by Chris Leibig
Sam watched Judge Linda O’Grady carefully. In a way, Judge O’Grady had been a terrible draw for Camille. She was a former prosecutor, deeply insecure about her own intellectual abilities, and angry about that. She was a successful example of a lawyer who knows he or she is behind the curve in the candlepower department and makes up for it by being angry and dismissive. She preferred moralizing lectures to legal analysis, and it was commonly believed that her habit of calling recesses at the end of legal arguments allowed her to go ask Judge Chin—a woman fifteen years her junior—how to rule.
On the other hand, by the way Judge O’Grady stared blankly at Sparf, maybe she was a decent draw after all. Three things about Linda O’Grady actually made her the right judge for Camille on the issue of bail. Sam remembered meeting her children once at a bar event. Polite, happy kids, both at great colleges, who saw their mother as a kind and hard-working soccer mom who made it as a judge without depriving them of an ounce of attention. In other words, she was a good mother, and insecure or not, she valued that above the respect of the arrogant assholes at the courthouse. Second, she wasn’t smart enough to be absolutely sure that Sparf’s arguments were correct, even though they were. Third, Judge Chin was on vacation.
Sam took a deep breath and waited for Sparf to finish his opening remarks. As always, he was long-winded and imperious. Unfortunately, he was also correct.
“The Virginia bond statute is very clear, Judge,” Sparf said. “There’s a presumption against bail for anyone charged with murder. Any irregularities, such as escape attempts, suicide attempts, or the like, could derail the prosecution of a potential serial killer. You should also know that after Paradisi was read her Miranda rights, when asked if she killed Lucas, she did not deny it. Did not explain how her DNA could have wound up at the crime scene.”
O’Grady frowned. Sparf’s comment on Camille’s refusal to deny the offense would not be admissible at trial. Sparf, though, was trying to spin some leverage out of it for the bond motion and, of course, for the press. To put the pressure on O’Grady to deny Camille’s release.
“I quote from Detective Zwerling’s report. Quote: When asked if she killed Zebulon Lucas, Ms. Paradisi replied, ‘Look at your own files and you’ll figure it out.’”
“You haven’t charged her with all four murders?” Judge O’Grady asked.
“Correct. DNA connects her to Lucas’s killing, but one must also note—” Sparf paused for effect. “The killings stopped right after her arrest. We’re reinvestigating the other three now. As stand-alone murders, the first three are all under federal jurisdiction. Once we establish the pattern, we can charge them all in state court.”
“Once the pattern is established, won’t the entire case, including the Lucas murder, go federal?”
Sparf paused. Any criminal lawyer knew that Sparf would unlikely be able to hold on to such a big case if the federal authorities had jurisdiction and wanted it badly enough. But Sam could feel Sparf’s mind, with its rigid, methodical earnestness, rebel against the idea of giving up the Ripper case. By arresting Camille for Zebulon before the feds could get hold of her and reinvestigate the first three, he had gained an advantage, at least for now. “That is not how we wish to proceed.”
“Okay, well let me ask you this. Is there any evidence at all that Ms. Paradisi is suicidal?”
Sparf glanced sideways. “No direct evidence of that, no. But it’s always a risk in these cases.”
“But she did turn herself in?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Sparf, I will hear Mr. Young out. You’ll have your chance to argue at the end.” Translation: Sit down and shut up Sparf. You know damned well I am not releasing this nutty bitch. Never, nada, not on my watch.
Sam stood. He looked briefly behind him at Nguyen and Barnabus, who sat together in the front row. Amelia sat on the other side of Camille.
“Ms. Paradisi calls Katharta Batey.”
The door to the jail lockup swung open, and Katharta emerged in her orange jumpsuit. She sported a new hairdo and a girlish smile. She rubbed her wrists as she approached the stand, blinking, as if walking quickly into blinding sunlight.
“Ob-jec-tion!” Sparf called out in a low, bored tone, as if attacking Sam’s evidence was a routine hassle. As if Sam wasn’t wasting the court’s time, and they could all be off to lunch. “Your Honor, the defendant’s cellmate’s testimony can’t possibly be relevant. Nothing about this defendant’s custody status or jail adjustment provides you with the legal basis to release her. Nothing.”
Sparf was merely articulating the argument he had just made. The one he should have been saving for after the evidence.
“What is the relevance, Mr. Young?” O’Grady asked.
“Judge, this witness will testify to firsthand observations of Ms. Paradisi’s medical symptoms, including regular and repeated vomiting, seizure-like shaking at times, and painful, blinding headaches. All these symptoms have been constant for the last thirty-six hours, and—”
“Fine,” Sparf said. “I’ll stipulate to all that.” His nasally voice rose with a whiny annoyance. “It doesn’t matter. I agree that Ms. Paradisi suffers from the symptoms Mr. Young describes. Let’s move on.”
Sam shrugged. Sparf was attempting to show disdain for Sam’s legal position by suggesting that he should win the argument regardless of the evidence. Katharta stood, still blinking, in the center of the courtroom, obviously confused. Sam nodded to the deputy, who placed a kind hand on the small of Katharta’s back and led her out of the courtroom as if escorting a date to their dinner table.
“Ms. Paradisi calls Dr. Alfredo Torres,” Sam said.
Dr. Torres entered the courtroom in a crisp, black suit. Sam flipped through his notes as Torres strode confidently down the aisle, nodding at Sparf as if to an old friend as he passed. Sparf frowned.
“Please state your name,” Sam said.
“Dr. Alfredo Torres.”
“Tell the judge a little bit about your education and career.”
Torres quickly ran through his unique resume, which included college in the Dominican Republic and medical school at the University of Virginia. Torres sounded like an impressive, if a bit nerdy, professor.
“Have you had the opportunity to review Ms. Paradisi’s medical history, including records concerning her pregnancy and her family history, which have been marked as Defendant’s Exhibit A?”
“Indeed, I have. Quite thoroughly.”
“Have you had the opportunity to personally examine Ms. Paradisi?”
“Of course. I met with her at the Bennet County Jail two days ago. As instructed, I conducted a full examination.”
Sam paused, pretending to examine some notes, and then put the notes down. He held up an inch-thick file, motioning to the courtroom deputy, who approached Sam to retrieve the exhibit for Torres. He then handed a copy of the records to Sparf, who pretended not to care, accepting the file without looking at Sam. But he immediately began flipping through it. Sam’s heart jumped, just a little, as Sparf’s beady eyes began to scan the records.
“Dr. Torres, I am going to ask you to review Defendant’s Exhibit A, and if it consists of the medical records you reviewed.”
Torres sat quietly, reviewing each and every page of the record. Most witnesses would have answered the question after a brief glance at the documents, but Torres was making a point: he was very, very thorough. While Freddy flipped from one page to the next, Sam could not resist a quick probe into Nguyen’s mind. Once a scattered, unhappy mess, Nguyen’s thoughts now felt clean and contained. Like a small but fast-moving little stream bumping over polished rocks. Nguyen was not even nervous.
“These are the records I reviewed.”
“Did you also interview an inmate named Katharta Batey—Ms. Paradisi’s cellmate—concerning her eyewitness observations of Ms. Paradisi’s symptoms?”
“I did. I interviewed her yesterday by telephone during an inmate call you arranged.”$
; “Tell us, Doctor, based on your review of records, your personal examination of Ms. Paradisi, and your interview with Ms. Batey, did you make a diagnosis of Ms. Paradisi? Specifically concerning her pregnancy?”
“I did. Ms. Paradisi is seven and a half months pregnant. This is a first pregnancy for her. Her family history includes multiple female relatives, along with her mother and grandmother, who died during childbirth. In addition, she suffers from hypertension and has presented consistent symptoms of nausea and terrible headaches. Based on all of those factors, I have concluded that Ms. Paradisi has a severe form of a condition called preeclampsia, a complication of pregnancy, the cause of which is basically unknown. However, the condition renders childbirth much more dangerous than normal, for both child and mother. Because of the severe nature of Ms. Paradisi’s preeclampsia, and the presence of what seem to be seizures, she runs a high risk of developing eclampsia, a related condition that renders childbirth extraordinarily dangerous. Life-threatening, in fact, both for child and mother.”
Sam felt Sparf stiffen as he shifted through the records.
“Do you have a suggested treatment for Ms. Paradisi?” Sam asked.
“I do. I suggest an immediate delivery by C-section at the state-of-the-art maternity ward at Bennet County Hospital, or a similar facility.”
Sparf started to rise to object, but a look from Judge O’Grady sat him back down.
“Would you, yourself, perform the delivery?”
“Yes,” Torres said. “I have privileges at the hospital and have already spoken with the anesthesiologist who will assist me. I have made arrangements to perform a delivery by C-section as soon as Ms. Paradisi can be released. There are nurses standing by right now for an update.”
“Dr. Torres, have you also examined the medical facility at the Bennet County Adult Detention Center?”
“I have.”
“What is your opinion about whether or not the facility at the Bennet County Adult Detention Center is suitable for delivering Ms. Paradisi’s child?”
Torres cleared his throat and looked directly at Judge O’Grady. “Your Honor, if that baby is delivered at the jail, then one or both of them is likely to wind up dead.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Please answer any questions Mr. Sparf has for you.”
Sparf stood and made his signature dismissive gesture of swiping a shoulder with a flick of his hand as if to dust off some lint.$
“Would you agree with me that your prediction about the death of Ms. Paradisi or her child is not accurate if the correct doctor and equipment are brought into the jail?”
Torres looked nervously at Sam. Sam shrugged, a gesture seen by the judge and Sparf. It was the gesture of a lawyer telling his witness to tell the truth, even if it seemed to hurt the point.
Torres’s shoulders slumped a little.
“That would be safer than without it.”
“Any further witnesses?” O’Grady asked, indicating her growing impatience with the hearing. Torres hadn’t even begun to leave the witness stand.
“Yes, Judge, I call—”
“Judge, may I be heard?” Sparf was picking up on O’Grady’s cue, sensing that she might end the hearing early by buying into his legal argument that releasing Camille was a terrible move regardless of the evidence. “Paradisi has been charged with first-degree murder. As we all well know, she is also under major suspicion for being the most notorious serial killer in Bennet history. The idea of bail, the entire idea of it, is ridiculous. It’s absurd. It’s—”
“Mr. Young,” O’Grady said, “I understand Ms. Paradisi’s critical health condition, but I’ve always heard that medical care in the jail is quite good. Mr. Sparf’s point concerning the code, and the potential that Ms. Paradisi has killed four citizens, is my problem here. You see that, right?”
“I do, and this next witness directly addresses that point. The defense calls—”
“Objection!” Sparf cried out. “If Mr. Young plans to call a witness about Ms. Paradisi’s guilt or innocence of the offense for which she is charged, I need proper notice. I do not have my witnesses here—who would, I might add, make it obvious that she’s guilty. This is improper—”
“Mr. Sparf.” Even O’Grady, a lifelong prosecutor who kept prosecuting when she took the bench, saw the right ruling on this a mile away. “You can’t use her guilt as an argument against bail and then object to evidence of innocence. I’ll hear this witness.”
A deputy opened the courtroom doors. Andrada strode purposefully to the stand, the most commanding presence in the room with his serene gaze and athletic physique.
“State your name, please,” Sam said.
“Father Leo Andrada.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I am the pastor at Church of the Holy Angels in Bennet, Virginia.”
“Do you know the defendant, Sister Camille Paradisi?”
“Yes, she began to work at Holy Angels in January of 2013. She serves as the Director of Religious Education.”
“Do you, as part of your job, hear confessions?”
“Daily,” Andrada said. “Not always as many as the younger priests, but one or two on most days.”
“Did Sister Paradisi aid you in this regard?”
“Yes. Parishioners knew to make appointments through her, to make sure it fit with the rest of my schedule. She often greeted parishioners when they entered the church. She would lead them to the confessional, instructing them that they could choose to sit facing me or enter the door, which would place them behind me. Sometimes people do not want to face a priest during a confession. She also instructed them on the basics of confession, if needed, such as how to begin, and such things.”
“Did you hear any confessions on July 3rd of this year?”
“Yes. I checked my calendar at your request. I listened to one.”
“Do you now know that this is also the date of the third Rosslyn Ripper murder?”
“I do. I noted that fact the next day, when I read about the murder.”
“Does your calendar list the name of the person who confessed to you on July 3rd?”
“No. Even if I knew the name, I wouldn’t write it down, and in this instance I didn’t know.”
“Did the person sit facing you or behind a screen?”
“Facing.”
Sam pulled a photograph out of a file and showed it to Sparf. Sparf shot to his feet.
“Objection! I thought this witness was called as a character witness for Ms. Paradisi, not a fact witness in this case. I have no idea where this is headed, but I object to relevance.”
O’Grady looked at Sam for a response to the objection. Sam waited. He could see Sparf’s wheels turning. Sparf had no idea how Andrada would answer, and he suddenly realized he wanted to know.
“Actually,” Sparf said, “I withdraw the objection.”
Sam glanced behind Sparf to the front row of the gallery to take a look at O’Malley, who had his arms folded. He looked cool, as usual. Inside, he was on fire. Sam made eye contact with him, absorbing the what? Anger? No, shame. At not finding this witness himself. Sam handed the photograph to the deputy, who then handed it to Andrada.
“Is that the man who came to confession?”
“Yes.”
“Your Honor, please let the record reflect that Father Andrada has identified the photograph of Zebulon Lucas. Father, was Zebulon Lucas a parishioner?”
“No. We have no record of his ever actually attending church. One need not be a parishioner for me to provide confession though.”
“Have the police ever interviewed you in connection with this case?”
“No.”
Sam took a deep breath.
“What sins did this man confess to you?”
Sparf bounced to his feet, but Sam could sense that he was unsure of why, and how, he should attempt to bar this testimony. Just as he began to speak, Andrada looked squarely at Judge O’Grady and interrupted him.
�
��Your Honor, I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it is subject to the priest-penitent privilege.”
O’Grady frowned at Sam.
“Your Honor,” Sam said, “he’s already testified that he heard the confession of Zebulon Lucas. I submit to you that he has waived the privilege at this point. Secondly, Lucas is dead. I further submit that the privilege no longer exists.”
Andrada smiled wisely at Judge O’Grady.
“Judge, I draw a distinction between testifying that a confession occurred and testifying about the substance of a confession. I believe the other legal privileges work that way too, do they not? And with all due respect to Mr. Young and to this court, I will not answer that question even if ordered to do so.”
Andrada’s elegant baritone filled the courtroom, and Sam could feel every head in the room nod with admiration.
As Sam hoped she would, O’Grady easily digested Andrada’s point.
“He does not have to answer that question. It’s protected by the privilege.” Sam could sense her enjoying the glow from the approving gallery.
“Father Andrada, you said that Camille would sometimes instruct parishioners on the basics of confession. Would that include asking them to remove headwear?”
“It could, sure. Men generally don’t wear hats during a confession.”
“And if she informed a parishioner to remove a cap, let’s say, would she hold it for him?”
“I’m sure she would, she’d do—”
“Objection—speculation.” For Sparf, it was a soft objection, not bitchy or whiny, and very slow in coming. Deflated.
“Sustained.”
“Did the man have a hat on during his confession?”
“No.”
“Did you later become aware that he was killed last week?”
“Yes.”
“Have you observed a photograph of the crime scene?”
“Yes, you showed me one.”
“Was he wearing a hat in that photo?”
“Objection.” An obvious one because there was no basis to ask Andrada about the crime scene photo. But Sam watched O’Grady, whose face wrinkled. She was wondering about confessions and hats.