Primal Fear (13 page)

Lost in contemplation, he did not see the taxi pull up outside, nor the figure carrying two suitcases and a briefcase under one arm jump out and scamper up to the house. The doorbell startled him, but before he could get up he heard the front door open and then close, and a woman appeared in the office doorway. She was bundled in a black greatcoat and was wearing ear-muffs—a pleasant-looking woman who appeared to be in her late twenties, red-faced from the cold. She snapped the earmuffs off.

“Mr. Vail?” she said in a timid voice.

“Yes?”

“I’m Molly Arrington.”

It did not sink in. “What can I do for you?” he asked, looking at his watch.

She looked a little confused. “Judge Spalding sent for me,” she said. “I’m Dr. Molly Arrington from the Justine Clinic.”

THIRTEEN

Vail looked thunderstruck. The woman stood in the doorway with a somewhat bemused expression.

“I assumed he told you I was coming,” she said, almost reticently.

Vail said, “Of course. I, uh, I guess I wasn’t expecting you this late.” He jumped up and smiled. “Take off your coat and stay awhile.”

She took off her coat to reveal a tiny woman, perhaps five-two at best, who carried herself delicately as she hung the coat on the hat tree and, with both hands, pressed out the wrinkled skirt of a plain, charcoal-gray suit.

“Sorry it’s so late,” she said, shyly. “The bus was almost an hour late getting into Indianapolis. I missed my plane.”

“Bus?”

“It’s the only way to get
any
where from Winthrop, Indiana. That’s where the Justine Clinic is. I guess you’ve never heard of it.” She had lovely unblemished skin and bright blue eyes, and her ash-brown hair was cut just above shoulder length. She was so soft-spoken her voice was barely above a whisper.

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything,” Vail said. “I don’t know much about the psychiatry business.”

“That makes us even,” she said. “I don’t know anything about the law.”

Great,
he thought.
A shy amateur—just what we need.

“This all happened so fast I didn’t think about a place to stay,” she said, her tone still tinged with embarrassment. “When Judge Spalding called and said it was urgent, the board had an emergency meeting—immediately—to approve my leave of absence. Oh, it wasn’t a problem. Actually they were quite excited with the idea. This will be excellent experience …”

“Well, I really needed …” he started, but stopped in mid-sentence.

“Somebody with more experience?” she offered.

Vail was embarrassed and showed it. He stood and walked to the coffee urn and got two cups from the cabinet.

“Let’s start over, okay?” he said. “How about a cup of coffee? Freshly made. Or would you like something stronger?”

“Coffee’s fine,” she told him.

“This is a tough one. Okay if I call you Molly? I’m Martin or Marty, whichever you prefer,” he said as he filled the two cups.

“Molly’s fine,” she said. “And I’m sorry I haven’t had any experience in the courtroom.”

“Hell, I’ve been in private practice for almost ten years, before that two in the army,” Vail said. “In all that time, I’ve never had to deal with a psychiatrist. Never had an involved mental case like this in my life. I’ll make you a deal. You teach me about crazy people, I’ll teach you about the law.”

He handed her the coffee. And although extremely shy, she was forthright when she spoke. “Well, I can understand it if you want someone else. To be frank, I’ve never even been
in
a courtroom before. But I do know a lot about disoriented behavior, Mr. Vail. As a psychologist, a psychiatrist, and an epidemiologist. I’ve worked with over a hundred people with mental disorders. Incidentally, I’d prefer that you avoid referring to them as crazy.”

“Fair enough. What do we call them?”

“Mentally disordered. Mentally disturbed …”

“Is there one word that covers it?”

She stared at him for several seconds, took a sip of coffee, and said, “How about ‘nuts’?”

He stared back, not sure whether she was serious or not, and then, unable to hold back, broke out in a hearty laugh. She joined in, although less boisterously.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered.

“Molly, in the presence of the Judge; my assistant, Naomi Chance; our investigator, Tom Goodman; and me, you may say anything you want about anybody or anything at any time. That’s how we operate. I think the question is, do you want to work with us? This is a very nasty case.”

“The newspaper articles I read were not very informative.”

“The cops are being coy. So’s the prosecutor. They mean to burn this kid—send him to the electric chair—unless we can stop them.”

“How bad is it?” she asked.

Vail did not answer. Instead he went to the desk and tilted the lamp so the light fell across the bulletin board of photographs. Her reaction was unemotional, which surprised him. She squinted at the board for a minute, then walked over, knelt down and studied the photographs, one by one.

“If the jury sees those, he’s cooked—pardon the pun,” Vail said.

“The pictures say a lot,” she said as she stood back up, but she did not explain her hurried analysis and Vail did not ask. “When can I meet him?” she wanted to know.

“He was transferred to Daisyland earlier today. I’d like you to go up tomorrow. The sooner you go to work, the better. We don’t have much time.”

“How much?”

“Less than two months.”

She closed her eyes and blew a silent whistle.

“I’ve spent two months trying to get a patient to say good morning to me,” she said with a sad smile.

“Oh, he’ll say good morning to you. That’s the least of our worries,” Vail said.

He sat down at his desk, leaning back in his chair and balancing himself so his toes were barely touching the floor.

“How’d you like to meet him right now?”

“Now?”

“I taped an interview with him this afternoon,” he said, and pointed toward the television set. “We can watch it if you’re not too tired.”

“Uh …” she stammered, somewhat flustered. “You see, I have my bags here. I left in such a hurry, I didn’t make any reservations. I think I better call one of the hotels downtown …”

“Well, you can do that,” he said casually, still balancing himself in his chair. “Or … you can stay here. I have two guest bedrooms upstairs. Take your pick. They each have their own bath and you can lock them from the inside. The kitchen is common ground and the coffee urn’s always full. We’ll worry about finding you a place in the morning.”

“I hate to put you out…”

“You’re not putting me out at all,” he said.

“Well,” she said quietly, “that would be lovely.”

“C’mon, I’ll take your things up for you. I’m sure you’re exhausted. We can watch the tape tomorrow.”

“No, I’ll just throw some water on my face, put on my slippers,” she said. “I’d like to see the film. And, uh … perhaps you have a little bourbon?”

“We need a motive,” Vail said. “That’s something I’d like you to work on—before they do. Hopefully they can’t come up with one. If they can’t, we have the start of a case for insanity. If they can, then we’re in trouble. So first, before anything, I’d like you to figure out if Aaron had a motivation for killing Bishop Rushman—
if
he killed him.”

She sat very straight in her chair, her feet flat on the floor, and sipped her bourbon. “Do you think he did it?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

“And you’re still defending him?”

“First commandment, Molly: The defendant is innocent until proven guilty.
Proven
guilty. Not what I think or you think, what the jury thinks. Of course, I don’t operate on that wavelength. In the beginning, I always assume my client is guilty.”

“Why!”

“Because that’s why they come to me.”

“That’s very cynical.”

He shook his head. “Practical,” he said. “If I can prove to
my
satisfaction that Aaron Stampler didn’t kill the bishop, then I can convince the court.”

“And if you can’t?”

He shrugged. “Everyone assumes Stampler’s guilty. So my job—our job—is to disprove the prosecutor’s case, which means I have to anticipate what their case is going to be …
and
prove mine at the same time. That’s where you come in.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The D.A. is being very tough on this one and the prosecutor is a real barracuda.”

“What’s his name?”

“Her name is Jane Venable. She’s very good. And she’s got a personal motive. I whaled her in a case a couple years ago, so she’s looking to put a notch in her gun at my expense. The judge doesn’t like me. The city, county, and state all want my hide nailed to the courthouse door.”

“I know,” she said. “I read the article about you in
City Magazine
.”

Vail smiled. “Don’t believe everything you read,” he said.

“I thought it was very flattering—professionally, I mean. It didn’t give much insight into you as a person.”

“I prefer it that way.”

“Why?”

He thought for a moment, wondering whether she was already beginning to psychoanalyze him.

“I like to keep the focus on the client and the facts.”

“Pretty hard to do. You’re so … flamboyant.”

“Flamboyant?”

She seemed a bit embarrassed when he questioned her use of the word. “Well, the article makes you appear that way.”

“I better be
something.
Everybody in the city not only assumes Aaron’s guilty, they want to see him fry. Other than that…”

“You think that will happen?” she asked. “I mean, that they’ll execute him?”

“Sure. What we want is justice, what the public wants is revenge. When a person is accused of a crime, particularly a capital offense, and you look across to the other side of the courtroom—where the prosecutor sits?—there’s always the victim’s wife, girlfriend, mother, father, sister, brother, right behind him, demanding that old biblical eye for an eye. A courtroom is a Roman lion pit. Our job is to keep the defendant out of the pit.”

“That’s how you see your clients, as human sacrifices?”

“Molly, I know the law very well. I’m damn good at this, but I’m also pragmatic as hell.”

“And aggressive …”

“Absolutely.”

“Single-minded …”

“I call it focused.”

“Cynical…”

“That’s absolutely essential. Don’t believe anyone, don’t believe anything. Don’t believe what you see, what you hear, what you read. And for God’s sake, don’t trust a soul.”

“It all sounds … I don’t know, so—”

“‘Tawdry’s a good word,” Vail interrupted her. His tone was very matter-of-fact, almost casual. “The law is tawdry. Murder is tawdry. Robbery, rape, assault, embezzlement, divorce, all tawdry business. Get used to it. Don’t try to make a science of it. Don’t look for ethics, just be grateful when you
find them. Don’t look for justice, just pray you get a little.” He poured a shot of bourbon into his coffee. “What it is, you’re fighting for a man’s life when half the jurors are nodding out and the judge is daydreaming about shooting two under par at the end of the day and the only person listening to you is your client. It’s a gutter fight. Don’t elevate it to something noble. Let the writers do that.”

“I guess I do have a lot to learn,” she said.

“You worry about Aaron,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Let me worry about the judge and jury. In the eyes of the court, crimes are divided into two categories,
malum in se
and
malum prohibitum.
The most serious is
malum in se,
which means ‘wrong in itself.’ Inherently evil. Homicide. Rape. Mayhem.
Malum prohibitum
is just about everything else, from burglary to embezzlement.” He walked in front of the board of photographs. “What we’ve got here, Doctor, is
malum in se
to the max.” He pointed to the photographs. “The state will ask for the punishment to fit the crime.”

“Electrocution,” she said.

Vail nodded. “No prisoners, as they say. Unless we can prove he’s innocent—or was mad as a hatter when he did it—the people will have their big payoff.”

“Is there a possibility he’s innocent?”

“He says so.”

“He says he didn’t kill the bishop?”

“Why don’t we let him tell you,” Vail said, slipping the videotape in the machine. “This a short interview. They were getting ready to move him up to Daisyland. Incidentally, I videotape every interview and I want you to do the same. You’ll be surprised what you can learn from watching the tapes.”

“I have some experience with videotape,” she said. “We use it to a limited degree.”

“That’s good. The equipment is light, easy to operate. This was recorded at the city prison about noon today. Isn’t much to it, but at least it’ll introduce you to your patient.”

He pressed the play button. It was a shot of Aaron from the waist up, sitting on a cot in a prison cell. He was leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees. Vail was not in the picture; only his voice could be heard.

VAIL:
State your full name, Aaron.

STAMPLER:
Aaron Luke Stampler.

VAIL:
Where are you from?

STAMPLER:
Crikside, Kentucky.

VAIL:
How long have you lived in the city?

STAMPLER:
Fer two yairs. Come hair in March in 1981.

VAIL:
Where did you go to school?

STAMPLER:
Crikside school till high school. Then I went to high school in Lordsville, which air twenty miles or so from Crikside.

VAIL:
Are your parents still living?

STAMPLER:
No suh. Paw died of the black lung ’bout four yairs ago. M’ maw died last yair. M’ brother, Samuel, died in a car accident.

VAIL:
Any other immediate family?

STAMPLER:
No suh.

VAIL:
Did you graduate from high school?

STAMPLER:
Yes suh.

VAIL:
What kind of grades did you make?

STAMPLER:
(Proudly)
I was an A student ’cept for math. Never did take a likin’ t’ math but I paissed okay.

VAIL:
When did you first meet Bishop Rushman?

STAMPLER:
When I first caim to the city. Met a fella named Billy Jordan and he brought me t’ the Savior House. That’s where I met Bishop Rushman.

VAIL:
And you were friends? I mean, Bishop Rushman was kind to you?

STAMPLER:
Y’suh. He took me into the house, let me do odd jobs round the church t’ earn some money. Also he helped me t’ get into the college extension.

VAIL:
Extension courses?

STAMPLER:
Y’suh, I were studying by mail.

VAIL:
What were you studying?