If It Walks Like A Killer (The Carolina Killer Files #1) (15 page)

“Your honor, this is completely relevant. If Mrs. Abbott has assumed responsibility, by signing that waiver, for a situation like that, how can Hampton hope to use this as a defense in a situation like this? The defendant accepted responsibility for whatever her actions may be. Rachael Abbott knew something like this could happen and she signed that paper and left the hospital that night anyway.”

“I have to agree with Hampton, Avery. Strike that question from the record and do not answer, doctor.”

Carrigan swallowed hard, his palms sweaty. Avery sighed, poorly attempting to hide her distain.

“Doctor, you’ve told us that Mrs. Abbott knew the risks of leaving the hospital before her twenty-four hours of observation were up, right?”

“Yes.”

“You said twenty-four hours specifically. Not until she was better or until she was stable, but twenty-four hours. Why is that?”

“Well, typically we prefer to hold patients overnight, our goal being twenty-four hours of observation. Particularly with head injuries. During that time, we monitor our patients for any signs of duress. Obviously, if there are complications, their stay is usually extended. Typically, stability for twenty-four hours is a great indication that they’re going to be just fine.”

Avery touched her hand to her chin, feigning deep thinking. “So, most symptoms show up within twenty-four hours?”

“Typically, yes. The first twenty-four hours are critical. If the symptoms don’t present themselves within that time, even in a small degree, chances of them occurring drastically decrease.”

“Twenty-four hours, huh? So I’m guessing that after thirty-six hours chances drop again?”

“Of course. They drop continually.”

“They’d drop even lower after forty-eight hours then?”

“Yes.”

“And again after seventy-two hours?”

“Yes.”

“Then, tell me Dr. Carrigan, how likely are symptoms to appear after approximately…four hundred and eighty hours?” She shrugged her shoulders as if she were just throwing a random number out.

Carrigan spotted something primal in her eyes though, something that had him using every bit of his mental math skills to try and figure out how long that would be.
Long enough to be in the clear.

“Doctor?”

“Very slim. I won’t say impossible, because in my line of work we’ve seen it all, but I’d go so far as to say I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that before.”

“You claimed to have treated Mrs. Abbott on October 23. Miss Underwood was murdered on November 11. Forgive me, my math skills aren’t what they once were, but that leaves twenty days between the accident and the murder. Four hundred and eighty hours, give or take a few. Would you still say, given that time frame, that it’s likely our defendant was suffering from a symptom due to her accident?”

Carrigan met Avery’s cold glare. “You know, I’ve been a doctor for fourteen years, plus eight years of medical school, and five years of residency. After you do something for so long you start to think you’ve seen all there is to see. I once had a patient come into the ER with acute abdominal pain in her left pelvic area. She had had a hysterectomy six years before that so we ruled out cysts on her ovaries and began exploring other options. We did an ultrasound on her appendix and do you know what we saw?”

“Tell me.”

“An ovary. An ovary so covered in cysts it was ready to rupture. Her pathology report showed that her ovaries had been removed, but I guess they left some cells behind by mistake. Maybe two cells, maybe twelve. We saved that woman’s life. Have you ever heard of a phantom limb?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“It’s when amputee patients experience sensation, particularly pain, in a limb or limbs that no longer exist. That’s actually quite common.”

“What’s your point, Doctor Carrigan?”

“My point is, Ms. Avery, no matter the odds everything is possible. Every single day we see things that are literally impossible: patients with no chance miraculously recover, seemingly healthy people are given two weeks to live, hearts keep beating, comas end. So I can’t tell you that Mrs. Abbott had blackouts, but I can’t tell you she didn’t either. There’s no way any of us could possibly know.”

Avery folded her arms across her chest. “One last question. You told us Mrs. Abbott had to be sedated because she was so worried about her children.”

“Yes.” It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway.

“In all the time you were treating her, did Mrs. Abbott ever show concern about her husband?”

Carrigan thought back to that day, caught off guard by the question, but he knew the answer immediately. “No. She did not.”

“Thank you.”

Carrigan smiled, looking toward Hampton for approval. Hampton wasn’t smiling, however. Instead, he was staring at Rachael, who was thrusting her head into the trashcan, filling it once again.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Rachael

Hampton’s arms led Rachael through the hallway toward her cell. She could no longer see through her tear filled eyes. He rubbed her shoulders, helping her to sit in the chair.

“Can I get a tissue in here?” he yelled over his shoulder to no one in particular.

Rachael noticed the compassion in his voice, compassion she hadn’t noticed before now. She couldn’t help feeling grateful for all he’d done for her today. Without Hampton, she felt as though she might just slip off into nothingness, and at this point she couldn’t help feeling like even that would be better than where she was. Hampton took a paper towel from an officer and kneeled down so he was eye level with her. He wiped her chin, gently pushing her hair back from her face. His gentleness only made Rachael cry harder.

“Don’t cry. Talk to me.”

Rachael sat back, trying to recall the last time she’d even heard her own voice.
Has it really been days?

“I need to know. Do you believe I could’ve killed that girl? Honestly? You believe that I blacked out and killed her? How could I possibly forget something like that?”

Hampton stood up, not breaking eye contact. He walked toward the door with a quickened pace. Rachael watched him approach the guard.

“I need a private word with my client. No one is to come through this door. Let me know when we have five minutes left.”

He shut the door without waiting for a response and turned back toward Rachael. “I don’t know what to believe, Rachael. From the time you met me you’ve hated me, pushed me away, even yelled at me. I’m trying to do my job. I’m doing it the best way I know how to but I need your help. I needed your help two weeks ago when we could’ve made a decent case instead of doing this all on my own. You wouldn’t help me, you wouldn’t give me anything to work with. Hell, you didn’t even tell me about the accident. I had to find out on my own.”

“You wrote me off as guilty the second you took this case. What good would it have been for me to talk to you?”

“Look, I get it. This sucks, but Rachael this is happening. It’s real. I’m sorry for that, but sorry doesn’t fix it. Right now we need to deal with this because in about an hour a decision will be made and it’ll be too late, if it isn’t already. I’m out of witnesses, I’m out of ideas. This is where I need you to suck it up and just talk to me. I’m going home either way after this, it’s your choice what happens to you.”

Rachael wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You’re right.”

“Thank you.”

“No. You’re right that you can’t imagine what this is like. A month ago my life was good. Apparently, not as good as my husband’s, but good. A month ago, my biggest concern was making sure that my daughter finished her homework or that my dance class was ready for their recital. Then the accident happened. The moment I lost control I just started praying. I prayed and I prayed that God would protect my family. On the way to the hospital the EMT’s couldn’t tell me anything. I didn’t even know if my family was alive. So, I started bargaining with God: if my husband lives, I won’t fight with him anymore. If Brinley is okay, I won’t yell at her about her messy room ever again. If Davis survives, I’ll never complain about watching Elmo again. My prayers were answered, Hampton. My family was remarkably well. After the accident I thought we would all get closer. I thought we’d all realize how important we were to each other. And do you know what changed? Nothing. We went back to normal almost instantaneously: late nights at work, dishes piling up, never ending laundry, the kids fighting. I was hurt by how quickly it all went back to usual. Do you know what I would give to go back to the normal I hated so much? On the morning I was arrested, I’d made up my mind to leave my husband. We were fighting when I noticed the first cop car pull into our driveway. All sorts of terrible scenarios played in my head. I thought maybe something had happened to his parents or our friends. My studio was broken into last spring so I wondered if maybe it had happened again. I never once thought that they were there for me. Not once. I’m not a criminal. I pay my taxes on time, I don’t run stop lights, and if I leave a store and realize I forgot to pay for something I always go back. I never dreamed they could be there for anything but sympathy.”

She looked away, her chin quivering. When she could speak again, she turned to him. “Caide knew though. He told me to hide, thought they were there for him. I thought he was joking. When something that off the wall happens your brain doesn’t comprehend it. I can’t explain it. He told me to hide—take the kids and hide. He didn’t want them to see him being arrested. I went and woke Brinley up, throwing our son over my shoulder and toting them to my bedroom. I held them in my arms and we waited. When my bedroom door opened, I expected Caide. Instead an officer walked in. He told me to stand up, said that he was there to arrest me. It all seems like a dream now. I remember how hard the cuffs were, slamming into my wrists. I tried to smile at my children—I try to teach them cops are nothing to be afraid of but I was terrified. I didn’t know Blaire. She was always just a girl at Caide’s office. Until this trial I didn’t even know her last name. Then you came in. That was when I realized how very real this all was. Caide hates you. You’re his biggest competition and I knew he’d never hire you, unless it were serious.” His eyes locked on hers as she spoke, his thumb rubbing her hand. “But you never even thought I might be innocent. In movies, the lawyers always believe their clients, but you never believed in me.”

“I was trying to help you, Rachael. I opened up to you about my wife because for the first time I understand the criminal I’m representing. I understand the crime. I’ve never worked this hard for a case. Never. I usually wouldn’t have even taken a case with this much against us. I want you to win. I do not want to see you go down for this.”

She shook her head. “I still don’t understand it. In jail, I just kept quiet. I didn’t talk to anyone, I didn’t eat much. I became a shell of myself. I thought if I was still long enough I’d finally wake up and this would all just be a terrible dream. Even in court I kept waiting for the big reveal, for someone to jump out and yell ‘Got you.’ I want to believe someone is setting me up, but when I saw that video…that was me standing there. It was me talking to Blaire. I wasn’t sure at first, but I was even wearing a shirt that Caide got me last year for my birthday. As I sat there, watching myself doing things I can’t remember, I kept waiting for some big flashback moment to sneak up and smack me in the face, but it never did. I know it was me, but I don’t remember any of it, I swear.”

“What do you remember?”

“I went to sleep in Brinley’s bed. I read her a story and we were asleep by eight. Caide still wasn’t home. When I woke up I was still in her bed, still wearing the nightgown from the night before.”

“Do you have a history of sleep walking?”

“No. Not that I know of, I swear.”

He knelt down, eye level with her once again. “I believe you, Rachael. Even if that makes me crazy, I do believe you. That’s not going to be enough though. I just need more time than we’ve got. If I’d been able to research sleep disorders, maybe head injury induced, maybe I could’ve found something. You have to believe me when I say I’d literally do anything to save you. We’ve run out of time.”

“Put me on the stand. Let me say what I’ve told you.”

Argus shook his head. “No. You’re far from okay. You’ve gotten sick too much, you’re pale and shaky. Avery would chew you up and spit you out up there. The doctor, I’m afraid, was our last hope.” He glanced at his watch. “Rachael, I need you to listen to me, okay?”

She looked at him, his eyes filled with despair. He was silent for far too long and Rachael feared she knew what was coming.

“They’re going to convict you.”

Rachael’s heart began to pound, her skin growing cold. Argus leaned into her, his face only inches from hers.

“I’m going to keep digging, okay? I’m not giving up on you. I’m going to fight their decision until you’re home. I will get you home, do you hear me? Until that time, I need you to be brave, okay? It’s not going to be easy. Keep your nose down, keep to yourself, and stay strong.”

Rachael nodded, though she felt as if she was going to faint. He placed his hand on her cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. His hand was rough against her cheek, but nice. She sighed, and internally yelled at herself not to cry and not to faint, though either was definitely a possibility at this point.

***

Hampton

Hampton looked into Rachael’s doe like eyes and felt more useless than ever. There had to be something, something he was overlooking. He reminded himself that he’d known what to expect when he’d taken the case on, but that didn’t make this any easier.

Just then there was a scuffle outside of the doorway. The door opened tentatively, Hampton glanced at his watch.

“We still have twenty minutes. I specifically told you no one was to come in this room.” He stood up to face the intruder.

The young guard stuck his head in. “I know, sir. I’m sorry. She insisted.”

Audrey Hagen entered the room, looking persistent as ever. Her long black hair strewn everywhere, giving Hampton the notion that she’d been running.

“Audrey?” Rachael asked, genuine concern on her face.

“What is it?” Hampton asked.

“I’ve got an idea.” She smiled brightly

“What is it?” Rachael stood from her chair.

Hampton’s attention was drawn from Audrey to the door, which was now opening again. Hampton watched as a middle aged woman dressed in a bright white suit entered the room. He didn’t recognize the woman and he could tell by Rachael’s expression she didn’t either. Without waiting for an introduction, the woman tossed her brown curls off of her shoulder and reached for Rachael’s hand.

“You must be Rachael?”

Rachael nodded, shaking her hand in return.

“I’m sorry, but who are you? My client and I are on a very tight schedule and we don’t have time to chat.”

The woman flashed Hampton a dazzling smile. “Forgive me, but you’ll want to hear what I have to say, trust me.” She held out her hand. “I’m Shayna Steele.”

Shayna Steele.
Where had he heard that name before? Before he could place it, Rachael answered his question.

“I’ve heard of you. You’re that psychiatrist that’s always featured in the Hanover Tribune, right?”

Shayna’s eyes lit up. “I’ve had a few exclusives on my work done, yes. When Audrey called me, I rushed down. I think I can help you.” She glanced from Rachael to Hampton and back.

“What do you mean?”

“I specialize in patients with late onset dissociative identity disorder, though you probably know it as multiple personality disorder. In general, patients experience symptoms of DID very young, but rarely it appears later in life. I’m trying to find out why, particularly as it relates to trauma. If I’m right, if Rachael has it, and if the symptoms only started recently, we may be able to get you acquitted of all charges.”

“I’m sorry, what? Multiple personalities? You think I’m crazy?”

“I don’t think you’re crazy at all, Rachael. I don’t think any of this is your fault and I’d like to help prove it. DID is a pretty common disorder. Typically with therapy and proper medication, you can live a very normal life. I’m hoping that if it’s a trauma that has caused this, once you’re fully healed the symptoms may disappear.”

“And you’re saying you are willing to testify in court that my client has this disorder?”

“Of course not. Not yet, anyway. Why, I only met her five minutes ago. I’d like to run some tests, give her a thorough work up.”

“How long will that take? Because unless you can be finished in,” he paused, glancing at his watch, “twelve minutes, then it does us no good at the moment.”

Shayna looked to Hampton, a small smile on her face. “I was actually hoping you could get the judge to postpone the remainder of the trial. I’d need a few sessions with her.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. How do you expect me to pull that off?”

“Come on now, Hampton. I’ve heard all about you, you’re practically famous, and I don’t mean those dreadful billboards hanging over West End. You can’t tell me you don’t have a few tricks up your sleeve.” She winked at him.

Hampton swallowed, feeling annoyed. “There’s no way the judge will grant a continuance. What’s your evidence? What exactly should I pitch to him?”

“My evidence? I don’t have anything but what I’ve told you. Your doctor claimed to believe she’d suffered a blackout, right? What he lacked was proof. If my theory is correct, I can get you proof, an actual medical diagnosis. Doesn’t it make more sense this way? Rather than asking the jury to believe something as farfetched and, frankly, unproven as a blackout let them believe it’s something they’ve heard of. If we can prove that Rachael does in fact suffer from DID, it is very likely that another, more aggressive personality took over for a while. Personalities feed on each other’s fears and angers. If this personality detected resentment toward Miss Underwood, for any reason, it’s likely it could’ve lashed out. It would not be Rachael’s fault. Audrey tells me she was with you on the evening before the murder, is that correct?” She looked to Rachael.