“Yes, they did.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know what I know.” His jaw juts with certainty.
A juror in the front row shakes her head. Another furrows his brow and tilts his head. To Adrian, it seems the jurors instinctively lean away from Conrad, as does the judge.
“Can you prove they had an affair?”
“Yes, I can.”
“What proof do you have?”
“She bore his child … not mine.”
“But Marlee Wilson’s your daughter, isn’t she?”
“No. She’s Adrian Douglas’s.”
“How do you know that, Conrad?”
“I can smell it on her,” he hisses. His face turns venom-red.
A gasp comes from the jury. Frenetic whispering rises in the gallery. Adrian feels a spasm begin in his foot. His ears feel hot and begin ringing.
Grayson leans forward, watching Conrad intently.
“You can smell it?” Kovac asks with arched eyebrows.
“Yes. I smell it coming from the little bastard’s pores, and it’s on her breath. Even her innards reek of him. She’s his, not mine.”
Adrian’s pulse throbs in his throat. Heat flares in his chest as though his heart is bathed in acid. It occurs to him that Conrad is completely insane about Megan, Marlee, and himself.
“How can you smell it on her?” Kovac asks, moving closer to the jury box.
“Her stench fills my nostrils.”
One juror’s mouth hangs agape. Another blinks repeatedly and then squints at Conrad; disbelief is etched on his face.
“So you’re convinced that Adrian Douglas is Marlee’s father, even though other people’ve said that Megan first met Dr. Douglas only three months ago?”
“They’ve kept it a secret.”
“Conrad,” Kovac says, moving closer, “are you familiar with DNA testing?”
“Yes.”
“That it can be used when there’s a question of paternity?”
“Yes.”
“What if we swabbed Marlee’s inner cheek and yours and had the samples tested for DNA? Would that prove she’s your daughter …?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The lab can’t be trusted. There could be a conspiracy.”
“What if I told you—just hypothetically, Conrad—that we could get a sample of Dr. Douglas’s cheek cells, so his DNA could be tested against Marlee’s? And they wouldn’t match. Would that change your mind?”
“It wouldn’t prove a thing. Whose samples would they use?” Conrad’s jaw muscles contract as though he’s clenching his teeth. The guards edge closer.
“So, Conrad, you’re convinced … the fix is in?”
“It’s been a secret for six years.”
Judge Burke stares at Conrad. The jurors are wide-eyed; a woman in the second row covers her mouth.
“So, Conrad, why did you try to kill them?”
“There’s so much evil and betrayal in the world. They must be destroyed.”
“Can’t you forgive them, Conrad?”
“Forgiveness is for the weak. Those who’re strong and righteous must eliminate the evildoers. They murdered my soul. It’s soul murder.”
A sucking sound comes from the gallery. Judge Burke glances at Farley as if to tell the prosecutor this man is insane. The jurors stare, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
The courtroom is so silent, Adrian hears the overhead fluorescent lights buzz like a swarm of insects.
Farley begins his cross-examination. “Mr. Wilson, this conspiracy you talk about, how did it start?”
Conrad stares coldly at Farley. He says nothing.
“Can you answer the question, sir?”
“I already have.”
“I don’t believe you have, Mr. Wilson. Again, how did this start?”
Conrad shakes his head and says, “If you don’t believe me, I can’t convince you. What you think is irrelevant.”
“What about the jury? Are they irrelevant?”
“Yes. Only the truth matters.”
“Don’t you want the jury to understand your version of the truth?”
“They don’t matter.”
“They don’t matter? Even though the rest of your life is in their hands?”
“My life ended long ago. My soul is dead.”
“Let me ask you something, Mr. Wilson. You say this conspiracy involves your ex-wife and Dr. Douglas, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Yet when you saw Dr. Douglas at the bar, you didn’t know who he was. It was a random encounter in a bar one night. Am I right?”
“Correct.”
“But you were aggressive with him—a man who did nothing to you, correct?”
“I confronted him.”
“But he was a stranger. In fact, he hadn’t even met your ex-wife yet.”
“So he claims,” Conrad says, as his eyes bore into Farley.
“But you didn’t know his name or who he was, right?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you confronted him. Why?”
Conrad’s hands hang over the ledge and curl again into huge hammerlike fists.
“Mr. Wilson, why did you confront Dr. Douglas?”
Adrian’s heart throbs; blood thunders in his ears; it feels like his skull will explode.
“Why were you aggressive with Dr. Douglas that night?”
Conrad’s eyes gleam. “Because I knew he was the kid’s father.”
“How on earth could you know that?”
Conrad’s face darkens and he says, “I could smell it on him. He stank. It was the stench of that bastard kid.”
Thirty-two
In his closing argument, Farley scoffs at the notion that Conrad Wilson couldn’t obey the law because he was insane. He emphasizes how Conrad’s acts were meticulously planned. “He knew what he was doing was wrong and he was stealthy,” Farley cries. “And he’s using insanity as an excuse!”
He reviews the evidence and then says, “The defendant’s excuse is his childhood and the loss of his job. My God, every convict in prison has a reason, an excuse. In this society, we’re held responsible for our actions. We can’t blame our parents or our circumstances, our job, our luck, or our genes. We are responsible for what we do.
“The people ask that you hold Conrad Wilson responsible for what he did. The people ask that you find Conrad Wilson guilty for the attempted murders of Megan Haggarty and Adrian Douglas.”
Kovac begins his closing argument. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, you heard the doctors. And most of all, you heard Conrad testify. It’s clear that he was acting under the influence of a delusion—an insane belief. He even thinks he can smell his own daughter on another man he bumps into at a bar. And this was a man whom his ex-wife didn’t meet until a few months ago. And he tries to kill them both.
“If this twisted conviction isn’t insane, then what on earth is? Ladies and gentlemen, you must conclude that Conrad suffers from paranoid delusional disorder, which caused him to act outside the requirements of the law. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask that you find Conrad Wilson not guilty by reason of insanity.”
After a short recess, Judge Burke addresses the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to instruct you about the law. In this case, the defendant has admitted to his actions, so that’s not at issue.
“What is at issue is the defendant’s state of mind when he acted. The defendant claims he was insane at the time. The burden of proof rests with the defendant, not the state. He must prove his claim by a preponderance of the evidence. This means that based on the evidence, you may conclude that the defendant’s claim is more likely true than not true. Or it may not be. That is the decision before you.”
The jurors appear to be listening intently.
“The defendant claims that because of a mental disorder, he acted the way he did. That is the issue you must decide. It doesn’t matter that he can work as a carpenter or a mason or that he may seem n
ormal to the casual observer. What matters only is his state of mind as it relates specifically to the crimes he’s charged with.
“Now, your verdict must be unanimous. Your only decision is this one: did the defendant suffer from a mental disorder at the time of his crimes and, because of that disorder, was he unable to act lawfully?”
The jurors’ heads nod in unison.
“In other words, you may find the defendant either guilty, in which case he will be sentenced to a penal facility. Or, you may find him not guilty by reason of insanity.”
Burke pauses and looks along both rows of jurors.
“Now, I’m required by Connecticut statute to tell you the following: a finding of not guilty by reason of insanity does not mean the defendant is a free man.
“If you find him not guilty by reason of insanity, he’ll be confined to a state mental institution for long-term treatment. The acquittee—as he is known at that point—will remain confined involuntarily. He will remain committed until such time as he is no longer mentally ill, which may take years, or may never occur. So a finding of not guilty by reason of insanity does not mean the defendant leaves court a free man.
“I hope I’ve explained this clearly and concisely to you and wish you Godspeed in your deliberations.”
The jury returns after three hours.
The courtroom settles down as coughing and throat clearing come to an end. Adrian watches as the jury files into the two rows of the jury box. He realizes he can’t read them; each juror maintains a sphinxlike face, inscrutable, not a hint of their determination. His insides hum and nearly vibrate, and his legs tense. He glances at Grayson, who sits next to DuPont. They both stare straight ahead at the judge.
“Ladies and gentlemen, have you reached a verdict?” Burke asks.
The jury foreman, a balding man of about fifty, stands and says, “Yes, we have, Your Honor.”
“Is the verdict unanimous?”
“Yes, it is, Your Honor.”
“Will the defendant please rise,” Burke says.
Conrad and Kovac stand behind the defense table.
Burke says, “What say you in the matter of the State of Connecticut versus Conrad Wilson?”
The hissing in Adrian’s ears sounds like steam rushing from an open valve.
“We the jury find the defendant, Conrad Wilson, not guilty by reason of insanity.”
Gasps come from the gallery and then murmurs and whispers followed by a choral drone. Grayson, DuPont, and Morgan stand. Grayson glances back and looks around the courtroom. His eyes rest on Adrian and he nods in what seems to Adrian a sympathetic way. A cadre of court officers converges on Conrad. He’s handcuffed and stares straight ahead; he neither looks at nor speaks to Kovac.
A poisonous tide swirls through Adrian as a chill invades his flesh. The jury’s decided that Conrad Wilson is a madman. Adrian is again thankful Megan isn’t in the courtroom.
“So it has been decided,” Burke says. “I remand the acquitted to the Whitehall Forensic Institute in Ansonia for involuntary treatment on an indefinite basis, subject to further review and hearings.”
The gavel slams down.
Thirty-three
Adrian and Megan sit on the living room sofa. Marlee is asleep in her bedroom. Megan’s head feels heavy on Adrian’s shoulder. He realizes she’s drifted off to sleep.
It’s been nearly three weeks since the trial. Last night was the fourth in a row Megan slept without the elevator dream waking her in a cold sweat. And she hasn’t taken an Ambien in more than a week. She’s been back at work for nearly a month, and it’s going well. The old building’s completely sealed off, and plans for its demolition are on an ultrafast track.
It’s clear to Adrian that once Conrad was sent to Whitehall, the horror of what happened receded to some distant backwater of his own mind. And with today’s explosive new development—an absolute life changer—a new and exciting world has suddenly blossomed.
The TV is playing softly. Jay Leno is warming the audience up with a monologue. Adrian presses the remote’s “Mute” button. His thoughts return to the evening in Megan’s apartment many weeks ago when she described the night Conrad nearly killed Marlee. Looking pleadingly at him, Megan had said, “Adrian, there’s something else I need to tell you about Conrad and me.”
She described the visits to Dr. Green, her gynecologist, and then the referral to a fertility expert. “So … my husband wanted a baby. And frankly, Adrian, I wanted one, too. But there was no pregnancy, and I knew Conrad would never go for a semen analysis. The fertility doctor said there was only one option available.”
“Which was?”
Megan’s lips quivered and her eyes grew moist.
“It would have to be artificial insemination.”
“Using another man’s sperm?”
“Yes. But I could never tell Conrad.”
“It would be a secret?”
“Oh, Adrian. I know … it’s a terrible secret,” she said, with quivering lips. “But I was desperate. I thought having a baby was the only way to save the marriage.”
“But—”
“I was just so desperate to save the marriage. The fertility doctor convinced me it was a good idea. Conrad would have a child, and things would get better between us.”
“Okay, I can understand that.”
Adrian realized Megan’s mind-bending bind—it was an insoluble problem.
“Also,” she said, “I could pick the donor’s eye color, height, and ethnic type, so the baby would resemble Conrad. And all donors are college graduates. I wanted that because Conrad’s so smart.”
“So to this day, Conrad doesn’t know Marlee’s not his?”
“Adrian, only you know,” Megan said with a brittle laugh. “Not even Erin knows the truth.”
“It was an impossible situation.”
“I was trying to do the right thing. Can you understand?”
“Yes, my love. I do.”
“And it’s all so strange,” Megan said. “Conrad claims Marlee’s not his, and even though he’s crazy, he’s right. He’s absolutely right.”
“And you’ve shared this with me,” he said, pulling her closer.
“Only you, Adrian. It’s my deepest secret.”
“It was a secret of good intentions,” he whispered.
“I wanted to preserve Conrad’s self-respect and hold the marriage together. So I’ve been living a lie.”
Megan stirs and suddenly startles awake. She looks into Adrian’s eyes and plants a kiss on his neck.
Adrian nuzzles her, inhales the fragrance of her hair. “You and Marlee are so much a part of my life. I want us to be together, always.”
She looks up at him. “What’s wrong? You look so sad.”
“I’m so happy, I could cry,” he says, nearly trembling. He feels a strange lightness in his chest, the one he sometimes feels when Megan and Marlee laugh at some inane joke he’s made or when they’re in the car singing the lyrics to a song on the radio. He picks up the remote and turns off the television.
Is there an easy way to tell her about today’s development?
“How much do you know about DNA paternity testing?” he asks.
“I know it’s used in child support cases, but why?”
“Because—”
“Do you think Conrad’ll have Marlee tested?” She jumps up as though she’s been scalded. “Oh, my God,” she blurts. “And now he has this lawyer, Kovac…”
He clutches her hands. They’re cold and clammy.
“I can see it in the Connecticut Post,” she says. “A man claims his wife had another man’s baby and she tried to pawn it off as his, so now he’s in an insane asylum, but he’s demanding DNA testing.” A knuckle goes to her lips. “This could be terrible—”
“Megan, listen. Have you ever heard of DNA testing with PCR?”
“No.”
“PCR stands for polymerase chain reaction. Any sample can be used. Blood, saliva, a piece of skin
; anything with cells can give a profile.”
“So if Kovac demands a DNA profile, he’ll prove Marlee’s not Conrad’s. And if he supervises the test, there won’t be any doubt—”
“Megan, half of Marlee’s DNA matches yours, and the other half—”
“Of course, but, Adrian, what’s this about?”
“Megan, do you remember when you told me about the AI?”
“Yes,” she says as her chin trembles.
“And I told you the lab concentrated my sperm so Peggy could get pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“Well, they cryofroze my semen.”
“Yes?”
“What I didn’t mention was that a few months later, the lab called. They wanted to know if we’d be using the sperm.”
“So?”
“They wanted it for their sperm bank inventory.”
“And?”
“I said it was fine. And they sent me a nondisclosure contract.”
“So, where does this lead?”
“It leads to Gen-Health Labs.”
“The lab in New Haven?”
“Yes. Where you told me you went. I was a donor there.”
“Oh, darling,” Megan says. “The odds of you being my donor are ridiculous.”
“Listen my love, after you mentioned Gen-Health, I went online and ordered a paternity testing kit. I wanted to—”
“Adrian, it’s absurd.”
“It came in the mail. It has swab sticks, vials, and a prepaid mailing box. You take a tissue sample from the child and from the presumed father—”
“You’re suggesting we test Marlee? And we test you?” Megan folds her arms across her chest and says, “Adrian, the odds are so remote.”
“Listen, Megan. After you mentioned Gen-Health, I made an appointment with their geneticist.”
“A geneticist, why?”
“Her name’s Dr. Lefer.” He pauses, recalling the conversation. “I told her I’d been a donor there. She had my file and the nondisclosure contract. She said if my sperm was used, she couldn’t tell me a thing about the recipient. It would violate privacy laws.”
“What were you looking for?”
“Their records confirmed that my sperm was used. Lefer said the lab matches donors based on characteristics the woman specifies.”
Love Gone Mad Page 21
