Primal Fear

by William Diehl

  “I repeat, Your Honor, to pass a dozen gruesome pictures among the unsophisticated men and women on the jury is prurient,” said Vail. “It smacks of a kind of sick voyeurism.”

  “It shows it the way it was,” Venable said flatly. “Part and parcel of the crime, Your Honor. Next he’ll be objecting if we introduce the murder weapon.”

  “I wouldn’t give him any ideas, Counselor,” Shoat said with what amounted to a grin. “As for the photographs, Mr. Vail, I’ll take your motion under advisement. I would appreciate your cooperation on that score. Will you withdraw your objection and reenter it at the time of trial?”

  “Well, sir,” Vail said, “we would like a ruling before the case goes before the grand jury. We would like the photographs suppressed before that time.”

  “I see,” Shoat said, and glowered down at Vail. “I’ll do my best, Counselor. Now is there anything else?”

  “Your Honor,” Vail said, “I would call your attention to the 1978 Georgia Reports, State versus Appleby, volume 156, page 978, in which the court ruled, and was upheld by the state supreme court, that Mr. Appleby was improperly arraigned for the crime of rape because he was mentally retarded and therefore did not understand the charges brought against him. We contend that Mr. Stampler cannot be charged with any crime until the psychiatric board rules on his competence to understand the charges.”

  “Oh really!” Venable wailed. “What do you want us to do, Counselor, let him go?”

  “No, I am saying that he will voluntarily enter the criminal section of the state facility for the purpose of psychological evaluation. The board will determine whether he is capable of standing trial.”

  “Judge …” Venable started.

  Vail shrugged. “Georgia code, Judge. State versus Appleby.”

  Shoat read the section Vail had cited. He pulled his spectacles off and leaned back in his chair and chewed on the stem of the glasses.

  “Well, he’s got a point, Counselor,” he said to Venable with a tone of resignation.

  “He’s voluntarily submitting?” Venable growled.

  “I understand your consternation, Miss Venable. I would suggest that you proceed with the grand jury and get an indictment as quickly as possible so that we may proceed in the event Mr. Stampler is deemed adequate to stand trial. Meantime, we can go ahead and set a trial date for April twenty-sixth.” He smiled at both of them. “Bright and early.”

  “Your Honor,” said Vail. “We respectfully ask the court for at least ninety days to prepare our case.”

  “Tuesday, April twenty-sixth, nine A.M., Mr. Vail. Ample time.”

  “In that case, Your Honor, we object.”

  “To what?” Shoat demanded.

  “Setting the trial date.”

  “On what grounds, sir?” Shoat exploded.

  “On the grounds, Your Honor, that Mr. Stampler is not charged with a crime so you can’t possibly set a date to try him.”

  In the press box, Connerman threw back his head and laughed. “Beautiful,” he said.

  Shoat glared at Vail. Venable stood to challenge the objection but realized Vail was correct. The judge could hardly arrange to try someone who was not officially charged with anything. “Why don’t we just let him loose?” she spat at Vail. “Maybe he can get a cardinal or even the pope next time!”

  “How about a prosecutor? Really do the world a favor,” Vail shot back with a smile.

  Shoat lost it. He put his fist on the end of the flexible ruler, raised the other end and let it smack hard on the bench. Both Vail and Venable were startled by the sharp report that sounded like a pistol shot. The judge stood up and leaned forward toward the two lawyers.

  “That will be quite enough, both of you!” Shoat yelled. “If you have something to say, you will address the bench, is that perfectly clear? This trial—if we ever get around to it—is not going to turn into a cat-and-dog fight.” He shook his head angrily. “I hereby remand Mr. Stampler to the officials of the state hospital for a complete psychological evaluation. I also order the district attorney’s office to expediently seek a formal indictment from the grand jury on these charges. Any information gathered from Mr. Stampler prior to the time Mr. Vail was retained as his counsel is inadmissable to the grand jury and the court. Any further questions? Good. Bailiff, call the next case.”

  Connerman settled back on the bench and stretched his arms out and shook his head.

  “The son of a bitch did it again,” he said.

  “Did what?” E. J. Odum said.

  “Well, right now the state doesn’t even have Stampler in custody, the state hospital does. The interviews have been suppressed, the pictures probably will be, Stampler hasn’t been charged with anything and Shoat can’t even set a trial date until Stampler gets evaluated, which could take a couple of weeks.”

  “So?” Odum said with a shrug. “Vail gets his ninety days. Big deal.”

  “Think about this, E.J. Suppose the shrinks up at Daisyland rule that Stampler’s incompetent to stand trial? He’ll end up in the funny farm. That keeps Stampler out of the chair—which is exactly what Vail wants.”

  “What happens now?” Aaron asked Vail as the press began to surge forward.

  “We get out of here,” said Vail, motioning to the marshal, who escorted Aaron out of the room. Vail motioned to Goodman, who was sitting behind him in the first row of the courtroom. They both followed Stampler and the marshal into the holding room.

  “Aaron, this is Tom Goodman, my investigator. He’s working on your case with me.”

  “Yes suh,” the boy said, and shook hands.

  “You understand they’re going to move you up to Daisyland.”

  “Yes suh.”

  “Have you heard of Daisyland?”

  “That’s the insane asylum.”

  “Well, they’re a little more generous than that, Aaron. They call it the state mental health institute. Thing is, you’ll be comfortable there. You’ll get proper attention. And you’ll be treated as a patient rather than a prisoner.”

  “Well, I guess it sounds okay.”

  “Trust me,” said Vail. “It’s all part of the plan.”

  “Plan?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll find out when they’re moving you. We’ll talk some more before you go. We have our own psychiatrist coming in. His name is Dr. Arrington. He’ll be testing you as well as the state’s doctors.”

  “You comin’ up thair?”

  “Bet on it,” Vail said, and winked reassuringly. “Before we leave, Tom has a question or two to ask you.” Vail held out his hand with the earring in his palm.

  “Aaron, have you ever seen an earring like this before?” Goodman asked.

  Aaron looked at it for a minute and shook his head.

  “You don’t know anybody wears earrings like this?”

  “No suh. Whaired y’get it?”

  “I pulled it out of somebody’s ear. In your stander.”

  “In my place?”

  “That’s right. He jumped me when I was checking the place out. Why would somebody attack me in there? Is there something of value hidden in the stander?”

  Aaron shrugged. “I had a radio ’n’ some books.”

  “I got the books, but by the time I got there the place had been ransacked. Wasn’t much left.”

  “Weren’t much thair t’ start with,” Aaron said with a sad smile.

  “We’ll hang on to the books for you,” Vail said.

  “No reason to. I read ’em. It was just nice t’ have books around, y’know?”

  “I’m sure they have a library at Daisyland,” Vail said. “Hopefully you’ll have some time to yourself.”

  The boy beamed innocently. “I’m plaised t’ hear that, sir.”

  Two days later, Aaron Stampler was indicted by the grand jury for first degree murder.

  Vail sat at his desk and stared bleakly at the photographs of the murder, which he had attached with pushpins to a bulletin board that rested agai
nst the bookshelves. Now, over a cup of coffee and a cigarette, he was contemplating the visual impact of the photographs. He felt sure Shoat would rule against him on the motion to suppress the photos.

  And there were other questions to be answered. Motive. What could possibly have been Stampler’s motive for committing this crime, if in fact he did it. Perhaps Tommy’s trip to Kentucky would shed light in a lot of dark corners.

  Lost in contemplation, he did not see the taxi pull up outside, nor the figure carrying two suitcases and a briefcase under one arm jump out and scamper up to the house. The doorbell startled him, but before he could get up he heard the front door open and then close, and a woman appeared in the office doorway. She was bundled in a black greatcoat and was wearing ear-muffs—a pleasant-looking woman who appeared to be in her late twenties, red-faced from the cold. She snapped the earmuffs off.

  “Mr. Vail?” she said in a timid voice.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Molly Arrington.”

  It did not sink in. “What can I do for you?” he asked, looking at his watch.

  She looked a little confused. “Judge Spalding sent for me,” she said. “I’m Dr. Molly Arrington from the Justine Clinic.”

  THIRTEEN

  Vail looked thunderstruck. The woman stood in the doorway with a somewhat bemused expression.

  “I assumed he told you I was coming,” she said, almost reticently.

  Vail said, “Of course. I, uh, I guess I wasn’t expecting you this late.” He jumped up and smiled. “Take off your coat and stay awhile.”

  She took off her coat to reveal a tiny woman, perhaps five-two at best, who carried herself delicately as she hung the coat on the hat tree and, with both hands, pressed out the wrinkled skirt of a plain, charcoal-gray suit.

  “Sorry it’s so late,” she said, shyly. “The bus was almost an hour late getting into Indianapolis. I missed my plane.”

  “Bus?”

  “It’s the only way to get anywhere from Winthrop, Indiana. That’s where the Justine Clinic is. I guess you’ve never heard of it.” She had lovely unblemished skin and bright blue eyes, and her ash-brown hair was cut just above shoulder length. She was so soft-spoken her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything,” Vail said. “I don’t know much about the psychiatry business.”

  “That makes us even,” she said. “I don’t know anything about the law.”

  Great, he thought. A shy amateur—just what we need.

  “This all happened so fast I didn’t think about a place to stay,” she said, her tone still tinged with embarrassment. “When Judge Spalding called and said it was urgent, the board had an emergency meeting—immediately—to approve my leave of absence. Oh, it wasn’t a problem. Actually they were quite excited with the idea. This will be excellent experience …”

  “Well, I really needed …” he started, but stopped in mid-sentence.

  “Somebody with more experience?” she offered.

  Vail was embarrassed and showed it. He stood and walked to the coffee urn and got two cups from the cabinet.

  “Let’s start over, okay?” he said. “How about a cup of coffee? Freshly made. Or would you like something stronger?”

  “Coffee’s fine,” she told him.

  “This is a tough one. Okay if I call you Molly? I’m Martin or Marty, whichever you prefer,” he said as he filled the two cups.

  “Molly’s fine,” she said. “And I’m sorry I haven’t had any experience in the courtroom.”

  “Hell, I’ve been in private practice for almost ten years, before that two in the army,” Vail said. “In all that time, I’ve never had to deal with a psychiatrist. Never had an involved mental case like this in my life. I’ll make you a deal. You teach me about crazy people, I’ll teach you about the law.”

  He handed her the coffee. And although extremely shy, she was forthright when she spoke. “Well, I can understand it if you want someone else. To be frank, I’ve never even been in a courtroom before. But I do know a lot about disoriented behavior, Mr. Vail. As a psychologist, a psychiatrist, and an epidemiologist. I’ve worked with over a hundred people with mental disorders. Incidentally, I’d prefer that you avoid referring to them as crazy.”

  “Fair enough. What do we call them?”

  “Mentally disordered. Mentally disturbed …”

  “Is there one word that covers it?”

  She stared at him for several seconds, took a sip of coffee, and said, “How about ‘nuts’?”

  He stared back, not sure whether she was serious or not, and then, unable to hold back, broke out in a hearty laugh. She joined in, although less boisterously.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered.

  “Molly, in the presence of the Judge; my assistant, Naomi Chance; our investigator, Tom Goodman; and me, you may say anything you want about anybody or anything at any time. That’s how we operate. I think the question is, do you want to work with us? This is a very nasty case.”

  “The newspaper articles I read were not very informative.”

  “The cops are being coy. So’s the prosecutor. They mean to burn this kid—send him to the electric chair—unless we can stop them.”

  “How bad is it?” she asked.

  Vail did not answer. Instead he went to the desk and tilted the lamp so the light fell across the bulletin board of photographs. Her reaction was unemotional, which surprised him. She squinted at the board for a minute, then walked over, knelt down and studied the photographs, one by one.

  “If the jury sees those, he’s cooked—pardon the pun,” Vail said.

  “The pictures say a lot,” she said as she stood back up, but she did not explain her hurried analysis and Vail did not ask. “When can I meet him?” she wanted to know.

  “He was transferred to Daisyland earlier today. I’d like you to go up tomorrow. The sooner you go to work, the better. We don’t have much time.”

  “How much?”

  “Less than two months.”

  She closed her eyes and blew a silent whistle.

  “I’ve spent two months trying to get a patient to say good morning to me,” she said with a sad smile.

  “Oh, he’ll say good morning to you. That’s the least of our worries,” Vail said.

  He sat down at his desk, leaning back in his chair and balancing himself so his toes were barely touching the floor.

  “How’d you like to meet him right now?”

  “Now?”

  “I taped an interview with him this afternoon,” he said, and pointed toward the television set. “We can watch it if you’re not too tired.”

  “Uh …” she stammered, somewhat flustered. “You see, I have my bags here. I left in such a hurry, I didn’t make any reservations. I think I better call one of the hotels downtown …”

  “Well, you can do that,” he said casually, still balancing himself in his chair. “Or … you can stay here. I have two guest bedrooms upstairs. Take your pick. They each have their own bath and you can lock them from the inside. The kitchen is common ground and the coffee urn’s always full. We’ll worry about finding you a place in the morning.”

  “I hate to put you out…”

  “You’re not putting me out at all,” he said.

  “Well,” she said quietly, “that would be lovely.”

  “C’mon, I’ll take your things up for you. I’m sure you’re exhausted. We can watch the tape tomorrow.”

  “No, I’ll just throw some water on my face, put on my slippers,” she said. “I’d like to see the film. And, uh … perhaps you have a little bourbon?”

  “We need a motive,” Vail said. “That’s something I’d like you to work on—before they do. Hopefully they can’t come up with one. If they can’t, we have the start of a case for insanity. If they can, then we’re in trouble. So first, before anything, I’d like you to figure out if Aaron had a motivation for killing Bishop Rushman—if he killed him.”

&nbs
p; She sat very straight in her chair, her feet flat on the floor, and sipped her bourbon. “Do you think he did it?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

  “And you’re still defending him?”

  “First commandment, Molly: The defendant is innocent until proven guilty. Proven guilty. Not what I think or you think, what the jury thinks. Of course, I don’t operate on that wavelength. In the beginning, I always assume my client is guilty.”

  “Why!”

  “Because that’s why they come to me.”

  “That’s very cynical.”

  He shook his head. “Practical,” he said. “If I can prove to my satisfaction that Aaron Stampler didn’t kill the bishop, then I can convince the court.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  He shrugged. “Everyone assumes Stampler’s guilty. So my job—our job—is to disprove the prosecutor’s case, which means I have to anticipate what their case is going to be … and prove mine at the same time. That’s where you come in.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The D.A. is being very tough on this one and the prosecutor is a real barracuda.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Her name is Jane Venable. She’s very good. And she’s got a personal motive. I whaled her in a case a couple years ago, so she’s looking to put a notch in her gun at my expense. The judge doesn’t like me. The city, county, and state all want my hide nailed to the courthouse door.”

  “I know,” she said. “I read the article about you in City Magazine.”

  Vail smiled. “Don’t believe everything you read,” he said.

  “I thought it was very flattering—professionally, I mean. It didn’t give much insight into you as a person.”

  “I prefer it that way.”

  “Why?”

  He thought for a moment, wondering whether she was already beginning to psychoanalyze him.