Rage (5 page)
I
said, “It’ll all be in my report.”
“Spare
me,” said Montez. “This isn’t the stuff of forensic debate.”
I
said, “You know how it goes. Judge Laskin sees everything first.”
“Yeah,
yeah . . . so, what’d you think of that grandmother? You bought
her lunch. See that as conflict of interest?”
“I’m
pretty busy, Mr. Montez— ”
“Easy,
just kidding. So what do you think of her? Seriously.”
“At
the risk of repeating myself— ”
“Come
on, Doctor. You can’t be harboring any serious doubt about competence. You
might want to know that I’m having my own expert conduct a full psychometric
battery. Herbert Davidson, endowed professor from Stanford, acknowledged
authority in the field.”
“Read
his textbook in grad school,” I said.
“Be a
shame if your results run far afield from his.”
“Be a
damn shame,” I said.
“So
when do I get your report?”
“When
Judge Laskin sends it to you.”
“Sure,”
he said. “Following orders. God forbid anyone should think independently.”
* * *
Troy
Turner was housed as far from Rand as possible, in a corner cell past a dark
twist of corridor. The deputy who walked me over said, “You’re gonna love this
one.”
He
was an iron-pumper named Sherrill with a shaved head and a massive,
straw-colored mustache. Usually, he projected the confidence of a strong man.
Today he looked distracted.
“Tough
kid?” I said.
He
slowed his pace. “I got kids. Four of my own plus a stepkid. On top of that, I
spent three years working juvey crime, so I understand kids. Unlike some of the
other guys, I know punks can start off as victims. But this
one . . .” he shook his head.
“He
do something in here?” I said.
“Naw,
it’s just the way he
is.
” He stopped. Behind us were empty cells. “Doc,
if anything I’m telling you gets out, we’re never going to have any trust
between us.”
“This
is off the record.”
“I
mean it,” he said. “I’m talking to you because word is you’re straight and
you’re doing your best for Judge Laskin and we all respect Judge Laskin, ’cause
he knows the way the real world is.”
I
waited.
He
looked over his shoulder, stopped again. Silence all around; only on High Power
could a jail be this quiet. Up a few feet was an occupied cell and I could see
the inmate checking us out. Well-groomed, gray-haired, middle-aged. Copy of
Time
magazine in one hand.
Sherrill
drew me farther up the hall, muttering, “That one’s Russian Mafia, cut your
throat as easy as smile at you.” When we were alone, he said, “I don’t talk
much to prisoners, life’s too short, why fill your life with garbage. But this
one, being a kid, I tried to be friendly. Turner reacts by shining me on.
Completely. Making like I’m invisible. One time, I’d been off-shift, and when I
got back he looked like he’d lost some weight. I brought him some breakfast,
threw in some extra toast because he seemed pitiful. He snatched up a piece,
gobbled like a hyena. I asked him if he understood why he was in here. This
time, he doesn’t shine me on, he comes right out and says, ’ ‘Causa what I
did.’ But not with any feeling. He could’ve been ordering fries and a Coke.
Then he takes another piece of toast from the breakfast tray and looks me in
the eye and starts chewing. Real slowly, real sloppy. Pieces are falling out of
his mouth, and then he starts dribbling and drooling, rolling his eyes. Acting
like an idiot, like it’s a big joke. I stand there and he keeps it up and then
he spits it all out on the floor and says, ‘What?’ Like I’m annoying him. And I
say you didn’t answer my question, dude. Why’re you in here? And he says, ‘I
fucked that baby
up
is why.’ Then he grinds the toast into the floor
with his foot and says, ‘This shit
sucks,
dude. Gimme some
real
food.’ ”
“Remorseful,”
I said.
“Doc,
God help me for saying it— if you repeat this I’ll totally deny it— but some
sperm deserve to be drowned before they get a chance to swim.”
S
mall boy, stick arms, heart-shaped face. Expectant
brown eyes widened as I entered his cell. The pinched, wounded features of a
Dickensian orphan.
I
introduced myself.
He
said, “Pleased to meet you.” It rolled out easy, like a rehearsed line, but if
there was sarcasm I wasn’t catching it.
I sat
down and he said, “That chair’s not real comfortable.”
“Not
much choice around here,” I said.
“You
kin sit on the bed and I kin sit there.”
“Thanks,
Troy, but I’m fine.”
“Okay.”
He straightened his posture, rested a hand on each knee.
I
took out my notepad. Looked at his hands. Narrow, white, long-fingered hands,
grimy around the cuticles but the nails had been clipped neatly. Delicate
hands. It wouldn’t take much strength to strangle a baby, but
still . . .
“Troy,
I’m a psychologist.”
“To
talk to me about my feelings.”
“Someone
told you that.”
“Miz
Weider.”
Sydney
Weider was his primary P.D. She’d been more persistent than Lauritz Montez
about meeting me before I began my evaluation, had gotten aggressive when I
refused. Laskin had termed her “a pit bull. Mark my word, she’s already making
notes for the appellate attorneys.”
“What
did Ms. Weider tell you about me?”
“You’re
gonna ask questions and I should cooperate.” He smiled, as if demonstrating.
I
said, “Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“I
guess,” he said.
“What’s
that?”
“I
should talk about her.”
“Her?”
“The
baby.”
“Everyone
calls her a baby,” I said, “but she was more like a toddler, right?”
The
term was new to him. “I guess.”
“Kristal
was two years old, Troy. She walked and talked a little.”
“I
didn’t hear her talk.”
“Ever
see her before?”
“No
way.”
I
said, “Why’d you decide to take her?”
“She
followed us.”
“Where?”
“Out.”
“Out
of the mall.”
“Yeah.”
The camera had caught Kristal dangling, kicking her legs. The police had
assumed it was a struggle, but both defense briefs suggested that all three
kids had been horsing around.
As if
that mattered.
I
said, “Why’d Kristal follow you?”
Shrug.
“Can
you think of any reason at all, Troy?”
“Probably
she thought we were cool.”
“Why
would she think that?”
“
’Cause she was little and we’re big.”
“Big
is cool.”
“Yup.”
“Okay,”
I said. “Kristal followed you and then what happened?”
“We
went to the park and smoked and had some beer.”
“All
of you.”
“Yup.”
“Where’d
you get the beer?”
His
eyes half closed. Suddenly wary. “We had it.”
“You
had it with you at the mall?”
“From
before.”
“Where’d
you keep it?”
“At
the park.”
“Where
at the park?”
Hesitation.
“Behind a tree.”
“Hidden.”
“Yup.”
“So you
drank and smoked. All three of you.”
“Yup.”
“Kristal
drank and smoked.”
“She
tried to. She wasn’t no good at it.”
“Kristal
had trouble drinking and smoking,” I said.
“It
made her cough.”
“So
what’d you do?”
“Kept
trying.”
“To
make Kristal smoke?”
“To help
her.”
“How’d
that go?”
“Not
so good.”
“What
happened?”
“She
coughed some more.”
“Anything
else?”
“She
threw up.”
“Where?”
“On
my shirt.” Now the eyes were slits.
“You
didn’t like that,” I said.
“It
smelled shit— smelled bad.”
“Kind
of gross.”
“Yup.”
“What’d
you do about that?”
“About
what?”
“Being
barfed on.”
“Pushed
her away.”
“Where’d
you push Kristal?”
He
placed his hands on his chest.
“Where
did she land?” I said.
“On
the floor.”
“The
floor of the park.”
“The
grass.”
“She
land hard?”
“It
was grass.”
“Soft.”
“Yup.”
“Did
you push her pretty hard?”
No
answer.
“Troy?”
“I
didn’t do nothing serious,” he said. “She sat on her butt and started crying
real loud. Rand gave her some beer.”
“Why?”
Shrug.
“I guess to keep her quiet.”
“Rand’s
idea.”
“Yup.”
The
coroner’s report had found traces of Budweiser in Kristal’s tiny stomach. Her
lungs, too— the child had aspirated beer.
I
said, “It was Rand’s idea to give Kristal beer.”
“I
said that.”
“Why
do you think Rand had that idea?”
“He’s
stupid.”
“Rand
is.”
“Yup.”
“You
hang out with him a lot.”
“He
hangs out with
me.
” Flint had come into his voice. He realized it.
Smiled. “Most of the time, he’s okay.”
“What
happens when he’s not okay?”
“He
does stupid things. Like that.”
“That?”
“Giving
the baby beer.”
“How’d
Kristal like the beer?”
“Not
too good.”
“She
throw up some more?”
“She
made puffy noises.” His cheeks inflated and he exhaled noisily. “Stuff started
coming out of her nose. Then she started yelling.”
“Yelling
loud?”
“Kind
of.”
“Pretty
annoying.”
His
eyes were hyphens. “It wasn’t cool.”
“What’d
you do about that?”
“Nothing.”
“Kristal
threw up on you and yelled loud and annoyed you but you didn’t do anything at
all?”
“Didn’t
have to,” he said. A tiny smirk skipped across his lips. Lasted for less than a
second before his features settled into childish innocence. If I’d been writing
notes, I would’ve missed the whole thing.
“Why
didn’t you have to do anything, Troy?”
“Rand
did.”
“Rand
solved the problem.”
“Yup.”
“How?”
“Shook
her and hit her and put his hand on her neck.”
“Rand
put his hand on Kristal’s neck.”
“He
choked her.”
“Show
me how Rand choked Kristal.”
He
hesitated.
I
said, “You were there, Troy.”
“Like
this,” he said, grazing his own neck with a limp hand. Pressing ineffectually
with the back of the hand, then releasing.
“That’s
how,” he said.
“Then
what happened?”
“The
baby blooped over.” He tilted to one side, in demonstration, lowered himself in
slow motion to the cot. Sat up again. “Like that.”
“Kristal
fell over after Rand choked her.”
“Yup.”
“How’d
you feel when you saw that?”
“Bad,”
he said, too quickly. “Very bad. Sir.”
“Why’d
you feel bad, Troy?”
“She
wasn’t moving.” Fluttering eyelashes. “I shoulda stopped it.”
“You
should’ve stopped Rand from choking Kristal.”
“Yup.”
His
lips curled upward and I watched for the return of the smirk. But something
happened to his eyes that softened the expression.
The
resigned, world-weary smile of one who’d seen it all but had managed to
maintain his dignity.
“I’m
very sorry,” he said. “It was up to me. I’m the smart one.”
* * *