"I can't do that."
"Because this person is your client."
"Correct."
"Male or female?"
"I'm restricted from saying."
"Mr. Largent, were you somehow involved with Suzanne Fairmont?"
"She was a lawyer in my law firm."
"Were you romantically involved with her?"
"Romantically? No."
"Physically involved with her?"
"No."
"All right. Had you had sex with Suzanne Fairmont?"
"Definitely not. She was young enough to be my daughter."
"Was the person who killed her, was this person related to you?"
"No."
"Was it your wife?"
"No."
"Was your wife with you that night?"
"Yes."
"Your wife was with you at the office?"
"Yes."
"Is your wife a lawyer?"
"No."
"So if I put your wife on the witness stand and asked her for the shooter's identity, she wouldn't be able to claim attorney-client confidentiality, would she?"
"My wife sometimes works for me. My confidentiality would extend to her as well."
"She couldn't testify because she sometimes works for you?"
"That is correct?"
"Where is your wife right now?"
"At home, I assume."
"Will you produce her at court in the morning so I can call her as a rebuttal witness?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"That's not my job, to produce your witnesses."
"Fair enough."
Eckles then studied his notes and made marks on his papers with his pen. Then he continued.
He asked Ansel about his psychiatric history, his history with medications, his experience at times when he didn't ingest prescribed levels of medication and he brought out that this had in fact happened several times over the last five years. The psychiatric problems were early onset, meaning about the age of eighteen or nineteen, and grew progressively more pronounced in his twenties and at times debilitating in his thirties until the problems were first diagnosed after a complete break with reality following a wine-tasting fete at an artist's gallery opening on the north side of town. He had "come unglued," as he put it, after a glass of wine, and had been taken by his wife to the ER to be checked out. Physical tests revealed nothing and were unable to explain his utter disorientation. He was admitted, a psychiatric consult scheduled, and a day later was diagnosed as bipolar with psychosis. Fortunately the condition was controllable by the use of some pretty common psychoactive medications and Ansel was able to resume a full and happy life thereafter. The only restriction was that he not ingest alcohol or street drugs while he was taking his medicine. He had fully complied and only missed medicating a few times but those few times had been unpleasant and created problems in his personal life.
Ansel testified that the early-morning arrest the day he was taken to jail made it impossible for him to medicate, and that by early afternoon he was seeing things and hearing voices. Was this common for him? Common enough that he never missed his meds, he said; they meant the difference between a life worth living and a life in the shadows of psychosis.
Eckles then tried to bear down on the afternoon-early-evening visit with Detective Jake O'Connor.
"By the time you saw Lieutenant O'Connor you hadn't been without your medications for a long enough period of time that you were disoriented as to place, correct?"
"No, that would be incorrect."
"You knew where you were, correct?"
"It came and went. I--"
"Please answer 'yes' or 'no.' My questions call for a yes or no answer. Agreed?"
"Yes."
"Again, you knew where you were, correct?"
"At first, then--"
"Please, 'yes' or 'no.'"
"I can't answer yes or not. It was like being on a scale of one to ten. It started at a one and went all the way to ten over the afternoon."
"Objection, non-responsive. Move to strike."
Judge Zang peered down at D.A. Eckles.
"No, I think it was responsive. Your objection is overruled."
"At the time you were introduced to Lieutenant O'Connor you understood you were being held in jail, isn't that true?"
"Yes and no."
"Your Honor--"
"Mr. Largent, please restrict your answers to yes or no. If more explanation is required, your attorney can bring that out on re-direct examination."
"Okay."
"You knew you were being held in jail, correct?"
"No."
"You knew he was a police officer, correct?"
"I thought he was an insurance client."
Another objection followed and, when he saw the witness was too agile to be caught up in the cross-examiner's usual 'yes/no' system of attack, Eckles finally shrugged and sat down.
But a point had been made. The witness was very skilled at testifying because he was a lawyer, and therefore not entirely believable. At least that's the impression Thaddeus had when it was said and done. He made the judgment that follow-up would really only be self-serving and, in fact, might open the door for Eckles to come back and grill Ansel again. So Thaddeus declined further questions and Ansel took his seat at counsel table.
Thaddeus wanted to lay more foundation for the psychotic episode at the jail. He needed expert testimony to do that. For that, he called upon Ansel's psychiatrist, Abigail Wurster, M.D.
Dr. Wurster was a 1982 graduate of the University of the Illinois College of Medicine at Chicago. She had completed a four year residency in adult psychiatry at Chicago Lutheran Memorial Hospital. CLMH was a medical provider with a primary outreach to mental patients suffering emotional and mental ailments.
She was tall, nearly six feet in her stocking feet, and pale complected, the result of spending most of her life indoors with books and, as she was assimilated into the practice of medicine, indoors in hospitals. Dr. Wurster wore her gray hair in a bun during the day, and down at night, brushing two hundred strokes at bedtime, as required by her mother from the earliest times on. It was a solid habit, one she wouldn't have admitted to a colleague, as it was compulsive.
She simply didn't have the time--or, really, the inclination--to engage in outdoor activities like gardening or hiking, preferring to spend her downtime reading romance novels in the privacy of her high-rise apartment on Michigan Avenue. Her faves were Rosalind James (she loved New Zealand and wanted to go there) and somebody Freethy. She thought.
She lived alone, her only companion being Sylvester the cat, a tabby accustomed to keeping long hours on his own while his caregiver was off to the hospital. She allowed herself a compulsion or two; hair-brushing was one; another was the study of psychiatry in criminal law. She was accomplished in the first and expert in the second and her testimony was in high demand around Cook County. Fortunately for Ansel, she had been his treating physician for fifteen years and her availability to assist him on the defense of his criminal case was automatic. As in, she couldn't say no.
Thaddeus called Dr. Wurster as the second defense witness.
She was gangly at six feet and made her way from the back of the courtroom down the aisle and crossed in front of the jury, all elbows and knees. She took a seat on the witness stand and folded her hands in front of her. No notes, no patient chart, nothing brought along that might give Eckles the opportunity to nose around. She was a pro all the way and the jury sensed that right off.
Thaddeus smiled at her and said, "Tell us your name?"
"Abigail Wurster."
"You're a physician?"
"Yes, in Evanston and Chicago.”
She then told about her education, her residency, her board certifications, and her work experience. All the time the jury was focused and attentive, sensing that she had information that would help them make some very difficult decisions.
"Are you the physician fo
r Ansel Largent?"
"I am."
"How long have you been his physician?"
"Since August 29, 2001."
"Are you treating him?"
"Monitoring his meds at this time."
"Have you performed testing on him?"
"Not really. Psychologists do the testing. I'm a medical doctor."
"How often do you seen Ansel?"
"Every ninety days."
"What is your diagnosis of his condition?"
"Bipolar Disorder I. Secondary OCD."
"OCD being obsessive compulsive disorder?"
"Correct."
The doctor withdrew a blue tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes. "Sorry, dry eyes. Makes them water.”
"Now tell us about bipolar disorder."
"Bipolar disorder is best described symptomatically probably for what you're asking. Bipolar disorder causes dramatic mood swings--from feeling overly 'high' and/or irritable to sad and hopeless, and then back again, often with periods of normal mood in between. Severe changes in energy and behavior go along with these episodes. The periods of highs and lows are called episodes of mania and depression. It is often not recognized as an illness, and people may suffer for years before it is properly diagnosed and treated."
"Is that what happened to Ansel?"
"Yes, he went untreated for years. That's not uncommon. Peers and friends just see the affected person as odd or strange or, in today's terms, as something of a whack job."
The jurors smiled. They certainly understood that.
"All right." Thaddeus consulted his notes. He wanted to get into the psychosis issues, but first he wanted the jury to understand more about Ansel's treatment.
"How do you treat Ansel's bipolar disorder?"
"With medications. Lamotrigine and Risperidone. Those are a mood stabilizer and an antipsychotic. We used Depakote for a couple of years but that caused weight gain. Almost twenty-five pounds. So we discontinued and added Lamotrigine, also known as Lamictal."
"The Lamotrigine is a mood stabilizer."
"It is, but don't ask me how it works. No one knows that."
"I appreciate that. Some medicines work and medical science has no idea why, correct?"
She nodded. "Exactly." She dabbed at her eyes again. "I'm not crying, really."
"Now let's talk about the Risperidone. You said it's an antipsychotic?"
"It is. Primary use is for treatment of schizophrenia."
"Is Ansel schizophrenic?"
"Aspects of. He can go into psychosis."
"So the drug controls his psychosis."
"Exactly."
"Can withdrawal from the drug trigger acute episodes of psychosis?"
"The therapeutic efficacy of Risperidone for schizophrenia has been well established by several controlled trials conducted worldwide. Risperidone also has been reported to have therapeutic efficacy in major depressive disorder with psychosis, organic delusional disorders, bipolar mania, and schizoaffective disorder. The abrupt withdrawal of the drug can definitely trigger, as you put it, psychosis."
"Even the withdrawal of the drug for, say, six or eight hours?"
"Could, yes."
"In our case, Ansel normally took his Risperidone at five-thirty in the morning before leaving for the office. On the day he was arrested, he wasn't allowed to take that dose and by four o'clock that afternoon he has testified he was disoriented. Is this possible?"
"Definitely. That would be period of over ten hours. That type of delay in the daily dosage could definitely result in an induced state of psychosis."
"So if Ansel testified he saw a person at the jail and thought that person was a client when, in fact, the person was a detective in plain clothes, would that fit with the type of psychosis you might expect?"
"It could."
"Could or would."
"Definitely possible. That development wouldn't surprise me at all."
"And if that person asked him to handle a gun and he did, thinking it was the gun involved in a products liability case, would that surprise you?"
"Not at all. That kind of misconstruing of data would be very typical of an induced psychosis from the withdrawal of Risperidone."
Thaddeus stepped back. She had just given the full, complete answer he would need to make the argument he wished to pursue in closing argument. The doctor backed up Ansel's story and, truth be told, it didn't get any better than that. He had been around the block enough to know this kind of testimony could also fall apart very easily, so he decided to quit while he was ahead. He told the judge that he was finished asking questions.
"Cross examination?" asked Judge Zang of D.A. Eckles.
"Just one question. Doctor, you weren't there the day Mr. Largent claims he was having a flare-up and so you don't know for certain whether he was psychotic or not, do you?"
"No, I would not know that for certain."
"That is all."
Thaddeus climbed to his feet.
"One follow-up. Doctor, isn't it true within a reasonable degree of medical probability that, given the facts I have given you, Ansel Largely was experiencing a psychotic episode?"
"Yes."
"Yes he was experiencing a psychotic episode?'
"Yes he was."
The doctor was excused.
Thaddeus returned to counsel table. He told the judge he had no more witnesses that day and since it was almost four-fifteen he would ask the court to recess. Judge Zang announced that Thursday he would be away from court on personal business. They would reconvene on Friday. Several jurors looked upset but said nothing. Others looked relieved, and Thaddeus guessed they were the jurors who would have a day off, having been excused from their jobs for the week. They were excused and the judge headed for his office, unzipping the black robe as he went. Two deputies came for Ansel. Thaddeus begged one minute with his clients. The deputies said no problem and backed away.
Thaddeus whispered to Ansel.
"That's it for the day. I need you to do something."
"Name it."
"Call Libby. Tell her I'm coming to the house to pick up clothes for you."
"You don't like what I'm wearing?"
"I just want you fresh for tomorrow."
"She can bring my things."
"No, I want to do this. You have to look just right tomorrow."
Ansel gave him a quizzical look and shrugged.
"Okay. You're the boss."
Thaddeus smiled. "That's right, I am."
Ansel was returned to the jail and Thaddeus went back to the office to prepare for the following day.
At nine o'clock that night he left for Ansel's home.
45
Chapter 45
The drive up to Evanston from downtown took thirty minutes and Thaddeus spent another fifteen locating Ansel's street and house number. His Garmin didn't seem to know east from west and at one time he was about to drive into Lake Michigan when he realized his GPS was acting up. He retraced his path and went west where Garmin said to go east, and found the cross-street. Two blocks later he was at Ansel's gate, where he lowered his window and pressed the intercom. He announced himself and moments later the gate lifted. He pulled up to the front steps and got out.
Libby answered the door. She was wearing grey slacks and a white sweater. A glass of wine jittered in one hand and a cigarette burned in her left. Big band swing was playing from somewhere behind. He looked in her eyes and saw they were glassy.
"Come in, Thad," she said. "I'm having a pity party."
"No need for that. He'll be home for the weekend."
"What makesh you sho shure?"
Thaddeus tapped the side of his head. "Brute strength and awkwardness. Can you take me to his closet?"
"Up the shtairs, second door on the right. Go through the bedroom and there'sh a walk-in. Hish stuff's--well, you'll shee it. I'm shtaying here. Shtairs are too damn much."
"Thanks, Libby."
He climbed the stairs. He passed th
e second door on the right and went swiftly to the far end of the hallway. Where Ansel had told him Libby slept and kept her clothes.
On entering the bedroom, he glimpsed, on the east wall, a triptych of Canyon de Chelly. He wondered when Libby had found the time to visit this remote place. His eyes moved around the room and he made several mental notes. He went left and entered a massive walk-in closet.
Ansel's side was on the right as some of his things were still kept in this larger, walk-in, closet. Libby's clothes were neatly arranged all along the left side. He made a cursory appraisal of Ansel's hangered suits, chose a hazel winter wool, complemented it with a white button-down, and twirled the necktie wheel until he found a chocolate necktie that would--as the designers were fond of saying on HGTV--pop. The selections were made quickly and almost as an afterthought, because Ansel's wardrobe was not the real reason he had come there.
He turned to Libby's side and appraised her items. The hanging clothes were divided into winter on the right half, spring and summer on the left. He bent and crept to the right side of her half and looked around. What he had come looking for wasn't at that end. He stood up and went to the other end, where he again bent and looked around.
Then he found what he was after. It was a ceramic umbrella stand with a cream glaze, a blue trumpeting elephant raised on its side in relief. It contained no less than eight canes. He pushed aside the hanging clothes and sorted through the canes. A likely prospect caught his eye; an aluminum walking aid with a hard plastic handle, adjustable with a push-lock halfway down the shaft, and tipped with circular rubber that--he turned it bottom side up--and there it was. Four parallel treads etched into the circular rubber foot. With a dark smear of a hardened, thick substance that almost resembled paste.
Except it was red.
Deep blood red.
He tugged the cane out of the umbrella stand and telescoped it down to its shortest length. He inserted it beneath Ansel's coat on its wooden hanger. The handle curled around the top of the hanger and the length of the coat covered it up exactly. He gathered coat and slacks by their hangers in one hand, added the dry-cleaned, hangered shirt to the clutch, and encircled the chocolate tie around the three hanger loops.
Now he was ready.
He silently crept back downstairs.
The Mental Case (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 6) Page 23
