“I met with a couple once who had just lost a newborn,” Zack said after a moment. “They were heartbroken. I was, too. I didn’t know what to tell them. So I phoned Rabbi Frank in Israel. He told me a beautiful story about a special heavenly hall for the souls of infants, souls so pure they need only the shortest amount of time on earth to complete their missions. A few minutes, a few hours, a few days, a few months. And then they go home.”
“And that helped them?”
“It didn’t take away the pain, or the numbing loss. Nothing will do that. But I do think it helped a little. I think it was a comfort.”
We sat a while longer, until the air turned chilly and my yawns came one after another although it was only after ten.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Zack said. “By the way, did you get the invitation?”
Honesty, I decided. “I tossed it.”
He smiled. “I’ll have them send you another one.”
“That’s okay. I know where and when. I haven’t decided yet if I’m coming.”
“No pressure. So how was the cheesecake?”
“Divine, both slices. Lucky for me, sulking doesn’t affect my appetite.”
He waited until I was inside, my door locked and bolted, and I watched through the living room window as he walked down the block to his car.
I’d eaten hours ago, and the mention of cheesecake had made me hungry. I did serious damage to a carton of Häagen-Dazs, and, my exhaustion replaced by a second wind that was nine-tenths curiosity, I went to my office, where I’d placed the trial transcripts.
The phone rang. I looked at the Caller ID and picked up the receiver.
“I asked Robbie about the nightgown,” Jillian said. “He said he’d gone to the kitchen to get her coffee, to calm her down. When he came back into the living room, she was wearing my nightgown. He didn’t tell me because he didn’t want to upset me. I just wanted you to know.”
I pictured Lenore opening Jillian’s drawers, taking the nightgown and slipping it on, staking her claim.
“They were together one time. One time!” She spat the words. “He felt so ashamed, so stupid. She’d come crying to him one night when she knew I wasn’t home, begging for help. She was lonely, she was depressed, she was afraid she might hurt herself. The usual bullshit. And he fell for it.” There was contempt mixed in with the anger. “He tried comforting her, and next thing he knew, they were in bed. He thinks she drugged him with one of her pills.”
A day ago I would have thought Robbie was fabricating. Now I wasn’t sure. “I suppose Robbie wanted to prepare you, now that the police are investigating Lenore’s suicide and all this will come out.”
“He told me the day after it happened. I didn’t tell you because he’d be upset, but I don’t want you to think he was hiding anything from me. We tell each other everything. You can’t build a marriage on deceit.” She spoke doggedly, almost by rote, like a prisoner reciting her name and serial number.
“Robbie made a mistake, Molly. Of course, I was hurt. But Lenore tricked him, and we both knew that. He told her he wasn’t about to let her trap him again. That’s why she killed herself.”
I’d wondered why she’d called to tell me.
No secrets, no motive.
thirty-seven
I skimmed through the first volume of the transcripts, which included the voir dire and opening statements from Bergen and then Chapman. Nothing I hadn’t already known.
The second volume and the first half of the third presented the prosecution’s witnesses.
One of the paramedics who responded to Saunders’s 10:22 P.M. 911 call was first. He testified that the baby was dead when he arrived. Reading the testimony, I could imagine the horror the jurors had felt listening to the grim details. Donna Bergen had begun her case well.
Robbie was next. His description of finding the baby dead in Lenore’s arms was almost verbatim what he’d told me, but the details were still chilling—more so now that I suspected Lenore may have acted not out of delusion but malice. He testified that she’d told him several days before that the baby’s cry hadn’t sounded normal, that he’d reassured her.
MS. BERGEN: That first time did your wife tell you she thought there was a demon inside your son?
A: No, she didn’t. I think she was afraid to tell me.
MR. CHAPMAN: Move to strike, Your Honor. The witness can’t know what the defendant was thinking.
THE COURT: The jury will disregard the last statement. Proceed, Ms. Bergen.
FROM MS. BERGEN: Did it occur to you, when you discovered your baby dead and your wife told you what she’d done, that she was lying?
A: No.
Q: That she was afraid to tell you she’d lost her temper and shaken the baby too hard?
A: Lenore wouldn’t do anything to harm the baby. I believed her.
Q: The thought didn’t cross your mind?
FROM MR. CHAPMAN: Asked and answered, Your Honor.
THE COURT: Move on, Ms. Bergen.
FROM MS. BERGEN: How was your wife that morning, Mr. Saunders?
A: She was tired, as usual. She hadn’t been sleeping well since the baby was born. But in the last few days she’d seemed different. Not like herself.
Q: Can you explain what you mean?
A: It’s nothing I can put my finger on. She just wasn’t Lenore.
Q: You stated that the housekeeper was out sick that day. Did your wife ask you to stay home and help her with the baby?
A: No.
Q:She didn’t seem like herself, but you weren’t worried about leaving her alone with the baby?
A: No. I realize now that I should have been.
MS. BERGEN: Move to strike, Your Honor. Not responsive.
THE COURT: You opened the door, Ms. Bergen. Continue.
FROM MS. BERGEN: You were in your Santa Barbara office that day. How far is that from your home?
A: About ten minutes.
Q:Did your wife phone to tell you she needed help with the baby?
A: No.
Q: Did you phone her during the day?
A: Yes, around three in the afternoon, to see how she was doing. I had to drive to L.A. and wanted to make sure she was okay.
Q: What did she tell you?
A: That she was tired but okay. She sounded tense.
Q: More tense than usual?
A: It’s hard to say. She was constantly anxious.
Q:Well, if you were worried, you would have gone home, especially since she was all alone with the baby. Isn’t that correct?
A: I guess so, yes.
Q: So there was nothing to indicate that she was about to have a psychotic episode?
MR. CHAPMAN: Objection. Mr. Saunders isn’t qualified to make that kind of assessment.
THE COURT: Sustained.
FROM MS. BERGEN: Did you phone her later that day?
A: Yes, at a little after six. I wanted to make sure she was okay.
Q: Was she?
A: She didn’t answer the phone. I thought she was resting.
Q: Did your wife phone you?
A: No, she did not.
A few pages later in the transcript . . .
MS. BERGEN: Do you feel responsible for your son’s death, Mr. Saunders?
A: Yes. I should have been home more. I should have seen the signs and made sure Lenore got help.
Q: You don’t think she should be punished for killing your son?
A: She needs help, not prison.
Q: Is that why you’re lying here today, Mr. Saunders? Because you feel guilty?
A: Lenore would never have wanted to hurt our son. I believe my wife.
In his cross-examination, Chapman focused on the fact that Lenore had seemed different during the past few days, and he had only a few questions for Robbie: Did he believe that Lenore had heard frightening voices from the baby? Did he believe that was why she’d shaken the baby?
“I believe my wife,” Robbie had said. “She would never have done anyt
hing to hurt Max.”
One of the two uniformed police who initially talked to Lenore took the stand, followed by Detective James Jordan, who testified that, following her husband’s advice, Lenore had refused to answer any questions without an attorney present. She’d been distant, detached, calm. She showed no remorse. Donna Bergen had made that sound damning, but Chapman had turned it around.
MR. CHAPMAN: Detective, in your work, have you questioned individuals who have been in shock?
A: Yes, I have.
Q: Would it be fair to say, from your experience, that people in shock can appear to be detached and distant?
A: I guess so.
Q: So is it possible that Lenore Saunders was in shock?
A: It’s possible.
Q: Detective, were you familiar with postpartum psychosis when you arrived at the Saunderses’ home?
A: No, I wasn’t.
Q: So at that time, were you aware that a mother experiencing a psychotic episode can be convinced that her baby is the devil?
A: At the time, no, I wasn’t.
Q: Or that the mother might believe the only way to save her child is to rid the child of this evil?
A: At the time, no.
Q: Detective, if you believed you had saved your child from demonic forces, would you be calm?
A: I guess I might.
Was it the calm of a woman in a postpsychotic state, I wondered, or of a psychopath who feels no remorse for the life she’s taken?
Lenore’s obstetrician testified that the birth had been normal, and that Lenore had never complained about depression, prenatal or postnatal, although he admitted under cross-examination that he had no way of knowing whether patients were depressed unless they told him so, and because she’d moved to Santa Barbara in her ninth month, he’d seen Lenore a total of four times, including the day of delivery and a postnatal exam six weeks later.
“Not much time to develop a relationship,” Chapman had noted.
The baby’s pediatrician testified that Lenore hadn’t mentioned hearing voices, though she had seemed anxious about the baby’s well-being, asking if he appeared normal, and she’d worried because he was crying incessantly throughout the day and even more so in the evenings, a condition the doctor attributed to the colic typical of many newborns.
MS. BERGEN: Mrs. Saunders brought the baby in twelve times in a period of two months. Is that normal?
A: It’s somewhat excessive. She was anxious about his weight, and then about the crying. She was nursing, and didn’t know whether he was getting enough milk, or whether her milk was agreeing with him. She needed reassurance, but that’s typical of new mothers.
Q: But still, Dr. List. Twelve visits in two months?
A: I’ve had mothers who bring their newborns in every other day. It doesn’t mean they’re depressed, or that something’s wrong with the mother or the baby.
On his cross, Chapman elicited what he had before: Just because Lenore hadn’t said she was depressed, didn’t mean she wasn’t.
MR. CHAPMAN: In fact, Dr. List, didn’t Mrs. Saunders tell you that she felt overwhelmed, that she wasn’t sleeping? That she found herself crying for no reason?
A: She mentioned the crying a few days after giving birth. I attributed it to the baby blues. Since she didn’t mention it again, I thought she was doing better. As for feeling overwhelmed and being unable to sleep, that’s typical of new mothers.
Q: Aren’t those some of the symptoms of postpartum depression, Doctor?
A: They could be. I’ve found that many new mothers feel like that. Once the baby sleeps through the night, things work themselves out.
Q: Not always, Doctor. Did Lenore Saunders ever give you the impression that she was frustrated by the crying or angry with her child?
A: No, she didn’t.
Q: Did you think she was a loving, devoted mother?
A: Yes, I did.
I was reading words on paper—there was no nuance, no body language—but I have to say Chapman had succeeded in making Lenore sound depressed. Maybe she really had been. I had to keep an open mind.
Or had she been setting the groundwork for her defense? If so, she’d been clever. Reporting symptoms that could be indications of depression, but not saying she was depressed, because if she’d done so, then someone—the obstetrician, the pediatrician—would have recommended therapy and medication, and of course, she hadn’t wanted that. Not if she’d planned to kill her baby and claim she’d been suffering from postpartum psychosis at the time. Which would explain why she hadn’t asked Robbie to come home, even though she’d been tense and alone, the housekeeper coincidentally absent that fateful day.
The coroner was the state’s last witness. He testified that Max Saunders had been dead several hours by the time the paramedics arrived. The cause of death was a broken neck resulting from vigorous shaking and a “coup-contrecoup injury” to the brain. A baby is fragile, and the coroner described Max Saunders’s other injuries, internal and external. I wish I hadn’t read them.
“Your witness,” Donna Bergen said when she finished her questioning.
Chapman didn’t cross-examine, and I understood why. No one was denying that Lenore had shaken little Max to his death, and I assumed the defense attorney had no desire to reinforce the particulars on the jury.
thirty-eight
The defense had only two witnesses, Korwin and Lenore. The psychiatrist’s testimony corroborated a diagnosis of postpartum psychosis, and Donna Bergen was unable to gain any ground.
MS. BERGEN: Dr. Korwin, have you ever had a patient who fabricated?
A: Patients lie all the time. It’s my job to separate fiction from truth.
Q: And you’ve never been fooled?
A: Not to my knowledge.
Q: So it’s possible that you may have been fooled.
A: Anything’s possible, Ms. Bergen. But Lenore Saunders didn’t fool me. She shook her child when she was experiencing a psychotic episode.
Q: You’d stake your reputation on that?
A: I thought we were in a courtroom, Ms. Bergen, not Vegas. But yes, I would. She loved her child deeply and would never have done anything to hurt him.
Korwin couldn’t have been more emphatic. I was impatient to hear Lenore’s story in her own words, to read the lies that, according to Donna Bergen, had worried him.
“I wanted stability,” Lenore told Chapman and the jury after he’d led her through the trauma of her childhood. “I wanted a family like everybody else, but I didn’t have it. Looking back, I think I was depressed. I guess that’s why I loved acting so much. It gave me a chance to forget my problems, to be somebody else.”
She talked about meeting Robbie, falling in love.
“How did you feel when you found out you were pregnant, Lenore?” Chapman asked.
“Nervous,” she admitted. “I didn’t know how Robbie would react, and I was afraid of raising a child on my own. I didn’t want to repeat my mother’s mistake. I wanted my child to have two parents. But Robbie was wonderful. He insisted that we get married right away.”
“Were you looking forward to having the baby?”
“Very much. I wanted to be a good mother. I wanted to provide our baby with love and security, with a stable home.”
“The very things you didn’t have growing up,” Chapman said. “So what happened, Lenore?”
“After the baby was born, I felt miserable. It wasn’t what I’d expected.” She talked about the crying, the sleeplessness, the listlessness, the anxiety. “I thought it was the baby blues, that they were just lasting longer.”
“Your husband testified that he wanted to hire a full-time nurse, but you objected,” Chapman said.
“I thought I’d feel better, and I wanted to take care of the baby myself, I guess because my mom wasn’t around much for me when I was young. I didn’t want strangers taking care of my baby.”
“Did you tell your pediatrician your concerns?”
“I tried
to. He said I’d feel better as soon as the baby slept through the night. He said that a lot of new mothers felt like this.”
“Did you tell him about hearing frightening voices?”
“No. The voice said not to tell anyone.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Not even your husband?”
“The voice said not to tell anyone, not to trust anyone, even the doctors. Not even Robbie.”
“There are books and articles on postpartum depression and psychosis, Lenore. There have been television shows on the subject, and it’s been on the news. Why didn’t you get help?”
“I didn’t read those books,” she said. “I didn’t watch those shows. They’re too frightening. I heard about postpartum depression, but I never connected it with what I was going through. I thought the voices I heard were real.”
She lied. My mind flashed to the books Lenore had been seen reading in the library, and my face burned as though she’d slapped me.
“When Max was born,” Chapman said, “the hospital gave you a pamphlet about postpartum illness with a number to call for help.”
“I didn’t read the pamphlet. I didn’t keep it. I didn’t know I was ill. I thought the voices were real.”
“What happened on that Thursday, Lenore?” Chapman asked.
She’d had a rough night, and the baby hadn’t stopped crying all day. She’d wanted to get some sleep, but the housekeeper hadn’t showed. So she’d rocked the baby all day, and then toward evening, she’d heard voices saying strange things. Horrible things.
“It was a deep voice, a male voice, coming from inside the baby. I’d heard the voice a few days before, but not this strong.”
“What things did the voice say?” Chapman asked.
“He said there was an evil spirit trying to kill the baby and me. He said the evil was growing and would kill us soon. I knew then that’s why the baby was crying so much, because this thing was inside him. I knew I had to shake it out of him or we would all die.”
“Lenore, there are people who think you shook your baby so hard that he died because you were frustrated and lost control. They say you pretended to hear voices because you were afraid you’d be punished.”
Blues in the Night Page 24
