Sins of the Fathers

by James Scott Bell

  2.

  “Prosecution calls Dr. David O’Connor,” Leon Colby said.

  O’Connor? The doctor Lindy had talked to by phone at County USC. Colby didn’t have him on the notice list. She could object now or wait to hear a little of his testimony. She might find a foothold for some solid cross-examination. She decided to wait.

  O’Connor’s face made Lindy want to look up the word smarmy just to see if his picture was there. He was dressed in a slate gray, Italian-cut suit. Not bad for a county physician.

  After eliciting a litany of qualifications, Colby asked, “How long have you been acquainted with the accused, Darren DiCinni?”

  “I was assigned by the Department of Social Services to do an assessment on the subject, for the first time, two years ago.”

  Two years ago?

  “Your Honor, may we approach the bench?” Lindy said between clenched teeth.

  “Without the reporter,” the judge said.

  “No,” Lindy said. “I want the reporter. I want this down.” She looked at the good doctor sitting there on the witness stand. He averted his eyes.

  “Come on up then,” the judge instructed, and then motioned to the reporter to join them.

  “Your Honor,” Lindy said, giving a sideward glance at Colby, “Mr.

  Colby seems to have overlooked a couple of things. First of all, this witness is not on his list. Second, that this doctor previously examined my client is something the prosecutor’s office should have shared with me, don’t you think?”

  Judge Foster looked at Colby. “Your response?”

  “Your Honor,” Colby said, “we will have all of the paperwork ready for Ms. Field to look at. But we were not aware of this witness or his previous examination of the defendant until last night.”

  “Have you ever heard of a telephone?” Lindy said.

  “I will remind my learned colleague and Your Honor that this is a mental-competence hearing, and that the defense has had every opportunity to conduct its own discovery and consult with its own expert witnesses.”

  “Discovery does not include the outright lying of prosecution stooges. This O’Connor is a . . .”

  “All right,” the judge said. “That will be enough. Ms. Field, Mr.

  Colby has a point about your own efforts.”

  “But I’m trying to tell you there is something unethical going on here.”

  “Come on, Lindy,” Colby said.

  “Ms. Field, I’m not going to engage in a test of ethics here. If you have a complaint to make, you may do it in writing in the proper order of things. I will allow you to vigorously cross-examine this witness. If I find that there is some unfinished business, I will grant a continuance for you to do more research and preparation. But if I find that any delay will not be of further assistance to this court, I will be prepared to rule. Let’s go back to work.”

  Colby returned to the witness and asked,“What was the occasion for your assignment to examine Darren DiCinni?”

  “The subject had been taken in after a violent confrontation at school.”

  Colby said, “What was the nature of that confrontation?”

  “The subject attacked another student with an aluminum bat.”

  “What happened to the student who was attacked?”

  “He was hospitalized.”

  “Was the defendant aware of his actions?”

  “Objection,” Lindy said. “Speculation.”

  Colby was unconcerned. “You examined Darren DiCinni shortly after that?”

  “I’ll sustain the objection,” Judge Foster said. “Needs a foundation.”

  “Two days,” said Dr. O’Connor.

  “And what, if anything, did he say to you?”

  O’Connor almost smiled when he answered. “That he was a bad little boy.”

  Lindy exploded to her feet. “Objection! I have no written report, Your Honor. No notice from Mr. Colby and no reason to buy this story. This is rank hearsay.”

  “Ms. Field!” Foster’s lab mice were dancing on his face now. “Get control of yourself.”

  “Your Honor, if I may—”

  “Sit down,” the judge ordered.“Your objection is noted, and I will say this for the record. We have a witness under oath and you are going, I assume, to cross-examine. That’s the way the system works and you know that, Ms. Field. I’m perfectly capable of determining credibility here. That’s my job. Now let us move on.”

  Smarmy O’Connor testified to similar “facts” from his examination of “the subject.” It was his opinion that Darren was not only aware of right and wrong but could easily participate in his own defense.

  Then Colby quietly turned the doctor over to Lindy.

  “We’ve talked before, haven’t we, Doctor?” she asked.

  Without so much as a blink, O’Connor said, “I believe so.”

  “You recall my calling you at County-USC?”

  “I believe so.” And he smiled.

  “Do you believe it or know it, or don’t you know the difference between the two?”

  “Ms. Field!” The judge snapped.

  “Withdraw the question,” Lindy said. “Do you recall the conversation we had at that time?”

  O’Connor frowned in a way that looked theatrical. “I really wouldn’t call it a conversation, Ms. Field. I think you were a little upset.”

  “Oh really?” Lindy said, feeling the scorn dripping out of her like acid. She told herself to keep it from pouring over. “Might that have been because you wanted to stonewall me?”

  “Your Honor,” Leon Colby said wearily, “must we have this?”

  Foster was quick to respond. “Ms. Field, that is an absolutely improper—”

  “It is not improper,” Lindy snapped, not caring that she interrupted the judge.

  “I rule that it is,” Judge Foster said. “There will be no more—”

  “The man is a liar,” Lindy said.

  Varner Foster looked as if he’d been slapped. “You can be held in contempt for accusing a witness in open court—”

  “I do so accuse,” Lindy said.

  A stillness overtook the courtroom, one of those pregnant movie moments. Lindy felt like camera one was giving her a close-up. Varner Foster flinched once, as if he could not believe what he’d just heard. Then, quietly, he said, “I will therefore hold you in contempt of court.”

  Lindy froze in place, like a ruined statue stuck in a warehouse. “You what?” She could not believe he’d actually done it.

  But Foster’s eyes narrowed with unyielding resolution.“You heard me,Ms. Field. I suggest you get yourself a lawyer.”

  3.

  Outside the courthouse, Lindy faced a bank of microphones and a rippling sea of reporters’ faces. They looked rabid and grotesque, like she imagined the crowd in A Tale of Two Cities, gawking and cheering at the thrill of the guillotine.

  And there, right in the middle, smiling at her,was Sean McIntyre. Of course.

  “I have a statement,” Lindy said. She didn’t really but figured as long as the pack was here she’d throw them some bait. Maybe a few would chew sufficiently to realize that what was happening in the justice system was actually worse than the guillotine. At least the blade gave you a quick death. What they did with juveniles was slice a piece at a time from their flesh, making the torture last for years.

  The reporters quieted, readied pads and pencils. Camera eyes turned toward her. Human eyes opened wide with anticipatory glee. A story was about to break. A defense lawyer in the biggest case of the season was ready to spout. She almost laughed at their predictability.

  “This hearing was a sham,” Lindy said evenly, formulating the headline she wanted the media outlets to grab. “The DA wants to make this one of his tough-on-crime cases. We have an election coming up, don’t we? Ambition always takes away good judgment. It removes the desire to do what’s right and replaces it with a just win,baby mentality.”

  She swallowed, hard, and hoped the cameras wouldn
’t pick that up. But she had just opened her mouth wide and either stuffed it full of shoe, or thrown a gauntlet down on the desk of the Los Angeles County district attorney. Or both. Either way, it was not going to get any more pleasant for her after this.

  So what?

  “Somebody should explain to Mr. Colby that this isn’t football. We had a doctor in there, O’Connor, who testified for the prosecution on competency. We might as well have had a parrot on the stand, a parrot from Mr. Colby’s living room.”

  Most of the reporters laughed at that, scribbling wildly. Oh, tomorrow was going to be rich.

  “My client is a thirteen-year-old boy. Boy. He’s sick. He is not competent to stand trial. Are we crazy in this country? When did we decide to get rid of sick kids as fast as we can without trying to help them?”

  “When they start killing people?” some clown called out, causing a few guffaws.

  Lindy threw a couple of eyeball lightning bolts his way. “You find something funny about this? I don’t. I don’t find it funny to have lying witnesses on the stand. If you think this is funny, why don’t you go back and look at the transcript of the Marcel Lee case? And why don’t you ask Mr. Colby what size blinders he wears?”

  Sanctions she heard in her mind. She was going to get slapped by a judge for certain. Who cared? The judges needed to hear this too. Except Greene. And she wondered what he’d have to say.

  “You saying your client’s not guilty?” a woman with a Channel 7 logo on her blazer shouted.

  Lindy held her ground. “You have to be responsible to be guilty, and if your mental state is messed up, you’re not responsible. My client is messed up. Why is that so hard for people to understand?”

  “Maybe because he shot five kids and one adult.” That was Sean.

  Lindy’s face went geothermal. She wanted to brush his teeth with a microphone, preferably hot-wired. “If you were any more ignorant of the legal system you’d be a danger to society.”

  Hoots from some of the reporters, good natured catcalls thrown Sean’s way, then back at her.

  “Listen to me,” Lindy said. “If we decide to throw kids away, let’s just close up shop as a society. Let’s sit back and forget about doing anything for anybody, except the ones who were lucky enough to be born with money or privilege or whatever else. Let’s just sweep them all away so we won’t have to look at them anymore. Because when we do we’re going to see ourselves reflected in their faces, and it ain’t pretty, is it?”

  “You accusing the DA of an ethical breach?” someone finally said, an older guy she didn’t know.

  “I wouldn’t blink on this one. You might miss something.”

  4.

  After faking out the reporters by pretending to leave, Lindy slipped into the parking lot behind the courthouse. She played a grown-up version of hide-and-seek, a game at which she had excelled in elementary school. Hiding seemed to be one of the best things a person could do. It was like being invisible.

  And Lindy often wanted to be invisible.

  What things would she be able to see if she herself could not be seen? She could slip into police stations and listen to the cops talk about cases. She could pick up when prosecutors were not playing straight with the facts. She could become the justice crusader, a new comic-book hero, rooting out evil in the hearts of men.

  She could, in other words, make a difference. She could do some good. She could save the people who needed saving.

  But so long as she was in a body, she’d have to walk around like every other poor slob and fight the battles as they came, face to face, nose to nose.

  Alone.

  At least for the moment the reporters did not see her. Being “vertically challenged” was a plus in this case, as she could easily lean against an SUV and have the perfect cover.

  She waited in hopes that he would come out soon, the good doctor, who would most likely have taken one of the witness spaces in the parking lot. She had seen him in conversation with Colby in the hallway before her off-the-cuff press conference. Maybe she’d be able to catch him.

  And do what? Something, anything. Get a look on his face. Find out what was going on. Because whatever it was, it stunk.

  Ten minutes. Fifteen. She kept looking into her shoulder bag, pretending to rummage, whenever someone walked by. Pretty soon she’d have to make a move, or a security guard would start asking questions.

  Twenty minutes. And then out he came.

  He even walked arrogantly, this O’Connor. He stopped when he saw her, and his whole body seemed to clench.

  “Business done for the day?” Lindy said.

  O’Connor reached into his pocket. “What are you doing out here?”

  “What did you think you were doing in there?”

  “You mean testifying?”

  “That’s what you call it?”

  “Excuse me, but I—”

  “You lied to me.”

  His face tightened as he pulled out his car keys. “I did nothing of the kind.”

  “You told me you didn’t know anything about my client. But two years ago—”

  “As I recall our conversation, Ms. Fields, you did not ask me if I had examined your client.”

  “Don’t you think that little bit of information was important?”

  “I don’t volunteer that kind of information. You should know that would be improper.”

  “Then you said you weren’t going to give expert testimony.”

  “I was contacted by Mr. Colby after you called. I changed my mind.”

  “Why? Money?”

  “I don’t have to—”

  “And you told me Darren was not mentally sound.”

  O’Connor’s eyes hardened. “You have selective memory, Ms.

  Fields. As I recall, we talked about likelihoods.”

  “But now you’re sure?”

  “In my opinion Darren DiCinni is competent. That’s my opinion now.

  ”

  “What about sane?”

  “Ms. Fields, I—”

  “Field. The name is Field, no s.”

  O’Connor jangled his keys. “I really can’t talk to you anymore.”

  “Did you ever ask Darren about God?”

  The doctor singled out a key then looked at Lindy. “Off the record, Ms. Field, you’re not going to get anywhere with that angle. Not these days.”

  “But what if it’s true?”

  “It won’t fly.” He made a move toward his car.

  “Why’d you put me off, Doctor? Just answer me that.”

  He did not answer. He unlocked his Jaguar, got in. Just before pulling out he lowered the window. “Do not contact me again,” he said.

  5.

  They were demons, and Darren knew it.

  They had him back in his cage now, his keepers. They would try to get him to dis God, but he would ignore them, wait them out. Beat them. They pretended to be jail guards, and sometimes they faked like they were on his side.

  They would talk to him sometimes.

  He wouldn’t answer. You don’t talk to demons, you stare them down.

  And that’s what he did.

  No way he was going to be fooled.

  So he stared. And he blocked out voices.

  He would beat them, and God would approve.

  6.

  Everett Woodard had been Lindy’s favorite law professor at Southwestern. He taught criminal law and she could still recite the flash cards created to help her study for his legendary exams. Like the M’Naughten rule for the insanity defense: Mental disease or defectof reason + did not know nature and quality of act—or if did know, didnot know it was wrong.

  Today, she wanted to talk to him about this rule. Darren’s case was all about the insanity defense, and Woodard knew it backward and forward.

  Woodard greeted her warmly in his cramped office. He had sounded a bit tired over the phone, most likely due to his prodigious work habits. At fifty-two, Woodard still logged long hours doing appellat
e work, mostly for indigent clients. He’d grown up in poverty in Inglewood and was kept out of gang life by a strong mother. He earned his success and could have made a high six-figure salary at any of a number of large law firms. But he chose instead to train new lawyers and work on behalf of those who could not afford legal representation.

  “So here’s the walking news story,”Woodard said.

  “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  “In your case, I think I will. Who else would give the DA a public tongue-lashing like that? My my.”

  “Was I out of line?”

  Woodard flashed a smile that made him look like a little boy on a holiday. “Not in my book. You might’ve gone too easy. But I’m not the judge.”

  “Oh yeah. That. I guess I need a lawyer. Think you can—”

  “Consider it done. And get a good apology ready.”

  “Apology!”

  “Lindy,” he said like a scolding parent.

  “Oh, all right.”

  Woodard’s office was crammed with books of all sorts, from law to sociology to criminology to literature.

  “But if I’m going to do that,” Lindy said, “I want you to testify for me.”

  “Testify? About what?”

  “Mental state. Mens rea.”

  “I’m not a mental-health expert.”

  “Mental-health experts aren’t worth the paper their lousy degrees are written on.”

  “Sounds like you had yourself a bad experience.”

  “The yahoo who testified is sleaze on ice. My guy couldn’t get Darren to talk at all. Foster’s not going to rule for me with dueling experts, so I need your testimony on what the law means. In class we talked about the M’Naughten rule, and we came up on the whole issue of what know means.”

  “And what do you remember?”

  “Still the professor, eh?”

  “It never ends.”

  “All right, then I will prove to you that getting the top grade in your class was no fluke.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “At issue is the meaning of the word know. It can mean either being intellectually aware or having a moral appreciation.”

  “Explain.”

  “Well, I may know that it is wrong to kill someone, in the sense that I can articulate those words and therefore have some concept of what wrong means. But in order to be sane I must also have the capacity to appreciate the wrongfulness of my actions. Most jurisdictions leave it to the jury to hash it out.”