Scott Pratt - An Innocent Client

“PTSD,” he said as soon as I walked into his office. He was sitting behind his desk, chewing on the end of the pipe he kept in his mouth like a pacifier. I’d never seen him without the pipe, and I’d never seen it lit.

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?”

“Chronic and severe. But she’s being evasive about the stressor. I suspect she was raped by her adopted father.”

“Why?”

“Because if the stressor was a car accident or something she witnessed, she’d tell me about it. She became agitated and evasive when I asked her about her father.”

“Is she a candidate for murder?”

“Everybody’s a candidate under the right circumstances. Unfortunately, I don’t have a crystal ball.”

“I don’t see how she could possibly have killed Tester,” I said. “For one thing, he was a 260-pound man. What does she weigh? 110? I just don’t see her being able to overpower a guy like that.”

“His blood alcohol level was. 27, and he was drugged. A ten-year-old could have killed him.”

“I know, but she just doesn’t feel like a murderer when I talk to her,” I said.

“I look at her clinically,” Short said. “You look at her emotionally. Her beauty and vulnerability cloud your perspective.”

“So you think she killed him?”

“I didn’t say that, I’m just saying it’s possible. Some PTSD victims go into a dissociative state if the stressor is severe enough, and if it’s repeated. Let’s say her adopted father sexually abused her for years, which I suspect he did. She runs away. Then she finds herself being sexually abused by this Tester man. It’s possible she could have had sort of an out-of-body experience and killed him. It would also explain the extraordinary number of stab wounds and the mutilation.”

“Would she remember it?”

“It’d be like a dream, but she’d remember it.”

“Would she be responsible for her conduct, legally, if that’s what happened?”

“Probably not. I think I’d be able to testify that under those circumstances she would not be responsible for her conduct. At that point, she wouldn’t have been able to discern the difference between right and wrong.”

“The problem is that in order for us to assert that defense, she’d have to admit she killed him.”

“That’s right.”

“She says she didn’t kill him.”

“I know.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“She didn’t tell me she did it, so as far as I’m concerned, she didn’t do it. Everything I’ve told you is purely theoretical.”

“Have you made notes on all of this?”

“Of course.”

“Shred them.”

Since I had Tom’s attention, which was sometimes hard to get, I decided to ask him about Junior Tester. I described to him in detail everything that had happened between us, including the look of torment and hatred on Junior’s face the night I went to his house.

“Was it a mistake?” I said.

“Actually,” Tom said, “going down there wasn’t as bad an idea as you might think. You may have showed him there could be serious consequences to his actions. Maybe you shocked him back into reality, at least for a little while. Have you seen him since?”

“No.”

“You must have frightened him.”

“He didn’t look scared. Do you think I’ll see him again?”

“Can’t say for sure.”

“Is it likely?”

“I’d say it depends.”

“On what?”

“On how you portray his father in the courtroom if you go to trial. You might want to give that some serious consideration.”

June 25

4:00 p.m.

After the meetings with Diane and Tom, I was both confused and concerned. I decided it was time to go have a serious conversation with my client. I wanted to discuss some of the more incriminating evidence with her, but more important, I needed to see how well Angel would hold up under cross-examination. If I could catch her in a lie, so could the district attorney.

She wasn’t shackled or handcuffed when the guards escorted her into the interview room — apparently she was no longer considered a security risk. I’d asked her what she wanted me to call her after I found out her real name. She said she wanted to be called Angel. Mary Ann, she said, was gone.

“How are you holding up?” I said.

“I’m okay. The guards are nice to me.”

Each time I went to visit, I was struck by something different: the smoothness of her skin, the contours of her face, the fullness of her lips. She was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, a fact that made what I was about to do even more difficult.

“There are a couple of things I need to ask you about, some things that are bothering me. I want you to tell me the truth.”

A puzzled look came over her face, but she nodded.

“First off, I need to know about your relationship with Julie Hayes.”

“What about it?”

“Do you have any idea why she would tell the police that you and Erlene left the club right after Reverend Tester the night he was killed?”

“What? Julie said that?”

I reached into my briefcase, pulled out a copy of Julie’s statement, and set it down in front of Angel.

“This is a copy of the statement she gave to the TBI. Read it for yourself.”

Angel looked down at the statement for a few minutes, then back at me.

“Why would she say something like that?” she said.

“Good question. Why would she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you and Erlene leave the club right after Reverend Tester?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Julie says you did, and since she signed this statement, I’m sure she’ll testify at the trial. Is she mad at you about something?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is she mad at Erlene about something?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was she jealous of the relationship between you and Erlene?”

“She never said anything to me about it.”

“Did you ever see Julie and Erlene argue or fight about anything?”

“No.”

“Did Erlene take you home that night?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of car was she driving?”

She hesitated. “What?”

“What kind of car was Erlene driving that night?”

“I don’t know anything about cars.”

“Do you know what a Corvette looks like?”

“No.”

“Come on, Angel, it’s a sports car. Shiny and fast. It would have been red.”

“I really don’t know anything about cars.”

“Was Erlene driving the same car the next day?”

She hesitated again and asked me to repeat the question.

“Erlene took you home with her the night Reverend Tester was killed, right?”

“Yes.”

“She gave you a ride home in her car, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did she have the same car the next day or a different car?”

“I don’t know. The same car, I guess.” She looked upward when she answered. I thought she might be lying, so I stayed with the subject of the car.

“Julie told the police Erlene was driving a red Corvette the night Tester was killed. She said Erlene got rid of it and was driving a different car the next day. Is that true?”

“I don’t think so.”

I sighed. I wanted to believe her, but the vagueness of her answers wasn’t helping. I decided to press harder, so I raised my voice a notch and slammed my palm down on the table.

“Is that what you’re going to tell the prosecutor when he asks you the same question on the witness stand? Are you going to say ‘I don’t think so?’ If that’s what you’re going to say, he’ll tear you apart. Now give me a straight answer! Was Erlene driving a different car the next day or not?”