by C F Dunn
“She’s as much a victim as I am, Matthew. Look at what we’ve been prepared to do to protect ourselves.”
“That’s precisely it – to protect ourselves. What we have done injures no one. Maggie’s perversion of the truth harms not only you, but might allow a guilty man – a dangerous guilty man – to go free.” I must have looked shocked because he went on grimly. “I won’t stand you being hounded like this. Maggie made her choice when she gave you that book from Staahl and when she decided to give evidence for the prosecution, knowing what it would mean for you. I know she’s ill, Emma, but I also know her well enough to see that she is complicit in all this even if she didn’t know Monica was pulling the strings. Henry and I haven’t been able to dissuade her to change her evidence, so if you won’t tell Duffy, I will.”
The consequences of such an action were all too clear. My skin flushed hot. “Matthew, you mustn’t. If Duffy puts Maggie under pressure on the stand, who knows what she might say about you, about Monica – anything. She might not mean to hurt you, but Maggie’s only just in control now. Have you seen her today? If she breaks down under cross-examination, the damage she could do to you and the family is… unthinkable, let alone what it’ll do to her. It’s not worth the risk.”
His mouth set in a stubborn line. “Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not. My reputation is expendable and you can protect me from Staahl. He might still be put away; you never know, miracles do happen.” I didn’t sound very convinced and he certainly didn’t look it, but he was intractable, the muscles along his jaw as rigid and unyielding as his decision.
“Nonetheless…”
I could see that I wasn’t going to dissuade him. “All right, I will do something, but just promise me that you won’t. Please, Matthew, keep a low profile. Duffy already suspects I’ve been lying to her about us.”
Immediately wary, he asked, “Why, what has she said?”
“She said we looked as if we ‘should be together’.”
A smile lifted the tenor of his voice and he briefly caressed my cheek with his. “Mmm, well, she is right about that at least.” He frowned suddenly. “Where’s your cross?”
“I lost it when we were trying to get through the crowds from the car. They were grabbing at me.”
His frown deepened. “I know how much it meant to you. If only I’d been there, I would have been able to protect…” I put my finger on his lips, aware that only a door stood between us and the clerks’ office, where I could hear a constant murmur of voices interspersed by the occasional raw, ribald laugh.
“Shh, I know you would. The boys stopped it from being any worse than it was. Thank you for sending them, and thank you for this – it made all the difference.” I held out my hand, and the nutmeg rolled back and forth in my palm.
He folded my fingers over it. “Keep it if it helps. It’s hardly your cross and it holds no religious significance, and if I could endow it with any powers to help you I would, but I kept it with me through some very difficult times and it was a constant in a changing world…” He halted with a hint of awkwardness and looked at me from beneath dark lashes, for once lost for words. “Your arm’s bothering you,” he stated, laying his hand over the area. The ache subsided almost immediately to a background throb and his expression relaxed. “I wish I could do the same for what’s happening in court. I would that I were able to reach inside people and draw off all the poison that has led to the corruption of their conscience – led to all this. I wish…” He paused, his eyes on the door from the interconnecting office. “I’d better go, my love.” He bent swiftly to kiss me, his lips so briefly on mine yet his touch lingered even as he crossed the room to leave. He turned once with a look of regret at parting. “I love you, Emma D’Eresby,” he said, and left before the handle of the door had finished turning and Duffy came in backward, still talking to someone in the other room.
“All alone?” She put a block of papers down on the desk with a thump, pushing the empty cup still further to one side. “Damnation, I knew I forgot something. Leon, honey…” she called, and the cheerful face of the junior clerk appeared around the edge of the door, framed by his mass of tight, black curls. “Go fetch me a double espresso, will you? I clear forgot.” The face disappeared. “No, wait…” she yelled after him. “Make that a double-double espresso, I’m in dire need of coffee. Thanks.” She became briskly purposeful. “Had any lunch yet?”
“My father’s getting some.” I fiddled with the nutmeg and then put it in my pocket. “Duffy, what happens next?”
“If there’s no more cross-examination, we’ll sum up with our closing speeches and then the judge’ll say her piece and the jury will retire to find a verdict.”
“And in your experience, what is the likely outcome of this trial going to be?” On the surface I might have appeared calm, composed, reasonable, but beneath, the muscles of my stomach were so tightly clenched they hurt, and I felt sick with fear.
“Well… you know, we have a pretty good chance…” she began, then sighed in resignation at the look on my face. “OK, OK, let’s cut the bull crap here. I’d say the jury’s split pretty evenly between the acquittals and the don’t knows – with a few guiltys, perhaps. The problem is in persuading them that this was an act of violence against an unwilling victim, giving you reason to report it as such. If he’d raped you, it would’ve been easier to prove.”
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered.
“As it is, if I’m honest, that looks less and less likely. I think you might have to face facts here, hun. With no other witnesses to the attack and Dr Lynes’ evidence stymied by his taking you to his rooms, Staahl has a chance of pushing this through.”
“I don’t care whether he wins, Duffy – in the eye of the public I’m already guilty. What worries me, frankly, terrifies me, is that Staahl might one day be free to come after me again. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“There’ll be his own trial, don’t forget, though Heaven knows how that’ll work after all the shenanigans in this one. But I’m sorry, that’s the way the system works. Of course, if he attacks you again, then…” She lifted her shoulders in a brief upward motion and let me fill in the rest.
I studied my shoes, weighing up my choices. As Matthew had said, it didn’t seem as if I had many.
“What if… what if he were found to be insane, what then?”
“Aw, hun, that would mean Dr Lynes – Dr Margaret Lynes, that is – would have to change her evidence, and at this stage that isn’t very likely, now, is it?”
I felt like a condemned prisoner clutching at straws until the very last moment before she felt the noose tighten around her neck. “Yes, but what if she did change her evidence, Duffy?”
She came and perched on the edge of her desk and scratched at a place on her arm, thinking. “If Dr Lynes changes her evidence,” she said slowly, “it would undermine the prosecution case to such an extent that the case would probably collapse, there being doubt about Staahl’s claims that you consented, due to his possible mental state and such. The judge’ll probably call for a halt to the trial for further reports and verification to corroborate the statement of fact.”
“And if that were done and he is found to be insane?”
“Well, then either he is held for a further period for observation and treatment or, if the evidence is compelling, the judge can have him committed to a secure institution indefinitely. But, in order for that to happen, it would have to be shown that he was a continuing danger to the public. Now that would explain why they didn’t want him on the stand.” She screwed her eyes, assessing me. “Do you know something that I need to know?”
I fixed her with a steady look. “Yes,” I said. “I know that Kort Staahl is insane.”
Duffy’s eyes widened slightly, then she nodded and hopped off her desk. “I reckon you’re right, hun, but proving it is another matter.”
Matthew waited outside the courtroom, the set of his shoulders betraying the tension
I could feel flowing from him as I passed to enter the room. He held my eye with a question, but I gave only a fleeting, evasive smile in response. His brow knitted in frustration and concern and I realized that, even from this distance, he could sense the sporadic hammering of my heart.
The room felt fuggy with the heat of anticipation. Duffy placed her steaming quadruple espresso on the floor between our chairs with a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t say a word. The judge won’t take kindly to me bringing it in, but I need my caffeine fix if I want all my wits about me and more.”
The acrid steam rose in a silent, pungent column, making my empty gut heave, so it was probably a good thing that I’d only managed a few mouthfuls of food before my stomach rebelled at lunch. Only the tea that my father insisted I drank kept it all where it should be. I held my breath and turned away from the smell until the nausea passed.
“Defense calls Dr Matthew Lynes.”
Startled to hear him called again, for a horrible moment I wondered if he had already spoken to Duffy.
A little quiver of expectation rose from some of the women seated nearby as he walked down the central aisle to the stand, where Duffy waited.
“Dr Lynes, in your testimony as an expert witness, you described to the court your medical qualifications in relation to your extensive surgical experience. Do you not also have qualifications in the field of psychiatry, including forensic psychiatry?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And do these qualifications not only equal but surpass those of Dr Margaret Lynes?”
Matthew wasn’t comfortable but I knew he could see as well as I could where Duffy wanted to go with this. “They do,” he said quietly. I took a furtive glance at Monica. She stared at Matthew but I couldn’t see if she was resentful or fearful.
“Dr Lynes, in your qualified professional opinion, were the actions of Kort Staahl on the night of the alleged attack on Professor D’Eresby those of a rational, clear-thinking individual in his right mind?”
Horatio raised his voice before she had finished her question. “Objection, Your Honour – counsel knows that my client’s sanity is not in question here.”
The judge pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose and held them there for a second. She reviewed Duffy, who waited for her judgment with the tip of her toe tapping out her nervous tension.
“Counsel, I take it that there is a point to your line of questioning?”
“Why, yes, Your Honour, I am trying to establish an expert witness’s opinion on Kort Staahl’s behaviour as it pertains to his actions on the night of the incident.” Her Southern twang lent a strange emphasis to the formality of her words.
“I’ll allow it, counsel. This time.”
Duffy grinned. “Thank you, Your Honour. Dr Lynes, answer the question, if you will.”
Matthew’s stillness was both compelling and disquieting, like waiting for the ticking of a bomb to stop. “From the evidence gained from my observation of Professor Staahl’s behaviour, and the nature of the severe physical trauma inflicted by him on Professor D’Eresby, Kort Staahl displays behaviours consistent with a diagnosis of dysfunctional schema – or fixed fantasies – indicative of a long-standing egosyntonic sociopathic personality disorder.”
“In your opinion, then, Dr Lynes, is he – how shall I put it – aware that he has caused physical injury to this young woman?”
“He is not only aware of it but believes it to be a normal and acceptable pattern of behaviour in his belief that his fantasies are shared by the victim. In line with a diagnosis of a sociopathic disorder, he is unaware of the needs of others and as such is a continuing danger to the public.”
Horatio hauled his big frame to his feet again, this time more slowly and with a measured air. “Objection – the witness cannot testify with respect to the mental state or condition of my client as to whether, in his opinion, my client did or did not have the mental state or condition constituting an element of this act. That is one of ultimate fact for the trier of fact alone.”
Duffy spun around to face Horatio, waving a cautionary finger at him. “I am aware of Rule 704 of Article Seven, counsel, but the witness is not giving an opinion as to whether Kort Staahl did, on the night in question, have such a mental state as have him cause Professor D’Eresby harm, only that he believes him to have a mental condition per se, from the evidence he has seen. Be fair, now, Horatio, at least my witness was actually present at the incident.” Laughter rippled through the room as Duffy sat down, interlacing her fingers in front of her. “Your witness, counsel,” she said as if bestowing a great honour.
Horatio purposefully strode towards Matthew with a businesslike air intended to intimidate, taking with him a sheet of printed paper, which he proceeded to flick with the end of his finger, thrwat, thrwat. It was already irritating.
“Dr Lynes, you state that your qualifications in psychiatry surpass those of your older sister.”
“Yes.”
“How important is experience in honing the skills first obtained through paper qualifications?”
“I should say that it is vital.”
“Dr Margaret Lynes is a senior clinical psychiatrist whose daily practice it is to evaluate the mental state of patients in her care, is it not?”
“Yes, it is.”
“She is also – and I beg her forgiveness for this lack of gallantry – quite a few years older than you are, Dr Lynes, and therefore has considerably greater experience, would you not say?” Thankfully he meant it as a rhetorical question, saving Matthew from having to lie to answer it. “So why do you believe that your evaluation of my client should be more accurate than that of a senior clinical psychiatrist in charge of a mental health unit with many years more experience than you have, and who spent dedicated time in observation and assessment of my client?”
Matthew’s gaze fell upon Monica, and it was clear to me what he contemplated. I closed my eyes and tried to reach him but I couldn’t focus long enough through all the distractions of the courtroom. Please, Matthew, you promised. I willed him to silence.
“I’m waiting, Dr Lynes.”
“I can only state my opinion based on my observations, qualifications, and experience. I cannot comment on the reasons for the decisions reached by another professional – no matter how learned or experienced.”
I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding.
“So you fully admit, Dr Lynes, that your sister is highly qualified and experienced in this field?”
Matthew looked directly at Staahl, who visibly blanched under his gaze. “Yes, she is, and she has a reputation for complete professional integrity.”
Horatio smiled broadly, obviously pleasantly surprised by Matthew’s assertion.
“Well, thank you for your comments, doctor. I have no more questions for this witness, Your Honour.”
Duffy had been scribing notes in swift, illegible strokes, and she now sprang from her chair before Horatio had time to carefully settle back into his.
“Defense calls Dr Margaret Lynes to the stand.”
My pulse quickened. This was exactly what I had dreaded.
Duffy spoke quickly with Matthew. He nodded, and instead of leaving the room as I expected, went to an empty seat nearby and sat down.
Maggie approached the witness stand stiffly. Squeezing her legs together, she clasped her hands tightly, and an undercurrent of stress rippled through her. Still as pale as she had been in the morning, now I saw a fire in her eyes that spoke of defiance, and a matter of professional and personal honour to defend. Maggie might be damaged and fragile, but she still had a ribbon of iron running through her core, welding her together. How far would she be prepared to go to defend herself, and at what cost?
Monica leaned forward, her claw-like hands grasping the padded back of the bench in front of her. Maggie gave her a hasty glance, then looked away.
Duffy read from a venerable tome she had elicited from somewhere. “Dr Lynes, you are a renowne
d expert in psychopathology, which is, and I quote, ‘The study of the manifestation of behaviours and experiences indicative of mental illness, or the description of the manifestation of abnormal, maladaptive behaviour’, is that correct?”
Maggie lifted her chin with an allusion to the haughtiness we had seen earlier in the day. “I am.”
“Do you ever discuss your cases with your brother, Dr Matthew Lynes?”
Immediately prickly and on the defensive, Maggie replied, “Only on a completely confidential and professional basis, yes.”
Duffy remained straight-faced. “That is understood. Did you discuss this case with Dr Lynes?”
“No, I did not.”
“Oh… and why not?”
“I didn’t think it necessary and he was… preoccupied.”
Duffy handed the book to her waiting clerk and exchanged it for a blue cardboard file, which she opened. “I see. In your original report to the Commissioners of Health and Human Services, you stated that Kort Staahl demonstrated patterns of behaviour associated with psychopathic disorder such as – and I quote here from your own report – ‘dysfunctional schema’. That is the exact term used by Dr Matthew Lynes just a few minutes ago to describe his assessment of Professor Staahl’s mental condition. Did you not use that term to describe Kort Staahl’s mental condition in your initial assessment, Dr Lynes?”
Clearly rattled, Maggie threw a harried look at the prosecution team. “I thought that Professor Staahl’s mental state was not in question here?”
“It isn’t at present, Dr Lynes. Please answer the question.”
Maggie’s answer bordered on surly. “Yes.”
“It would appear that both of you, at some point, came independently to the same conclusion, wouldn’t it, doctor?”
Reluctantly, she nodded.
“Out loud for the court, if you will.”
Two bright points of colour had appeared in the confines of Maggie’s hollow cheeks. “Yes,” she said, terse to the point of rudeness, and in her lap her hands twisted convulsively.
