Love Gone Mad

by Rubinstein, Mark

  Finally, Judge Burke leans toward her. “Ms. Haggarty, you may step down. Thank you very much,” he says with a weak smile.

  On melting legs, Megan rises, moves down the steps, and walks along the center aisle toward the courtroom doors.

  “I love you,” Adrian whispers as she passes him.

  She mumbles something but feels like she’s in a dream.

  The judge turns to the jury—eight women and four men along with three alternates. “I’m sustaining Mr. Kovac’s objection,” Burke says. “You heard a description of the defendant’s attacks during Mr. Farley’s opening statement.” He turns to the prosecutor and adds, “Mr. Farley, call your next witness.”

  “The people call Dr. Adrian Douglas,” Farley says.

  “Same objection, Your Honor,” Kovac calls.

  “I’m going to sustain the objection.”

  “Your Honor,” Farley says, “I’ll be asking this witness about a different encounter with the defendant, one that happened before the events that are the subject of this trial.”

  “Dr. Douglas,” Farley begins, “did there come a time when you met the defendant—purely by happenstance—at a bar known as King’s Corner?”

  “Yes,” Adrian says, feeling Conrad’s eyes boring into him. A chill crawls through his chest and seizes his heart. The very mention of King’s Corner brings a flash of the bar, the smell of malt, spilled booze, and sizzling wires.

  “When was that?”

  “One night this past September … about three months ago.”

  “What, if any, relationship did you have with the defendant, or for that matter, with Ms. Haggarty at that time?”

  “I’d never met either of them.”

  “Now, Dr. Douglas, will you please tell the jury what happened that night … before you’d even met Ms. Haggarty?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. This is irrelevant.”

  “Your Honor,” Farley says, “I’m trying to establish that Mr. Kovac’s theory of a monomania about Dr. Douglas and Ms. Haggarty isn’t true; Mr. Wilson’s violent tendencies are completely independent of the victims.”

  “I’ll allow it.”

  “Please, Doctor, tell the jury about that encounter.”

  With his heart drubbing, Adrian describes the confrontation at King’s Corner. Adrian’s voice sounds distant in his ears. Even as he recounts the incident, he re-envisions shattered glass and smells shot propellant. And suddenly, the night on Bald Hill floods his thoughts—the struggle, the blood, and the shotgun blasts. A shiver travels down his spine, and the back of his neck tingles.

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Kovac calls. “There’s no proof Mr. Wilson shot up the bar.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Certainly, Your Honor,” Farley says, “but only to establish the date of the incident, I would like to introduce the police report into evidence.”

  Farley gives the police report to the court clerk.

  “Dr. Douglas, did you provoke the defendant in any way?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “How would you characterize his aggression?”

  “It came out of the blue.”

  Farley asks a few more questions and then says, “So, Dr. Douglas, the defendant threatened you before you’d even met Ms. Haggarty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I have no more questions.”

  “Mr. Kovac, cross-examination,” says the judge.

  At the lectern, Kovac says, “Doctor, you said you met Ms. Haggarty after the incident at the bar?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’d never even seen Ms. Haggarty before then?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “I’m absolutely positive.”

  “Well, Conrad Wilson believes that you and Ms. Haggarty met six years ago. Is that true?”

  “No. It’s not.”

  “He also believes that you and Ms. Haggarty were having an affair … and it’s continued over the years. Is that true?”

  “No. It’s not.”

  “So, Doctor, Conrad Wilson’s belief about an affair six years ago is mistaken?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “It’s a false belief?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “If I tell you that he clings to this notion, that he believes with all his heart you and Ms. Haggarty have been lovers for six years, would his belief be a sick one?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. The doctor isn’t a psychiatrist,” Farley calls.

  “Sustained.”

  “Is Conrad’s belief supported by any facts?”

  “No. It’s absurd,” Adrian says, his voice shaking.

  “Thank you, Dr. Douglas. I have no further questions.”

  Twenty-eight

  Adrian stands in the hallway during recess. He dials Megan’s number and it goes straight to her voice mail. “It’s me, my love,” he says. “I know how hard that was for you. I wish I could be with you now. My testimony was very short. Farley’s sure the trial will be over in a day or two. I’m canceling my OR schedule till it’s over. I love you and we’ll talk later.”

  “I’m John Grayson,” says a tall man, extending his hand. “One of the psychiatrists who evaluated Conrad Wilson.” Grayson has that unshaven who-gives-a-shit Hugh Laurie look from TV’s House. Actually, he has a cleft in his chin so deep it would be hard to reach those dark bristles with a razor. He has clipped, brown hair and strong, regular features, and he wears a light-gray suit with a blue tie. He towers over everyone. “You look familiar,” Grayson says, narrowing his powder-blue eyes.

  “So do you. Where’d you train?”

  “At Yale.”

  “We were probably doing residencies at the same time. I’m a surgeon.”

  “You look like an athlete. You play a sport in college?”

  “Baseball at Cornell. How ’bout you?”

  “Basketball at Duke. A lifetime ago.”

  They laugh. Adrian feels a bond forming with this psychiatrist who will obviously testify about Conrad’s craziness. He knows they can’t talk about the case.

  “The world makes for strange acquaintances,” Grayson says.

  Dr. William Sheffield takes the stand. He’s in his late fifties, has grayish hair, and wears a tweed suit. As he rattles off his credentials—college at Amherst, medical school at Tufts—it’s obvious to Adrian that Sheffield’s been in court before. He sounds rehearsed, even canned as he describes his psychiatric residency at Yale and membership in the American Academy of Forensic Psychiatry.

  Farley asks that Sheffield be qualified as an expert witness.

  “He is so qualified,” says Burke. “As such, he may render a psychiatric opinion.”

  “Can you describe your examination of the defendant?” asks Farley.

  Sheffield details his interview with Conrad at the Bridgeport Correctional Center. He finally says, “Mr. Wilson was quite hostile. He clearly resented the evaluation and, frankly, I thought I might be attacked.”

  “Doctor, was there a reason for his hostility?”

  “Well, he knew I was the prosecution’s examiner, and he tried to malinger.”

  “Malinger? What’s that?” Farley asks, glancing at the jurors.

  Adrian is certain the jurors resent Farley’s self-serving line of questioning. He’s too obvious, too agenda-driven.

  “Malingering is feigning or exaggerating a physical or mental illness for gain.”

  The jurors are taking notes. It strikes Adrian as surreal: jurors writing on court-issued pads as he peers at the man who tried to kill him and Megan. And Sheffield’s a shrink who says Conrad Wilson’s trying to game the system. And two others—Grayson and DuPont—will tell the jurors the opposite. Is there any such thing as truth? Is it all a legal chess game? Is it possible that Conrad Wilson is competent to stand trial but totally insane when it comes to him and Megan? It sounds absurd.

  “You said ‘exaggerating illness for gain’?
” Farley asks. “Meaning what, Doctor?”

  “There are many reasons for malingering or faking. Usually, we see it when someone wants to gain something, such as getting money in a lawsuit or to avoid prison, as in this case.”

  “So, Dr. Sheffield, what’s your psychiatric impression of Conrad Wilson?”

  “That he’s an angry man, but he wasn’t insane at the time of the attacks.”

  “Why was he not insane when he attacked Ms. Haggarty and Dr. Douglas?”

  “He had full cognizance—meaning he was completely aware—of the wrongfulness of his actions. He planned them meticulously. He was not acting on an uncontrollable impulse. He methodically followed—actually stalked—the victims, was lying in wait and tried to kill them, whether by stabbing, firebombing, or with a shotgun.”

  Adrian shudders as he recalls the nightmarish chase through the woods to Bald Hill. He glances at the jurors; they look mesmerized.

  “And all this means what, Dr. Sheffield?”

  “That he was definitely able to act in accordance with the law; after all, he waited until an opportune time to attack.”

  “And his claim that his ex-wife began an affair with Dr. Douglas years ago?”

  “It’s a ploy by which he hopes to avoid prison. He’s just a jealous ex-husband who tried to murder his ex-wife and her current boyfriend.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I have no more questions.”

  “Dr. Sheffield,” Kovac says, “can you explain to the jury what defines a successful insanity defense?”

  “Yes. It must be shown that the accused suffers from a mental disease or defect such as brain damage and is unable to distinguish right from wrong, or cannot control his conduct in accordance with the law.”

  “You mentioned brain damage. Are there other mental disorders that qualify for an insanity defense?”

  “Yes. There’s schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, dementia, mental retardation, or any combination of those disorders, among others.”

  “Among others? How about paranoid delusional disorder?”

  “Yes … that could qualify.”

  A few jurors lean forward in their seats. Adrian glances at them; they look questioningly at Sheffield. Two jurors narrow their eyes. Adrian feels his legs tightening; he can tell Kovac’s going for Sheffield’s jugular.

  “Doctor, if a person holds a paranoid belief, is it possible that he couldn’t act in accordance with the law because his belief is so powerful that he acts on it? Like a man who believes the CIA is after him so he moves from one location to another? Changes his telephone number? Tries to change his identity?”

  “I don’t think that’s the case here. Usually, a paranoid person is suspicious of everyone. It’s hardly ever limited to one or two people.”

  “But let’s just say, Doctor, that this person is convinced his wife is having an affair. Even though there’s no evidence of it, he insists his belief is true and it’s limited to this one situation. In other words, it’s a well-contained false belief. Is it possible that he could be unable to act lawfully because of this belief?”

  “I suppose so. It would have to be a very strong and sick belief.”

  “Like a sick belief that his wife cheated on him and still does?”

  “I don’t believe that’s the case here.”

  “So you don’t believe that Conrad Wilson has such a sickness?”

  “No, in my view he’s faking.”

  “Based on what?”

  “My opinion is based on my training, education, and on my experience in forensic psychiatry.”

  “But do you know with absolute certainty that my client is faking?”

  “The only absolute certainty in this life, sir, is death.”

  Two jury members smile; the others appear poker-faced, even somber. Adrian wonders if Kovac can penetrate Sheffield’s armor.

  “I see,” Kovac says. He moves toward Sheffield. “But, Doctor, didn’t you just acknowledge that an individual with a sick belief might not be able to control his conduct?”

  “Yes, possibly … if he was truly psychotic as you hypothesized. But I don’t believe it applies to this defendant.”

  The jurors’ eyes are locked on Kovac. “Doctor, how many times have you testified in court over the last fifteen years?”

  “Maybe three or four times a year.”

  “If I tell you that court records indicate you’ve appeared fifty-four times in the last fifteen years, would that be right?”

  “Probably. I haven’t counted.” Sheffield’s forehead furrows. He leans back in the witness chair. His forehead shines. Adrian thinks some jurors regard Sheffield skeptically.

  “Have you ever testified on behalf of a defendant?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “How many times?”

  “I can’t really recall.”

  “Records say that over the years you’ve testified twice for defendants. Is that accurate?”

  “I think so. I’m not sure.”

  Adrian feels his stomach lurch; Kovac is making headway with Sheffield.

  “So you’ve worked pretty much exclusively for the district attorney?”

  “Predominantly, sir.”

  Kovac pauses, peers at the jury, and then says, “Doctor, how much were you paid for your evaluation of Conrad Wilson?”

  “Three thousand dollars.”

  Kovac waits and lets it sink in with the jury. One panelist’s eyes widen. She shakes her head.

  Adrian feels his throat close.

  “And how much are you being paid for testifying today for the prosecution?”

  “Eight thousand dollars.”

  Murmuring rises from the jury box and gallery.

  “I have no further questions,” Kovac says, and he turns away.

  Adrian feels a sinking sensation in his chest.

  Twenty-nine

  “The defense calls Dr. John Grayson,” says Kovac. As Grayson is sworn in, Adrian realizes that physically, the guy is very impressive. Grayson has the muscular, toned look of the college athlete he was. Adrian notices the women jurors stare at Grayson. He definitely has that House look—minus the arrogance.

  Kovac asks about Grayson’s professional background.

  “I went to college at Duke and medical school at Yale,” Grayson tells the jurors. He’s a board-certified psychiatrist, recognized by the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology with specialty training in forensic psychiatry. He’s a member of the American Academy of Psychiatry and the Law.

  “Doctor, will you tell the jury what forensic psychiatry is?”

  “It involves psychiatric training applied to the interface between law and psychiatry.”

  “And, Doctor, what work do you now do?”

  “I’m medical director of Whitehall Forensic Institute, a state psychiatric hospital under the auspices of the Connecticut Department of Corrections. We treat people who’ve been found not guilty by reason of insanity.”

  “And, Doctor, are you being paid for your appearance in court today?”

  “No. I’m a state salaried employee. This is part of my work.”

  “Were you paid for your three meetings with Conrad Wilson and the preparation of your narrative report?”

  “Only my regular salary.”

  Kovac waits, letting Grayson’s statement marinate with the jury.

  “Doctor, can you describe your psychiatric evaluation of Conrad Wilson?”

  Grayson details the interviews with Conrad and explains Conrad Wilson’s thoughts, feelings, and considerable intellect. He covers the ground thoroughly. “Mr. Wilson feels angry at the world,” he concludes. “Especially since he lost his job. That threw him over the edge, but his hatred for and beliefs about his ex-wife are psychotic.”

  It occurs to Adrian that Grayson projects a sincerity that Sheffield lacked. He’s a no-bullshit kinda guy—a straight shooter who’s connecting with the jury.

  “Doctor, what diagnosis, if any, did you make of Conrad Wilson?”
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br />   “Conrad Wilson has paranoid delusional disorder.”

  “Is that some pie-in-the-sky diagnosis?”

  “No. It’s a well-recognized psychotic disorder.”

  “And by ‘psychotic,’ what do you mean?”

  “Mr. Wilson can’t distinguish reality from fantasy, at least in one specific area of his life.”

  “Does paranoid delusional disorder qualify as a mental disease or, to use the legal terminology, a defect?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “So in that regard, you and Dr. Sheffield are in agreement?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dr. Grayson, what exactly is paranoid delusional disorder?”

  “It’s a disorder in which the person believes things that aren’t real are true. He has a delusion about something.”

  “And what is a delusion?”

  “A delusion is a false belief. It’s an insane belief. And it’s fixed,” Grayson says. “Meaning, it’s a belief the person clings to, no matter what.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as Conrad Wilson’s belief that Ms. Haggarty and Dr. Douglas began an affair six years ago. It’s a delusion of jealousy. But there’s another layer to Conrad Wilson’s delusion.”

  “What’s that, Doctor?”

  “He believes that Adrian Douglas is the father of his daughter, Marlee Wilson.”

  A collective gasp comes from the jury. Adrian’s heartbeat pummels his chest, and a violent shock lances through him.

  “Conrad Wilson believes that Marlee Wilson is Adrian Douglas’s daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “What makes that a delusion?”

  “It’s completely false,” Grayson says. “Dr. Douglas and Megan Haggarty met only a few months ago. I know it’s hard to prove a negative, but I got collateral information by talking to other people.”

  “Who else did you talk with?”

  “Megan Haggarty’s sister, Erin, confirmed that Megan and Adrian Douglas met only three months ago. Megan’s brother-in-law, Bob, confirmed it, too. So did two nurses at Eastport Hospital who’ve known Megan Haggarty for the last two years.”

  “You interviewed four other people besides Conrad?” Kovac asks.