“Shh. We can hope and pray.”
The same afternoon, a juvenile advocate met with Alicia Steen and asked for an immediate bench trial, not a simple hearing. The judge listened intently to arguments from both sides the next morning. He watched the child closely throughout the proceedings to get an accurate reaction from her about her involvement. During her trial, she broke down and told the court about her sexual abuse and desperation to feel safe, which is what Latrice offered her and her mother. “She said she’d make him stop forever,” the child sobbed. Turning her tear-stained face toward the judge, she said, “I think she planned to kill him. I can’t say I’m sorry for that.” Her next words came in gasps. “He…hurt…me…so…much.”
Judge LeVigne read the reports and reviewed the child’s background. He sent Alicia to a juvenile facility to be treated for mental illness until she turned eighteen, at which time the case would be reviewed to determine what, if any, further action was warranted. His suspicions confirmed from the scant information Baker had obtained, Ray stayed long enough to hear her verdict before he filed the paperwork to arrest Alicia’s father and have her two siblings taken into protective custody.
On the other hand, the mind of Latrice Descartes was complicated and convoluted. There was no disagreement among the psychiatrists that Latrice was guilty of multiple counts of murder, but there was a great deal of disagreement about the degree of mental illness the woman suffered and how her case should be adjudicated.
Attorneys for both the prosecution and the defense sat down with all three psychiatrists. After reviewing the physical evidence and hearing the psychiatrists’ reports, Latrice’s public defender convinced his client to plead guilty and seek the judge’s mercy in sentencing in a bench trial. He told her a jury would be much harsher than Judge LeVigne. Mr. VanDevere, the defender, was surprised at the ease of his persuasion. He had to wonder what this ingenious, but insane, woman was up to. He honestly wanted her locked away because he was afraid of her. After only three weeks of testing and interviewing, Latrice Descartes waived her right to a trial by jury and appeared before Judge LeVigne in a bench trial. She pled guilty and begged for mercy.
The state’s psychiatrist believed Latrice to be a sociopath with no conscience and a menace to society. LeVigne read the file presented by the state. His scratchy voice grunted, “Criminally insane—a mental defect or disease that makes it impossible for a person to understand the wrongfulness of his acts or, even if he understands them, to distinguish right from wrong. Defendants who are criminally insane cannot be convicted of a crime, since criminal conduct involves the conscious intent to do wrong—a choice that the criminally insane cannot meaningfully make.” He motioned Dr. Culpepper to the witness stand. “You are under oath,” he reminded the man. “Talk to me. This psycho-babble means little to me. Say it in English. Is this woman mentally competent to stand trial?”
“It’s arguable.”
“Don’t jerk me around. Tell me your diagnosis.”
“Very well. I have determined that Latrice’s upbringing with a very strict military father did influence her need to control and dominate as she was dominated. However, her mother’s secret involvement with a satanic cult to which she exposed her daughter and the decadent sexual practices of the group jaded and corrupted Latrice’s idea of perfection. Her overexposure to so many cultures helped to confuse her understanding of religion because she didn’t have guidance or formal religious foundation in the standard realm of religion although her father required her to attend mass every Sunday.” He looked at the judge to see if he was being clear. LeVigne waved both hands in a forward sweeping motion for the doctor to continue.
“In her distortion, Latrice created her own religion in which she is the supreme authority. Her misinterpretation for the need for cleansing through blood sacrifice prompted her foray into black magic and ritual sacrifice. She feels no remorse for her actions. Indeed, she voiced her intent to continue purification of America and will have to start over because the process is ‘cyclic and must be done in stages at the given times.’ Those are her direct words. In addition, she repeatedly mentioned her mother’s warning not to use a twin. Mother seems to have vanished back to Transylvania.”
“Please,” grunted the defender. “Objection. For the record Mrs. Descartes was deported before anyone was killed. Her visa expired sometime ago.”
LeVigne nodded. “Miss Descartes’s mother is not on trial. Sustained. Tell me about the defendant.” The judge held up a finger and spoke to the bailiff. “It’s freezing in here. Check the thermostat. Now, Doctor, go on.”
Dr. Culpepper nodded. “The only emotion she seems capable of is rage. She is obsessed with finishing what she started. I recommend that Latrice Descartes be declared criminally insane and be confined to an institution for the rest of her life. I would recommend capital punishment for her crimes if the U.S. Constitution allowed the execution of the insane. The State of Louisiana would certainly desire the ultimate sentence.”
“So,” the judge asked, “you think she’s insane?”
“Yes.”
“Is she capable of standing trial?”
“Not at this time.”
“Step down. Rousseau, your turn. Don’t forget you’re under oath as well.”
Dr. Rousseau, the psychiatrist for the defense agreed that Latrice was criminally insane, but she sought leniency for the person she perceived as a victim of her upbringing and harsh war-mongering influence. The vapors of her breath hanging in the air, Rousseau said, “She herself has been brainwashed into thinking that only blood would cleanse America. I ask that Latrice be committed until such time that she be diagnosed sane.”
Listening to the procedures, Ray muttered to Chris, “Which would be never.” He shivered. “Damn, it’s as cold in here as at the monastery.”
The FBI agent whispered, “Spirit world?”
“Shit.” Ray’s stomach roiled.
The judge glared toward law enforcement, prompting silence. LeVigne asked, “So, am I to understand, you think Miss Descartes is not competent to stand trial?”
“No, she’s not Your Honor.”
“You would declare her insane?”
“Yes.”
“Step down. Petra.”
Dr. Petra, an independent psychiatrist appointed by Judge LeVigne, diagnosed Latrice as a sociopath. He took the stand when the judge called him forward. LeVigne asked, “Well, do you concur with the other two? What do you mean when you say she’s not a psychopath?” He tapped the file in front of him.
He nodded. “Yes, Your Honor, I agree that her harsh, unstable childhood might have warped her perception of reality, but she poses a terrible danger to society. She is not psychopathic. A psychopath often feels guilt and shame. She has no conscience, which played perfectly into her military duties. Uncle Sam won’t tell us what she did, but I’d put money on her being an assassin. The government cannot acknowledge sanctioned murder. They used her mental illness for their own purposes and then turned her loose on society. I tried to read her psychological history from the Marine Corps. Half of it is blacked out.” The psychiatrist shrugged. “She transferred often and was assigned to ‘other agencies’. That could explain a lot.”
The psychiatrist took a deep breath after his diatribe and went on after noting the defense attorney whispering to his client. “She is a consummate sociopath with the ability to see what a person needs and to become that thing, which is how she manipulated thirteen men into doing her bidding and convinced twelve women she could save them from their circumstances. She is obsessed with completing her task, and she will kill again. I recommend her incarceration in a maximum security facility for the criminally insane for life. Dr. Rousseau is overly optimistic to think Miss Descartes will ever be declared sane.”
“Is she competent to stand trial?”
The doctor shook his head. “She has no concept that what she did is wrong.”
“Yes or no?”
“No.”<
br />
“Insane?”
“Absolutely.”
Judge LeVigne reviewed all the evidence. He listened to every word and dismissed the group until three in the afternoon.
As they waited Ray asked the defense attorney, “What did she say to you while Petra was testifying?”
“You know I can’t tell you that. I’ll say this, if her mother comes back to the States, the U.S. government could be looking at a lawsuit.”
Steve Journey, standing with Ray, said, “If it could be proven the military capitalized on her illness and made her worse, they could be held liable.”
“You think?” Chris asked.
Journey shrugged. “Possible, but a long shot.” He fidgeted. “Honestly, I think she’s been hired as a mercenary, maybe by someone with underworld ties, since she got out. A paid assassin can make a killing.” He chuckled softly.
“Bad pun.” Ray grunted, “Real underworld ties.”
“That too,” agreed the agent.
When court reconvened, Judge LeVigne requested that Latrice stand with her lawyer. He shivered. “Why is it so damned cold in here?” He addressed the defendant with a measure of respect for her past service to her country. “Master Sergeant Descartes, do you have anything you’d like to add before I make my ruling?”
“No, Your Honor,” she replied, her voice low and gravelly, her breath visible like ice crystals on the air.
“All right, then. I pronounce retired Master Sergeant Latrice Descartes criminally insane. You are hereby sentenced to incarceration conditionally for the rest of your natural life in a maximum security facility for the criminally insane. However, I will see you one year from today to be re-evaluated since The Constitution requires you to be given the chance to be cured. If, and I emphasize if, you are declared sane and competent to stand trial, there will be a trial. Bailiff, take her into custody to await transport.” He noted in his calendar. “Schedule transport for the Monday before Thanksgiving, November 24th, seven P.M. Court adjourned. I need a hot toddy.”
The moment Latrice left the courtroom, the temperature leveled.
Detective Raiford Reynolds, Agent Christine Milovich, Prosecutor Robert LaFontaine, Raiford Gautier, and Larkin Sloan left the courthouse feeling both relieved and victorious. Two of the other FBI agents and Brian Baker gloated with them. Journey’s brow creased. “It was too easy.”
28
Things that Go Bump in the Dark
Upon leaving the courthouse, the unlikely quintet comprised of Detective Raiford Reynolds, Agent Christine Milovich, Prosecutor Robert LaFontaine, Raiford Gautier, and Larkin Sloan went to dinner to celebrate the resolution to a very trying time. The other agents and Brian Baker, along with Olivia, his wife, joined them for a short time before the agents prepared to head back to FBI headquarters. Chris had made arrangements to stay longer to ensure Latrice was properly incarcerated.
Dinner consisted of never-ending pasta at the nearest Olive Garden, along with numerous glasses of champagne, prompting Raif to declare, “I guess we all know why we brought my car. I’m the DD.”
Nobody differed with Raif’s statement. The agents ate, toasted victory, and left. Baker and his wife left shortly afterward. However, after a couple of hours, Ray finally snarled at LaFontaine, “For God’s sake! Get your hands off the woman!” when Robert took Larkin’s hand in his.
“Ray! Mind your own business,” Larkin hissed.
“I am,” Ray argued.
“No, you’re not. You’re minding mine. I think we’ve celebrated long enough.” She calmly placed her napkin on the table.
With the check paid, the group left the restaurant. Raif whispered to Chris, “Sit in the back with Robert and Larkin please. I’d like to avoid bloodshed in my car.”
Chris nodded and whispered, “Just don’t put me between Ray and Robert.”
Raif delivered everyone safely home beginning with Larkin. He dropped Robert at his apartment and Chris at her hotel. He scowled at Ray, whom he intended to take home with him. He passed Ray’s turnoff.
“What are you doing?” Ray groused.
“Being your big brother. What the hell is wrong with you? If you want Larkin, go for her, but stop making a fool of yourself.”
“Hasn’t she made it clear that she doesn’t want me?”
“No, but she has made it quite plain she doesn’t want to be with a jerk.”
“Ha!” Ray laughed sardonically. “Then why is she letting LaFontaine fondle her?”
“Jeez! Ray, what is it with you and Robert?”
“Nothing. I don’t like him.” He grunted. “That’s all.”
“No, it’s not.” Twin intuition kicked in. “It’s Mia, isn’t it? Your former fiancée went to Robert when you and she broke up. He’s Rob, that so-called best friend you mentioned.” He glanced at his brother. “Am I right?”
“Yeah! You’re right!” shouted Ray. “Then he went to a hundred more women, and Mia was too self-absorbed to realize she threw away someone who loved her. Larkin is doing the same thing, and he’ll break her heart.”
Raif pulled onto the shoulder of the road and stopped the car. “Talk to me, Ray. What really happened? You know everything about me. You know all about Abigail. Why can’t you share this with me?”
Ray laughed bitterly. “Raif, you don’t even know all about you and your ex, and I don’t want to lose my brother now that I’ve found him.”
“What are you babbling about?” Passing headlights illuminated Raif’s confused frown.
“What happened to you in New Orleans is at least partly my fault.”
“How do you figure that? What the hell are you talking about?” Irritation began to edge the brother’s tone though his volume remained low.
“Robert…Your mugging…If I hadn’t stayed with him to get a tattoo, I could’ve stopped it. I know who did it. I was there at Mardi Gras. They were my fraternity brothers. Maybe being associated with me is the problem. Maybe I’m the monster that goes bump in the dark.”
“Fooyay! Fooyay! Fooyay! You are so full of bullshit.” Raif hit the steering wheel in frustration. “Or maybe it’s just booze tonight. Are you trying to drive me away? Is that what you want so you can wallow in self-pity? Ray, absolutely nothing that has happened to me is your fault. Nothing, Ray. Absolutely nothing that happened to Larkin before you met her is your fault. What happens to her from here on out might be your fault if you don’t get over what happened with Mia and Robert. One of the best things you can do is talk about it. Stop keeping everything bottled up inside.”
Ray drew back his fist all the way to his shoulder for maximum force and started to punch the windshield.
“Whoa!” Raif barked. “If you break my windshield, you will pay for it, brother or not. Now, stop acting like such a damned idiot and talk to me.”
Ray grunted, slouched back into the seat, and folded his arms over his chest, looking like a petulant child.
Raif unsnapped his seatbelt and pivoted in the driver’s seat to look squarely at his brother. “We are not budging from this spot until you talk to me.”
Ray released a deep, heavy, almost tearful sigh. “Four years ago, I was still a patrolman. It wasn’t long before I became a detective. Brian Baker was my partner. We responded to a domestic disturbance call. The woman’s drugged-out husband was holding a gun to the head of her child, a boy about thirteen or fourteen. The man had his arm around the boy’s throat, dragging him backwards. Boy and Mom were screaming. The guy turned his gun on us.” Ray dropped his arms and stiffened his back.
“Then what?” Raif prompted.
“The kid was gutsy. He jostled the jerk’s arm, and we were able to disarm the low-life.” He paused.
Raif encouraged, “Go on.”
“Yeah, yeah. But not before the gun discharged and struck me in the shoulder. It’s ironic,” Ray continued. “The kid was Dupree Parks. I recognized him in lockup, but he didn’t recognize me out of uniform. He came between his mother and her slug of a hu
sband and almost got killed for it. Dwight Funchess, that was the slug’s name. He had used her for a punching bag for a long time. The poor woman was covered in scars. Her eye was almost swollen shut and her lip was encrusted with blood.” Ray clenched and unclenched his fists. “I got shot, not life threatening, but Mia completely freaked out.” Recounting the event had taken him back to the place and time. He hit his shoulder where his scar was located.
“Freaked out how?”
“We had only been engaged a month. I wasn’t even out of the hospital when she walked into my room and announced she couldn’t handle being a cop’s wife.” Ray snorted. “She handed me her engagement ring right in front of a damned nurse. When I was discharged, I went to talk to her.” He held up two fingers. “Two days. That’s all it took. Robert was there, shirt unbuttoned, hair tousled; and she was wearing lingerie. I’m not a fool. I put two and two together. It was going on before I got shot.” Ray ran his fingers through his hair.
Raif listened with little interruption. With a low whistle, he said, “Finish, Ray.”
After a great sigh, Ray continued. “Two months later, Mia caught Robert cheating on her. She wanted to get back together. All I could do was to ask her how it felt. I just couldn’t do it. Not only had she betrayed me, but with my best friend. Robert and I were fraternity brothers and roommates at LSU. We had been friends since we were six. I think his actions hurt more than hers. I’m sorry, Raif, I just can’t get past it.
“And, now, he’s after Larkin.” Ray shook his head as if trying to shake the thought from his mind. “Raif, she’s a virgin. He’ll hurt her in more ways than one. God! When I think about him and her, I get nauseous. I could kill him.”
“Ray, Larkin is not a fool,” Raif consoled. “She will not sleep with him. Give her some credit.”
“He’s as charismatic and persuasive as Latrice.” Ray continued to sulk. “That’s why he’s such a damned good lawyer. I’ll give him his credit where it’s due.”
Raif stared at his mirror image. “Tell the woman you love her for Pete’s sake.”
Lucky Thirteen (The Raiford Chronicles Book 1) Page 20
