by Randy Singer
"But Dr. Mancini's opinion raises a slew of questions and ignores a mountain of evidence. First, the questions."
Quinn noticed that the jury seemed to be paying rapt attention to Gates. The prosecutor had chosen to forgo the normal chronological recitation of events and jump right into the core issues. To Quinn's chagrin, the tactic seemed to be working.
"If Ms. O'Rourke was indeed raped in college, could that rape have caused this entirely different personality, this so-called Avenger of Blood, to spring out of nowhere eight years later? Our expert witnesses will tell you that dissociative identity disorder is extremely rare and is almost always the result of persistent childhood abuse. If Ms. O'Rourke does have this psychosis and it developed from one instance of rape, then we are witnessing a first-of-its-kind occurrence, medical history in the making.
"And a second question: why did it take eight years, with no new trauma in the meantime, for the alleged psychosis to develop? Could it be that there is no psychosis here at all but just a calculating serial killer who believes that all rapists and their lawyers should be punished and that revenge is a dish best served cold?"
Quinn noted the way Gates just stood in front of the jury box, his feet rooted firmly in one place, as if unwilling to surrender even an inch of turf. Quinn was more of a pacer. The more intense Quinn became, the more he moved. He felt himself getting antsy even now. But Boyd Gates was a rock.
"There is also a mountain of evidence that proves this DID diagnosis is nothing but a smokescreen. DNA evidence links the defendant to the murder. Undisputed evidence, since the defendant admits she committed the crime. But you will also be shown extensive evidence of planning and cover-up. Ms. O'Rourke stalked the victim, luring him to a meeting by sending him pictures of his girlfriend being hugged by an unidentified man, a man whose identity O'Rourke promised to reveal at the meeting. Those photos, and the accompanying message from O'Rourke, were found under the seat of Paul Donaldson's car.
"And that's not all. The head medical examiner for the Hampton Roads area will testify that Mr. Donaldson died from electrocution. The defendant shaved two spots on Donaldson's scalp and one on his leg and then passed high-voltage electrical current through him for several minutes, frying both his skin and his internal organs. The medical examiner will tell you that Ms. O'Rourke continued to electrocute Mr. Donaldson for nearly five minutes after he had passed away, after he had quit moving or showed any other signs of life."
Quinn felt Catherine reach under the table and grab his hand. She squeezed, tension powering her grip. She stared at Boyd Gates's back, as if somehow her stare alone might stop him.
"And that's still not all. After the execution, the Avenger wrote a note taking credit for Donaldson's death. A strand of Ms. O'Rourke's hair was found on the adhesive part of the envelope. She also engaged in an elaborate attempt to conceal evidence, including throwing out her computer just before the police executed a search warrant at her house. She dumped some methohexital, a powerful anesthetic drug Ms. O'Rourke used to sedate her victim, together with bloody paper towels that contained both Donaldson's blood and O'Rourke's saliva, in a neighbor's trash can. Police never did find the clothes that Ms. O'Rourke wore that night, clothes that would presumably be spotted with blood from a gash in Donaldson's scalp. Does an insane person who doesn't know that she's done something wrong dispose of the clothes she was wearing and hide things in her neighbor's trash?"
Gates turned and cast an accusatory glare at Catherine. He motioned to her with a sweep of his hand. "This defendant is clever. She knows that the best place for the fox to hide is in the henhouse and--even better--right in the middle of those who guard the henhouse. So she pretended to have visions about the killings and nurtured a confidential police informant for her newspaper articles about the killings, all in an effort to become part of the inner circle of the investigation."
Gates turned back to the jury. "Catherine O'Rourke wanted to know every step the police were taking so she could stay one step ahead. But she made some fatal mistakes. Fortunately, those mistakes led to her arrest and quite possibly saved the lives of other victims, including the man whom the defendant says raped her in college."
Quinn stifled another objection. He wasn't sure about Virginia, but in Las Vegas lawyers couldn't make these types of boldfaced arguments during opening statements; they were supposed to just preview the evidence. But Marc Boland didn't seem to be bothered by Gates's monologue, and Quinn didn't want to call more attention to the prosecutor's arguments by objecting, so he decided to ride it out.
"This is not some kind of spur-of-the-moment, heat-of-passion crime where a demonic personality took control of the defendant's body. The Catherine O'Rourke sitting in this courtroom is the same Catherine O'Rourke who stalked Paul Donaldson, and took the pictures of Donaldson's girlfriend, and set up a meeting with Donaldson, and electrocuted him, and faked visions to ingratiate herself to the police, and later tried to cover it all up. Do you really think that some other personality magically took over the defendant's body at every stage of this crime, floating in and out of her body to do all these things? Do you really believe the defendant wasn't even aware that the crimes had happened? Do you really think she just happened to throw her computer away a few days before the police arrested her?"
Gates blew out a breath. "She's clever. She fooled a lot of friends and coworkers. She fooled the police for a while. Even now, she is fooling the defense psychiatrist, Dr. Rosemarie Mancini. And starting today, she wants to fool you."
Gates took a half step back and tilted his head. "She's clever all right. But crazy?"
He paused just long enough to gain everyone's attention. "Crazy like a fox."
79
For Catherine, the first day of the trial was surreal. As a reporter, she had covered major trials for years, wondering what went through a defendant's mind at times like this, trying to imagine what it felt like to have your fate in the hands of twelve fellow human beings in the jury box.
Now she knew.
It felt nauseating.
In the momentary silence that filled the courtroom after Boyd Gates's opening, Catherine sensed the eyes of a packed gallery boring into the back of her neck. She could almost hear the accusatory whispers accompanied by the sad shaking of dozens of heads. The presumption of innocence was a myth. She hadn't reserved her own judgment when she watched defendants squirm during the prosecutor's opening statement. And she knew others weren't reserving theirs now.
She thought about the impact this trial must already be having on her mom and her sister, sitting just a row behind Catherine. What about her remaining friends--the ones who had promised to stick with her no matter what--trying to reconcile this damning evidence with the Catherine they thought they knew?
Quinn introduced himself and reminded the jurors about their obligation to keep an open mind until they heard all the evidence. "The presumption of innocence is more than just a nice-sounding phrase," he said, his voice calm and reasonable. "It actually means something. Right now, my client, Catherine O'Rourke, is clothed in the presumption of innocence." He turned to look at Cat. "She is every bit as innocent at this moment as you and me." Quinn turned back to the jury but Catherine's eyes never left his back; she couldn't bear to look at the jurors.
"And she will remain innocent unless the prosecution removes that cloak by proving her guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. In this case, no such proof exists."
Catherine wished she could feel as confident as Quinn. In her mind, the cloak had already been removed, her naked guilt exposed for the world to see.
Habits die hard. And in this moment of ultra-stress, Cat resorted to her reporter persona, jotting down words that captured her emotions.
Vulnerable. Transparent. Frightened. Listening to Quinn, she still couldn't believe this was happening. Who am I really? she wondered. And then she jotted down another word.
Confused.
* * *
The jurors definitely had their
game faces on; that much was clear to Quinn. But it felt good to finally be in front of them, even though he could have used a few more days of prep time. This might be Virginia, but this was still a courtroom, his stomping grounds, and this was what he did best. Plain talk to folks just like this.
Quinn had always been the legal magician, pulling surprise verdicts out of a hat, because he truly believed in juries. He wasn't like some lawyers who gave the jury system lip service but in their hearts feared the unpredictability of ordinary citizens. Quinn knew deep in his bones that the jury would understand his case. The rest of the world might not get it, but that didn't matter. Catherine's fate rested with these twelve and nobody else. Quinn trusted them.
It didn't hurt that most of them were women. Despite Quinn's belief that men would naturally jump to Catherine's defense, he also knew that he would develop a better bond with the women on the panel. Even now, he favored them with the majority of his eye contact.
"When Catherine's family and friends and coworkers heard about her arrest, their reaction was almost always the same," Quinn said. "Disbelief. 'The Catherine I know would never do such a thing,' they said. Or, 'I can't believe the cops have the right person--Catherine wouldn't do something like that.'
"Her friends and family were right. The Catherine they knew would never have committed such a heinous crime."
Quinn began pacing now, working his way slowly from side to side in front of the jury. He was onstage, his left hand accentuating his words, his right hand holding a legal pad that he checked occasionally, the subtle inflections of his voice as perfect as those of a trained Broadway singer.
"Even Catherine herself could not believe it. For days, even weeks, she protested her complete innocence. 'Somebody must have framed me,' she said. She pled not guilty at the start of the case, as opposed to not guilty by reason of insanity. This is to be expected because the Catherine O'Rourke you see sitting in this courtroom today was not even aware that this other side of her personality existed. The Avenger of Blood and Catherine O'Rourke share the same body, but they are not the same person. They are entirely different personalities."
Quinn paused for a moment, mindful that he was straying close to the line that divided argument from opening statement. He could sense Boyd Gates on the edge of his seat, trying to decide whether to object. Good, thought Quinn. Turnabout is fair play.
But the objection came from an unexpected direction.
"Mr. Newberg," snapped Judge Rosencrance, "I don't know how it works in Vegas--" the judge drew out the word as if it were a curse, emphasizing Quinn's outsider status in the courtroom--"but here in Virginia, lawyers use their opening statements to provide a roadmap for the evidence and their closing arguments to lay out their arguments about the evidence."
She said it condescendingly, as if Quinn were trying his first case. He couldn't let it pass, not with his friends on the jury watching so expectantly.
"Thank you, Your Honor," he said. "In Vegas, it's also traditional for the prosecutor to make the objections, freeing the judge to rule on those objections."
"Mr. Newberg. Your sarcastic comments have no place in this courtroom. Is that understood?"
Quinn waited, silent.
"Is that understood?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
"Thank you. You may proceed."
"The prosecution's expert, Dr. Edward Chow, will testify that the rape of Ms. O'Rourke could not possibly be the trigger for dissociative identity disorder." Quinn raised his voice. "'The alleged rape,' Chow noted in his pretrial report, 'was an isolated, nonrecurring episode,' as if rape is such an ordinary occurrence that every woman should have to suffer at least two or three rapes--"
"Objection!" Gates shouted, springing to his feet.
"--before she can avail herself of a defense based on psychological--"
"Objection! Judge!"
Crack! Crack! Rosencrance silenced the room with her gavel and glared at Quinn. "That's argument, Counsel. And this is your last warning."
Red-faced, she turned to the jury. "Please disregard those last remarks by Mr. Newberg. They were improper arguments, and they have no place in an opening statement."
"Yes, Your Honor," Quinn said, though it felt to him like a double standard. Virginia lawyers can argue during opening statements but Vegas lawyers can't?
"During this case, you will learn about two Catherine O'Rourkes. The one who sits in this courtroom is a dedicated professional, kind to her coworkers and friends, the type of person who would never dream of hurting anyone. She loves her job working at the paper, and she's good at it. She is loyal to a fault--willing to go to jail rather than betray a confidential source.
"She is not some kind of religious fanatic who would use Old Testament Bible verses to justify revenge killings."
He studied the jury panel and lowered his voice. "But there is a second person who sometimes inhabits that body, a person who calls herself the Avenger of Blood, a killer so cold and remorseless that she not only killed an alleged rapist, she allowed the body to cook for a full five minutes after the rapist died. A rapist, by the way, whom Catherine O'Rourke had never met before in her life."
Quinn stopped, paused, and filled his lungs. "Your job in this case, simply put, is to determine whether there really are two personalities sharing that body, as we suggest, or only one, as the prosecution suggests. One woman so calculating and devious that she can fool a seasoned professional like Dr. Mancini yet dumb enough to fake visions about related crimes, visions that made her a prime suspect. So clever she can dispose of bloody clothes and her computer in places where the police can never find them but so dumb that she throws methohexital and bloody paper towels in her neighbor's trash where they could be easily found. So consumed with rage from a college rape that she would plot the murders of other accused rapists, but not obsessed enough to go after the man who raped her.
"These dichotomies, these inconsistencies, make no sense if there's only one Catherine O'Rourke. The evidence in this case only makes sense when we realize that two different women occupy the same body at different points in time."
Quinn searched the jurors' faces for traces of an ally. Seeing none, he realized that his earlier misgivings had been correct. The legal magician wasn't ready today. This was not his normal opening statement. He would usually have them eating out of his hand by now.
"The criminal laws in our country depend on a concept called mens rea," Quinn said, plowing forward despite his misgivings. "That's a Latin phrase that basically means evil intent. Do any of you have kids?"
From jury selection, Quinn knew there were six moms on the jury. A few of them gave Quinn subtle nods, and he zeroed in on that group.
"Let's say your daughter is three years old and is playing in the backyard. And let's say, God forbid, that she finds a loaded gun and shoots her playmate. You would be outraged if Mr. Gates decided to charge your child with murder. Why? Because that little girl doesn't have the mental capacity to form an intent to murder. She didn't understand that what she did was wrong, that it would result in the loss of life.
"In some ways, Catherine O'Rourke is like that little girl. She needs treatment and counseling from an expert like Dr. Mancini. Sure, she needs confinement until we can bring that other personality to the surface and deal with the issues that created it. But the defendant doesn't deserve the death penalty. Two wrongs do not make a right. Killing Catherine O'Rourke will not bring back Paul Donaldson."
Quinn surveyed the jury one last time. They were all careful not to telegraph their allegiance but, for the most part, they didn't look hostile either. An open-minded jury. For now, that would have to do.
80
After a brief recess, Boyd Gates called Dr. Herbert Saunders, the Hampton Roads medical examiner, to the stand. With the precision of a drill sergeant, Gates rattled off questions about the autopsy and cause of death, establishing in painful detail the sadistic manner by which Paul Donaldson had died. He showed the jury grote
sque photos of Donaldson's body after it had been recovered from the Dismal Swamp Canal, including close-ups of the head gash and the burn marks where the electrodes had been connected, then circled back around with some final questions about the method of execution.
"In your duties as chief medical examiner for the Hampton Roads area, have you been called upon to certify the death of capital murder defendants who were sentenced to the electric chair?" asked Gates.
"Yes, on several occasions."
"Tell the jury how that manner of death occurs."
The ME shifted in his seat to face the jury. He had the wrinkled face of a grandfather and a gentle manner that conveyed sadness rather than outrage at this whole inexplicable affair. "When someone is executed by the state through use of the electric chair--a method that can still be chosen by death-row inmates in Virginia--every effort is made to minimize the suffering. Standard protocols are put in place to make certain no malfunctions occur. Two thousand four hundred volts are administered for seven seconds, followed by eight hundred volts for seventeen seconds, then twenty-four hundred volts for five seconds. Most convicts choose the needle, but we've never had a botched electric-chair execution in the history of the Commonwealth of Virginia."
"From your review of Mr. Donaldson's body and your past experience with electrocution as a form of execution, how would Mr. Donaldson have suffered in this case?"
Marc Boland stood to his full height. "Objection, Your Honor. Calls for speculation."
"He's an expert witness," Gates countered. "He's entitled to give his opinion based on the medical facts."
"Overruled," said Rosencrance.
A few jurors leaned forward as Saunders continued. "Unfortunately, the executioner in this case was not very skilled. From the damage to the internal organs, the burn marks on Mr. Donaldson's skin, and the deep contusions on his neck and waist from the straps that apparently held him, as well as marks on his wrists and ankles, which were probably secured with handcuffs, it is apparent that Mr. Donaldson struggled violently for quite some time."
