Vigilare (18 page)

“Here we go again,” he scoffs. “That’s not an answer Ms. DeLuca. That’s why I have to beat around the bush, finding questions and ways to ask them to find out the truth, because you seem to have reverted back to childhood. ‘Jenny, did you break the lamp?’” he mocks in a fatherly tone, speaking to a young child. “‘I don’t know,’” he replies in a childlike manner. “Once again, either you did or you didn’t. Yes or no, Ms. DeLuca.” He slaps his hand down on the railing in front of her.

She slaps her hand down harder, drawing a berated reaction from Judge Carter.

Gina nods, toning it down, her vocal cadence controlled, but still biting. “I have no recollection of killing those men. I have no recollection of being some Vigilare. Check the polygraph report. It will verify my answers to be true. Unless of course, you think I
beat
the lie detector.”

“Are you saying the evidence was planted? You were framed?” he challenges. “The report given by your fellow officers, Sam Marks and Tony Gronkowski, finding you at the scene of the attempted murder of Randall Barnes, in full
Vigilare-mode
, dressed in black from head to toe...that was a lie?” He turns toward the courtroom, pointing out Tony and Officer Marks. Both of them, displaying sympathy mixed with contempt on their faces. “When Officer Gronkowski…”

“Detective,” Gina corrects him. “Detective Gronkowski.”

Mr. McVain shakes his head agitatedly. “When
Detective
Gronkowski pulled the black ski mask from
Vigilare’s
face—your face—that was a lie? Somebody was impersonating you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she warns quietly through nearly gritting teeth. “If Officer Marks and Detective Gronkowski say that was me under the ski mask, then it was me. I don’t deny that. What I am saying is, I have no recollection of that moment, nor any other moment involving myself as some Vigilare, killing rapists and child molesters. No matter how many times you ask me, or how many different ways you rephrase the question, you’re going to get the same answer—I have no recollection.
I...don’t...know
.”

“You seem to have all the answers, Ms. DeLuca. At least when it suits your point. So, just exactly how do you propose I continue?” he beams sarcastically.

“Objection,” Aubrey Raines speaks up.

Judge Carter, annoyed yet strangely amused, responds, “Sustained.”

“I
propose
you do your job, Counselor. Is that too much to ask?” she beams back sarcastically. “Instead of strutting around here, flipping your golden locks, putting on a show, why don’t you try talking less and showing more. Hell, you’ve got my blood and my skin, what more do you need? Let the evidence speak for itself.”

“Language, Ms. DeLuca,” Judge Carter scolds routinely.

Mr. McVain approaches the witness chair, smiling, running his fingers through his
golden locks
, clearly pleased that she mentioned them. “I guess that’s what I’ll have to do. Let the evidence speak for itself, because conveniently, you have no recollection, and cooperation from your Vanguard PD counterparts seems relatively akin to pulling teeth. Mums the word.” He places his arm across the railing in front of her, leaning in curiously with his body. “So tell me, just exactly how did you get Detective Gronkowski wrapped around your pretty little finger?” he asks with full insinuation of a sexual relationship.

Gina smiles charmingly, leaning in toward him with her body in kind. “You think I’m pretty?”

Her response causes quiet laughter to surface through the courtroom, with a few exceptions. Dr. Patricia Ryan sits stiff-armed, unimpressed at the interplay between the two, as does Tony.

“My courtroom is not an appropriate arena for foreplay,” Judge Maybelline Carter curbs any further repartee. She thumps her gavel with authority, sending a ripple of silence through the room. “Bring it back around, Counselor, and Ms. DeLuca.”

Mr. McVain smiles at her cunningly. She nestles gracefully back against her chair. “A
Vigilare
in sheep’s clothing,” he says, pulling away from her. “Femme fatale or sly fox?” he builds an image for the jury.

“I assure you, I’m not that complicated,” Gina replies.

“How would you know ? You claim you don’t even know if you’re the said
Vigilare
.” His mannerisms have softened, no longer interested in sparring, he seeks the truth.

A moment of ingenuousness passes between the two. “Follow the evidence.” Addressing the jury, she continues, “Trust your instinct. Somewhere between evidence and instinct, therein lies the truth.” She focuses her attention back to Mr. McVain and the courtroom at large. “Two weeks ago I thought I knew who I was, Gina DeLuca, Detective, Vanguard PD. Now, I’m not so sure. I woke up in a hospital bed surrounded by a bunch of strange faces.” She gestures to the white coats. “Poking and prodding me, testing this and testing that. As if I am some kind of
thing
, inhuman.” With the words, the emotion hits her. She looks down at her lap, refocusing her mind before making eye contact again. “You think I want to run around killing people in the middle of the night? As a cop, I took an oath to serve and protect. If I am the...
Vigilare
,” the word barely audible, as if it hurts to say. “If I have murdered fifteen men, in cold blood, then find me guilty and punish me to the fullest extent of the law.”

The courtroom is silent.

Mr. McVain could easily clap dramatically, sarcastically, and comment on what a
noble
declaration she makes. He does not. He simply unrolls his shirt sleeves, attaching the buttons at his wrists as he walks back to the prosecution desk. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

Chapter 11

“YOU MAY STEP down, Ms. DeLuca,” Judge Carter dismisses her. “Your next witness, Counselor.”

Aubrey Raines looks to the judge, a humble grin on her face, showing understanding that she is referring to the prosecution. Gina takes her seat next to Aubrey.

“The prosecution calls Dr. Patricia Ryan.”

Dr. Ryan makes her way hastily to the witness stand, as if she has something to say that can barely wait to be heard. If attractive and precise were ever to mesh into one definition, she would be that word in the dictionary.

“Please clarify where you work, and in what position,” Mr. McVain directs.

“Vanguard Police Department. Doctor of Psychology.”

“What is your relationship to the fifteen victims?”

“They were all in my care at some point in time for the city’s rehabilitation program. Three years ago, the city mandated any man or woman, convicted of rape or sexual assault of a child or an adult, must undergo psychological rehabilitative counseling for the duration of their probation, quite possibly even longer.”

“What is the purpose of such a program?”

“To prepare them to be better citizens once they return to society.”

An audible huff is heard from William Truly, garnering a disciplinary glance from Judge Carter, her head cocked, hand positioned over her gavel should he feel the need to continue. His daughter pats his arm, quieting him.

“In your opinion, does the program work?” Mr. McVain continues.

“For some,” she keeps it short, without elaborating, refusing to make eye contact with William Truly. She can feel his eyes burning through her.

Mr. McVain holds up several notable psychological journals. “You’re quite the celebrity in your field, Dr. Ryan.”

She neither confirms nor denies the statement, allowing her work to speak for itself.

Mr. McVain addresses the jury, “If anyone has doubts as to the qualifications of Dr. Patricia Ryan, her numerous studies and innovations within the professional psychological realm speak for themselves. She’s quite the trailblazer, especially in the topic of rehabilitation, as it pertains to sexual misconduct among criminal populations.” He stacks the journals neatly on top of many other journals, providing a visual tower of Dr. Ryan’s work. “We’re not here to talk about your involvement with the deceased, however.” He runs his hand across the railing in front of the witness stand, making a circle until he stands between Dr. Ryan and Gina. “What is your relationship to Ms. DeLuca?”

“As a psychologist for Vanguard PD, I was asked to monitor her case and mental well-being after the discovery that she fancies herself the
Vigilare
.”

Gina nudges Aubrey. “Objection,” Aubrey blurts out. “My client has never
fancied
herself the Vigilare.”

“Sustained,” Judge Carter advises.

“Is it accurate to assume you worked with Ms. DeLuca and her partner, Detective Gronkowski, in their assignment to the case?”

“Yes. I had the pleasure of meeting and collaborating with them both.”

Gina and Tony roll their eyes at the same time, both of them crossing their arms over their chest and sitting back, unimpressed.

“What is your personal opinion of Ms. DeLuca?”

She crosses her hands, one over the other, her expression and her body language softening. She looks to Gina and smiles. “I find Ms. DeLuca to be a fine individual and a top-rate detective.”

Gina does not soften her position, remaining sunk back in her chair, arms closed across her torso, simply waiting for the venomous shrew to strike.

“A little misguided, though,” Dr. Ryan finishes, a deeply concerned expression settling across her face.

“Misguided?” Mr. McVain asks.

“Impulsive, eager. Quite possibly positive traits, if directed in the appropriate manner. However, borderline dangerous if mixed with desperation. Creating an outlaw of sorts. On the few occasions I interacted with Detective...Ms. DeLuca, her intensity was exasperating.”

“She was nervous? Antsy?”

Dr. Ryan nods. “She would say things. Alarming things about the victims. Asking me if I believe they reap what they sow. And very protective of her files regarding the case.”

Gina slaps her hand down on the witness table in frustration, earning another reprimanding glance from Judge Carter. She hastily scribbles notes onto Aubrey’s legal pad.

Dr. Ryan looks down at her hands lying in her lap momentarily, purposefully as if Gina’s actions scared her.

Mr. McVain plays to her, “What is it, Dr. Ryan?”

“The rope burn. I saw Ms. DeLuca the morning after the incident with Aubrey Raines, her current legal representation, which, might I add, I believe to be a conflict of interest. Ms. Raines was nearly raped, in her bedroom while studying for the Bar exam. The alleged rapist ended up strangled to death in the corner of her bedroom. The rope used to strangle the alleged rapist is the one you speak of, Mr. McVain, the one that carried two types of DNA, the skin of the alleged rapist and the skin of Gina DeLuca.” She pauses. “I saw Ms. DeLuca the day thereafter, and she had a visible rope burn on her neck.”

“Visible rope burn? And you’re the only one who saw this pivotal evidence?”

“No,” she says defiantly. “Her partner, Detective Gronkowski.” She points to him in the back of the courtroom. “He saw it too.”

Mr. McVain circles the floor, shaking his head and clicking his tongue off the roof of his mouth, much like a mother would admonish a child who has done something inappropriate. “Why would Detective Gronkowski keep such evidence a secret? Evidence that was obviously pertinent to his case.”

“Therein lies the issue,” Dr. Ryan confirms. “It is my opinion, after careful psychological evaluation, that Gina DeLuca is of astute sound mind. She is not insane, nor was she temporarily insane at the time of the murders, even though she testifies she has no recollection.” Dr. Ryan’s speech becomes more direct, confident and biting. “Ms. DeLuca’s IQ is off the charts. We’re looking at a highly intelligent, competent woman, equipped with the appropriate goods in the form of beauty and a
bangin’ body
,” Dr. Ryan resorts to slang to make her point. “There is a perfectly good reason Detective Gronkowksi would keep such pivotal evidence a secret. The wiles of female seduction. It’s not a new concept,” she retorts.

“Objection,” Aubrey defends. “Speculation, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.” Judge Carter’s perturbed tone spurs Mr. McVain to get to his point.

He fluffs his hair, approaching closer to Dr. Ryan. “Under your evaluation, does Ms. DeLuca have any pressing psychological issues that would result in temporary insanity—multiple personality, or any other condition thereof that would cause her to
turn into
a Vigilare or alter-ego, calling for the death of fifteen men?”

“No,” she states very matter-of-factly. “After thorough psychological evaluation, Gina DeLuca is of sound mind, perfectly sane. If you reference her medical file, you will find my conclusion is doubly backed by two federally employed psychologists.” She points to the white coats. “Who spent nearly a week at her bedside, thoroughly evaluating and documenting her every move and thought.”

“Thank you, Dr. Ryan.” Mr. McVain takes a seat, victoriously.

“Your witness,” Judge Carter addresses Aubrey Raines.

Aubrey approaches Dr. Ryan, her inner and outer selves at odds. Externally, she appears calm and confident, her body language proud. While on the inside, she feels as if her stomach turns somersaults, its contents sure to be regurgitated.

Dr. Ryan inherently, and at this point subconsciously, intimidates with her arrogant posture and pretentious glare.

Aubrey swallows hard. “Dr. Ryan, you say your rehabilitation program helps ‘some.’ Exactly how many is ‘some?’”

Dr. Ryan looks at Aubrey as if the question certainly does not require an answer.

Aubrey takes another step closer to the witness stand. “Isn’t it true that rehabilitation rates of sexual offenders are quite slim?”

“Ms. Raines...” Dr. Ryan begins.

“So slim, in fact,” Aubrey cuts her off, predicting a pompous, indirect answer, “that on a national scale, only three percent of sexual offenders are fully rehabilitated. The remaining ninety-seven percent will continue to offend, or turn to other illegal activities. Isn’t that correct, Dr. Ryan?”