John.

  Dillon was at the bottom of the courthouse stairs talking to the district attorney, Harrison Trotter. Max said, “Dillon, I can’t find John.”

  Trotter said, “He was the first person out of court after the judge.”

  “I’m worried,” Max said. “I watched him during your testimony and I saw the change in him.”

  “I’m the last person he’ll want to see,” Dillon said.

  “You can explain this to him.”

  “He’s not going to be receptive. I gave him the most devastating news in his life—that the woman he loved and trusted killed his son. You need to find him.”

  “He’s not happy with me, either.”

  “But he knows and trusts you, Max. Why do you think he contacted you in the first place? Because he believed you would learn the truth. And you did. It just wasn’t the truth he wanted. Remember what you said last night—that deep down he suspected she was guilty. He wanted to be wrong, he convinced himself his doubts weren’t valid, but now he knows. We didn’t prove it, but we created the plausibility in court.” Dillon glanced at the DA. “I’m prepared to return to the stand to confirm what your computer expert learned.”

  The DA was clearly uncomfortable with Max standing there. “Be in the courtroom after lunch. Excuse me.” He walked away.

  “Find him,” Dillon said.

  Max stepped outside. It was overcast and looked like it would be raining—and decidedly colder than even yesterday.

  David called her. “I found him. Parking garage, second floor.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s just sitting in his car. I’ll keep an eye on him until you get here.”

  It had started raining. She pulled her umbrella from her purse as the rain pounded. One minute, completely dry. The next minute, torrential downpour. Fortunately, she had on boots because she’d checked the weather report that morning. She walked half a block to the pedestrian entrance of the parking garage.

  John drove a white Volvo. Practical, just like John. Max collapsed her umbrella and took the stairs to the second floor. She looked up and down each row. She found the Volvo at the row closest to the courthouse entrance. Of course there would have been an entrance leading directly to the courthouse—if she’d know that, she wouldn’t have even had to venture out into the rain.

  David was standing next to the courthouse. He looked at her oddly as she approached. “I didn’t expect you to come from the street,” he said.

  They both looked at John sitting behind the wheel. “I’ll take care of him.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “David—”

  “Look, Max, I was in the courtroom. I saw his face. He owns two guns. I’m not leaving you with a grieving man who may or may not plan to kill himself—or plan to kill his bitch of a wife. Or his friend, the messenger with bad news. This is what you pay me for. Deal with it.”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

  He seemed surprised that she had acquiesced so easily. She left David by the courthouse doors and walked over to John’s Volvo. She opened the passenger door and sat in the leather seat, then closed the door behind her.

  John barely glanced at her.

  “I’ve been avoiding your calls because I knew. After I read that article on Saturday, I knew.”

  He put his head on the steering wheel and cried. Max had never heard such a gut-wrenching sound come from a man, as if his pain and grief had found a voice. Max rarely cried, but she felt tears roll down her face.

  She didn’t tell John everything was going to be okay. She put her hand on his back and sat there. She would stay with him as long as it took, because he shouldn’t be alone.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  After three days of trial and a day and a half of jury deliberations, the jury returned a guilty verdict Friday after lunch.

  John Caldwell was not in the courtroom. He didn’t return Tuesday afternoon, or any day since. He checked into a hotel room and hadn’t returned home.

  Max met with him each night because she was worried about him—and what he might do. But after the guilty verdict came down, he said he would be okay.

  “It’s over,” he said.

  “I can stay for the weekend. We can talk. Or just—do nothing.”

  He actually gave her a small smile. He hadn’t slept, he’d barely eaten except when Max pushed food on him, and his hair looked gray. Did people really get stress gray?

  “I will be okay, Max. My sister is coming tomorrow. She’s going to help me pack up the house and get it on the market. I can’t live there anymore.”

  “How about dinner tonight?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t—I need to make plans. I’m going to move. Not just out of the house, but out of Scottsdale. A friend of mine has been trying to get me to work for them. Their headquarters are in Seattle. I need a change. A real change.”

  “Well, if you want to talk, or have dinner, or breakfast, call me. I’m leaving in the morning.”

  John walked her to the door. “Did you know? From the beginning, did you k
now that Blair was guilty?”

  What could she say? “Suspecting is different than knowing. I was suspicious, but I wanted her to be innocent.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I knew it would break your heart, and I didn’t want you hurt like this.”

  “Nothing could hurt me more than losing Peter. Even knowing that Blair killed him—killed him for no reason I can understand other than a deep selfishness that I ignored for years—doesn’t hurt as much as the fact that he’s gone.”

  “Nothing good can come from this, and I won’t even tell you that there is a silver lining. But, if you hadn’t called me, four other boys wouldn’t have seen justice. Another little boy would have died. This trial ended with two killers in prison. It won’t give you peace, but it might give you some satisfaction.”

  “However much it hurts, it’s better to know the truth. I’ll never understand why. Why. Your friend, Dr. Kincaid, came by last night. I think he wanted to give me answers, but there are no answers.”

  She hadn’t known that Dillon went to see John, but that was so like him. She had grown to like and respect the man over the last two weeks. He showed a deep compassion but tempered it with logic and reason. He didn’t raise his voice. Nothing seemed to fluster him. He’d agreed to come to New York for an interview in two weeks, and she would be filming her next Maximum Exposure show about Danielle Sharpe and Blair Caldwell—mothers who kill. That was Ben’s tag. Max planned to take the show far deeper than a simple tagline could suggest. Dillon’s involvement would help tremendously. She also had agreements with Blair’s attorney (to talk generally, not specifically about her case because he planned to appeal—though she didn’t mention that to John), DA Harrison Trotter, Stanton, Detective Katella, and Danielle’s ex-husband. There were others she might be able to nab as well.

  Except the one she really wanted. Lucy Kincaid. Max was going to have to be satisfied with her brother.