Trouble in Mind: The Collected Stories, Volume 3

by Jeffery Deaver

  “Is it possible,” the prosecutor asked the witness, “that those writings of Mr. Kobel are merely attempts at writing a novel? Some big fantasy book.”

  “I…I can’t imagine it.”

  “But it’s possible, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose. But I’ll tell you, he’ll never sell the movie rights.”

  Amid the laughter, the judge dismissed the witness.

  There was testimony about the bizarre autopsy, which Hollow didn’t bother to refute.

  Ed Ringling also introduced two of Kobel’s patients, who testified that they had been so troubled by his obsessive talk about these ghosts or spirits inhabiting their bodies that they quit seeing him.

  And then Ringling had Kobel himself take the stand, dressed the part of the madman in his premeditatedly wrinkled and dirty clothes, chewing his lip, looking twitchy and weird.

  This idea—insane in its own right—was a huge risk, because on cross-examination Hollow would ask the man point-blank if he’d killed Annabelle Young. Since he’d confessed once, he would have to confess again—or Hollow would read the sentence from his statement. Either way the jury would actually hear the man admit the crime.

  But Ringling met the problem head-on. His first question: “Mr. Kobel, did you kill Annabelle Young?”

  “Oh, yes, of course I did.” He sounded surprised.

  A gasp filled the courtroom.

  “And why did you do that, Mr. Kobel?”

  “For the sake of the children.”

  “How do you mean that?”

  “She was a teacher, you know. Oh, God! Every year, thirty or forty students, impressionable young people would come under her influence. She was going to poison their minds. She might even hurt them, abuse them, spread hatred.” He closed his eyes and shivered.

  And the Academy Award for best performance on the part of a crazed murder suspect goes to…

  “Now, tell me, Mr. Kobel, why did you think she would hurt the children?”

  “Oh, she’d come under the influence of a neme.”

  “That’s what we heard a little about earlier, right? In your writings?”

  “Yes, in my writings.”

  “Could you tell us, briefly, what a neme is?”

  “You could call it an energy force. Malevolent energy. It attaches to your mind and it won’t let go. It’s terrible. It causes you to commit crimes, abuse people, fall into rages. A lot of temper tantrums and road rage are caused by nemes. They’re all over the place. Millions of them.”

  “And you were convinced she was possessed?”

  “It’s not possession,” Kobel said adamantly. “That’s a theological concept. Nemes are purely scientific. Like viruses.”

  “You think they’re as real as viruses?”

  “They are! You have to believe me! They are!”

  “And Ms. Young was being influenced by nemes.”

  “One, just one.”

  “And was going to hurt her students.”

  “And her son. Oh, yes, I could see it. I have this ability to see nemes. I had to save the children.”

  “You weren’t stalking her because you were attracted to her?”

  Kobel’s voice cracked. “No, no. Nothing like that. I wanted to get her into counseling. I could have saved her. But she was too far gone. The last thing I wanted to do was kill her. But it was a blessing. It really was. I had to.” Tears glistened.

  Oh, brother…

  “Prosecution’s witness.”

  Hollow did the best he could. He decided not to ask about Annabelle Young. Kobel’s murdering her was no longer the issue in this case. The whole question was Kobel’s state of mind. Hollow got the defendant to admit that he’d been in a mental hospital only once, as a teenager, and hadn’t seen a mental health professional since then. He’d taken no antipsychotic drugs. “They take my edge off. You have to be sharp when you’re fighting nemes.”

  “Just answer the question, please.”

  Hollow then produced Kobel’s tax returns for the past three years.

  When Ringling objected, Hollow said to Judge Rollins, “Your honor, a man who files a tax return is of sound mind.”

  “That’s debatable,” said the ultraconservative judge, drawing laughter from the courtroom.

  Oh, to be on the bench, thought Glenn Hollow. And maybe after a few years’ stint as the attorney general I will be.

  Rollins said, “I’ll let ’em in.”

  “These are your returns, aren’t they, sir?”

  “I guess. Yes.”

  “They indicate you made a fair amount of money at your practice. About forty thousand dollars a year.”

  “Maybe. I suppose so.”

  “So despite those other two patients who testified earlier, you must have a much larger number of patients you treat regularly and who are satisfied with your services.”

  Kobel looked him in the eyes. “There’re a lot of nemes out there. Somebody’s gotta fight ’em.”

  Hollow sighed. “No further questions, your honor.”

  The prosecutor then called his own expert, a psychiatrist who’d examined Kobel. The testimony was that, though quirky, he was not legally insane. He was well aware of what he was doing, that he was committing a crime when he killed the victim.

  Ringling asked a few questions, but didn’t belabor the cross-examination.

  Toward the end of the day, during a short break, Glenn Hollow snuck a look at the jury box; he’d been a prosecutor and a trial lawyer for a long time and was an expert not only at the law but at reading juries.

  And, goddamn it, they were reacting just the way Ed Ringling wanted them to. Hollow could tell they hated and feared Martin Kobel, but because he was such a monster and the things he was saying were so bizarre, he couldn’t be held to the jury’s standards of ethics and behavior. Oh, Ringling had been smart. He wasn’t playing his client as a victim; he wasn’t playing him as somebody who’d been abused or suffered a traumatic childhood (he barely referred to the deaths of Kobel’s parents and brother).

  No, he was showing that this thing at the defense table was not even human.

  Like his expert said, “Mr. Kobel’s reality is not our reality.”

  Hollow stretched his skinny legs out in front of him and watched the tassels on his loafers lean to the side. I’m going to lose this case, he thought. I’m going to lose it. And that son of a bitch’ll be out in five or six years, looking for other women to stalk.

  He was in despair.

  Nemes…shit.

  Then the judge turned away from his clerk and said, “Mr. Hollow? Shall we continue with your rebuttal of Mr. Ringling’s affirmative defense?”

  It was then that a thought occurred to the prosecutor. He considered it for a moment then gasped at where the idea led.

  “Mr. Hollow?”

  “Your honor, if possible, could we recess until tomorrow? The prosecution would appreciate the time.”

  Judge Rollins debated. He looked at his watch. “All right. We’ll recess until nine a.m. tomorrow.”

  Glenn Hollow thanked the judge and told his young associates to gather up the papers and take them back to the office. The prosecutor rose and headed out the door. But he didn’t start sprinting until he was well out of the courthouse; he believed that you never let jurors see anything but your dignified self.

  * * *

  AT A LITTLE AFTER NINE the next morning, Glenn Hollow rose to his feet. “I’d like to call to the stand Dr. James Pheder.”

  “Objection, your honor.” Ed Ringling was on his feet.

  “Reasons?”

  “We received notice of this witness last night at eight p.m. We haven’t had adequate time to prepare.”

  “Where were you at eight?”

  Ringling blinked. “Well, your honor, I…the wife and I were out to dinner.”

  “At eight I was reading documents in this case, Mr. Ringling. And Mr. Hollow was—obviously—sending you notices about impending witnesses. Neither of u
s were enjoying the buffet line at House O’ Ribs.”

  “But—”

  “Think on your feet, counselor. That’s what you get paid those big bucks for. Objection overruled. Proceed, Mr. Hollow.”

  Pheder, a dark-complexioned man with a curly mop of black hair and a lean face, took the oath and sat.

  “Now, Mr. Pheder, could you tell us about your credentials?”

  “Yessir. I have degrees in psychology and biology from the University of Eastern Virginia, the University at Albany and Northern Arizona University.”

  “All of which are accredited four-year colleges, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m an author and lecturer.”

  “Are you published?”

  “Yessir. I’ve published dozens of books.”

  “Are those self-published?”

  “Nosir. I’m with established publishing companies.”

  “And where do you lecture?”

  “All over the country. At schools, libraries, bookstores, private venues.”

  “How many people attend these lectures?” Hollow asked.

  “Each one is probably attended by four to six hundred people.”

  “And how many lectures a year do you give?”

  “About one hundred.”

  Hollow paused and then asked, “Are you familiar with the concept of neme?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Is it true that you coined that term?”

  “Yessir.”

  “What does it refer to?”

  “I combined the words ‘negative’ and ‘meme.’ ‘Negative’ is just what it sounds like. ‘Meme’ is a common phenomenon in society, like a song or catchphrase, that captures the popular imagination. It spreads.”

  “Give us the gist of the concept of neme, that’s n-e-m-e, if you would.”

  “In a nutshell?”

  “Oh, yessir. I got C’s in science. Make it nice and simple.”

  Nice touch, Hollow thought of his improvisation. Science.

  Pheder continued. “It’s like a cloud of energy that affects people’s emotions in a destructive way. You know how you’re walking down the street and you suddenly feel different? For no reason at all. Your mood swings. It could be caused by any number of things. But it might be a neme incorporating itself into your cerebrum.”

  “And you say, ‘negative.’ So nemes are bad?”

  “Well, bad is a human judgment. They’re neutral but they tend to make us behave in ways society characterizes as bad. Take a case of swimming in the ocean. Sharks and jellyfish aren’t bad; they’re simply doing what nature intended, existing. But when they take a bite out of us or sting us, we call that bad. Nemes are the same. They make us do things that to them are natural but that we call evil.”

  “And you’re convinced these nemes are real?”

  “Oh, yessir. Absolutely.”

  “In your opinion do other poeple believe in them?”

  “Yes, many, many do.”

  “Are these people scientists?”

  “Some, yes. Therapists, chemists, biologists, psychologists.”

  “No further questions, your honor.”

  “Your witness, Mr. Ringling.”

  The defense lawyer couldn’t, as it turned out, think on his feet, not very well. He was prepared for Hollow to introduce testimony by experts attacking his client’s claim of insanity.

  He wasn’t prepared for Hollow to try to prove nemes were real. Ringling asked a few meaningless questions and let it go at that.

  Hollow was relieved that he hadn’t explored Pheder’s history and credentials in other fields, including parapsychology and pseudo-science. Nor did he find the blog postings where Pheder claimed the lunar landings were staged in a film studio in Houston, or the ones supporting the theory that the Israelis and President George Bush were behind the 9/11 attacks. Hollow had particularly worried that Pheder’s essay about the 2012 apocalypse might surface.

  Dodged the bullet there, he thought.

  Ringling dismissed the man, seemingly convinced that the testimony had somehow worked to the defense’s advantage.

  This concluded the formal presentations in the case and it was now time for closing statements.

  Hollow had been writing his mentally even as he’d fled the courthouse yesterday, in search of Pheder’s phone number.

  The slim, austere man walked to the front of the jury box and, a concession to camaraderie with the panel, undid his suit jacket’s middle button, which he usually kept snugly hooked.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I’m going to make my comments brief, out of respect to you and respect to the poor victim and her family. They—and Annabelle Young’s spirit—want and deserve justice and the sooner you provide that justice, the better for everyone.

  “The diligent law officers involved in this case have established beyond a reasonable doubt that Martin Kobel was, in fact, the individual who viciously and without remorse stabbed to death a young, vibrant schoolteacher, widow and single mother, after stalking her for a week, following her all the way from Raleigh, spying on her and causing her to flee from a restaurant while she waited to meet her son after school. Those facts are not in dispute. Nor is there any doubt about the validity of Mr. Kobel’s confession, which he gave freely and after being informed of his rights. And which he repeated here in front of you.

  “The only issue in this case is whether or not the defendant was insane at the time he committed this heinous crime. Now, in order for the defendant to be found not guilty by reason of insanity, it must—I repeat, must—be proven that he did not appreciate the difference between right and wrong at the time he killed Annabelle. It must be proven that he did not understand reality as you and I know it.

  “You have heard the defendant claim he killed Annabelle Young because she was infected by forces called nemes. Let’s think on that for a moment. Had Mr. Kobel been convinced that she was possessed by aliens from outer space or zombies or vampires maybe that argument would have some validity. But that’s not what he’s claiming. He’s basically saying that she was infected by what he himself described as a virus…not one that gives you a fever and chills but one that makes you do something bad.”

  A smile. “I have to tell you when I first heard this theory, I thought to myself, Brother, that’s pretty crazy. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if there wasn’t something to it. And in the course of this trial, listening to Mr. Kobel and Dr. Pheder and spending all last night reading through Mr. Kobel’s lengthy writings, I’ve changed my mind…I too now believe in nemes.”

  The gasp throughout the courtroom was loud.

  “I’m convinced that Martin Kobel is right. Nemes exist. Think about it, ladies and gentlemen: What else can explain the random acts of violence and abuse and rage we find in people who were previously incapable of them?”

  Yes…some of the jurors were actually nodding. They were with him!

  Hollow’s voice rose. “Think about it! Disembodied forces of energy that affect us. We can’t see them but doesn’t the moon’s gravitation affect us? Doesn’t radiation affect us? We can’t see them either. These nemes are the perfect explanation for behaviors we otherwise would find impossible.

  “There was a time when the concept of flight by airplane would have been considered sorcery. The same with GPS. The same with modern medical treatments. The same with light bulbs, computers, thousands of products that we now know are rooted in scientific fact but when they were first conceived would seem like black magic.”

  Hollow walked close to the rapt members of the jury. “But…but…if that’s the case, if nemes exist as Mr. Kobel and I believe, then that means they’re part of the real world. They are part of our society, our connection with one another, for good or for bad. Then to say that Annabelle Young was infected with one is exactly the same as saying that she had a case of the flu and might infect other people. Some of those in
fected people, the elderly or young, could die. Which would be a shame, tragic…But does that mean it would be all right to preemptively murder her to save those people? Emphatically no! That’s not the way the world works, ladies and gentlemen. If, as I now believe, Annabelle Young was affected by these nemes, then as a trained professional, Martin Kobel’s responsibility was to get her into treatment and help her. Help her, ladies and gentlemen. Not murder her.

  “Please, honor the memory of Annabelle Young. Honor the institution of law. Honor personal responsibility. Find the defendant in this case sane. And find him guilty of murder in the first degree for taking the life of a young woman whose only flaw was to be sick and whose only chance to get well and live a content and happy and productive life was snatched from her grasp by a vicious killer. Thank you.”

  His heart pounding, Glenn Hollow strode to the prosecution table through an utterly quiet courtroom, aware that everyone was staring at him.

  He sat. Still, no voices, no rustling. Nothing. Pin-drop time.

  After what seemed like an hour, though it was probably only thirty seconds, Ed Ringling rose, cleared his throat and delivered his closing statement. Hollow didn’t pay much attention. And it seemed no one else did either. Every soul in the courtroom was staring at Glenn Hollow and, the prosecutor believed, replaying in their minds what was the most articulate and dramatic closing argument he’d ever made. Turning the whole case on its ear at the last minute.

  If, as I now believe, Annabelle Young was affected by these nemes, then as a trained professional, Martin Kobel’s responsibility was to get her into treatment and help her. Help her, ladies and gentlemen. Not murder her.

  Glenn Hollow was inherently a modest man but he couldn’t help but believe he’d pulled off the coup of his career.

  And so it was a surprise, to say the least, when the good men and women on the jury panel rejected Hollow’s argument completely and came back with a verdict finding Martin Kobel not guilty by reason of insanity after one of the shortest deliberations in Wetherby County history.

  THREE

  I AVOIDED THE SUNROOM as much as I could.

  Mostly because it was full of crazy people. Lip-chewing, Haldol-popping, delusional crazies. They smelled bad, they ate like pigs at a trough, they screamed, they wore football helmets so they didn’t do any more damage to their heads. As if that were possible. At my trial I was worried that I was overacting the schizo part. I shouldn’t have worried. My performance in the courtroom didn’t come close to being over the top.