Randy Singer - By reason of insanity

Quinn felt Catherine reach under the table and grab his hand. She squeezed, tension powering her grip. She stared at Boyd Gates's back, as if somehow her stare alone might stop him.

"And that's still not all. After the execution, the Avenger wrote a note taking credit for Donaldson's death. A strand of Ms. O'Rourke's hair was found on the adhesive part of the envelope. She also engaged in an elaborate attempt to conceal evidence, including throwing out her computer just before the police executed a search warrant at her house. She dumped some methohexital, a powerful anesthetic drug Ms. O'Rourke used to sedate her victim, together with bloody paper towels that contained both Donaldson's blood and O'Rourke's saliva, in a neighbor's trash can. Police never did find the clothes that Ms. O'Rourke wore that night, clothes that would presumably be spotted with blood from a gash in Donaldson's scalp. Does an insane person who doesn't know that she's done something wrong dispose of the clothes she was wearing and hide things in her neighbor's trash?"

Gates turned and cast an accusatory glare at Catherine. He motioned to her with a sweep of his hand. "This defendant is clever. She knows that the best place for the fox to hide is in the henhouse and-even better-right in the middle of those who guard the henhouse. So she pretended to have visions about the killings and nurtured a confidential police informant for her newspaper articles about the killings, all in an effort to become part of the inner circle of the investigation."

Gates turned back to the jury. "Catherine O'Rourke wanted to know every step the police were taking so she could stay one step ahead. But she made some fatal mistakes. Fortunately, those mistakes led to her arrest and quite possibly saved the lives of other victims, including the man whom the defendant says raped her in college."

Quinn stifled another objection. He wasn't sure about Virginia, but in Las Vegas lawyers couldn't make these types of boldfaced arguments during opening statements; they were supposed to just preview the evidence. But Marc Boland didn't seem to be bothered by Gates's monologue, and Quinn didn't want to call more attention to the prosecutor's arguments by objecting, so he decided to ride it out.

"This is not some kind of spur-of-the-moment, heat-of-passion crime where a demonic personality took control of the defendant's body. The Catherine O'Rourke sitting in this courtroom is the same Catherine O'Rourke who stalked Paul Donaldson, and took the pictures of Donaldson's girlfriend, and set up a meeting with Donaldson, and electrocuted him, and faked visions to ingratiate herself to the police, and later tried to cover it all up. Do you really think that some other personality magically took over the defendant's body at every stage of this crime, floating in and out of her body to do all these things? Do you really believe the defendant wasn't even aware that the crimes had happened? Do you really think she just happened to throw her computer away a few days before the police arrested her?"

Gates blew out a breath. "She's clever. She fooled a lot of friends and coworkers. She fooled the police for a while. Even now, she is fooling the defense psychiatrist, Dr. Rosemarie Mancini. And starting today, she wants to fool you."

Gates took a half step back and tilted his head. "She's clever all right. But crazy?"

He paused just long enough to gain everyone's attention. "Crazy like a fox."

For Catherine, the first day of the trial was surreal. As a reporter, she had covered major trials for years, wondering what went through a defendant's mind at times like this, trying to imagine what it felt like to have your fate in the hands of twelve fellow human beings in the jury box.

Now she knew.

It felt nauseating.

In the momentary silence that filled the courtroom after Boyd Gates's opening, Catherine sensed the eyes of a packed gallery boring into the back of her neck. She could almost hear the accusatory whispers accompanied by the sad shaking of dozens of heads. The presumption of innocence was a myth. She hadn't reserved her own judgment when she watched defendants squirm during the prosecutor's opening statement. And she knew others weren't reserving theirs now.

She thought about the impact this trial must already be having on her mom and her sister, sitting just a row behind Catherine. What about her remaining friends-the ones who had promised to stick with her no matter what-trying to reconcile this damning evidence with the Catherine they thought they knew?

Quinn introduced himself and reminded the jurors about their obligation to keep an open mind until they heard all the evidence. "The presumption of innocence is more than just a nice-sounding phrase," he said, his voice calm and reasonable. "It actually means something. Right now, my client, Catherine O'Rourke, is clothed in the presumption of innocence." He turned to look at Cat. "She is every bit as innocent at this moment as you and me." Quinn turned back to the jury but Catherine's eyes never left his back; she couldn't bear to look at the jurors.

"And she will remain innocent unless the prosecution removes that cloak by proving her guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. In this case, no such proof exists."

Catherine wished she could feel as confident as Quinn. In her mind, the cloak had already been removed, her naked guilt exposed for the world to see.

Habits die hard. And in this moment of ultra-stress, Cat resorted to her reporter persona, jotting down words that captured her emotions.

Vulnerable. Transparent. Frightened. Listening to Quinn, she still couldn't believe this was happening. Who am I really? she wondered. And then she jotted down another word.

Confused.

The jurors definitely had their game faces on; that much was clear to Quinn. But it felt good to finally be in front of them, even though he could have used a few more days of prep time. This might be Virginia, but this was still a courtroom, his stomping grounds, and this was what he did best. Plain talk to folks just like this.

Quinn had always been the legal magician, pulling surprise verdicts out of a hat, because he truly believed in juries. He wasn't like some lawyers who gave the jury system lip service but in their hearts feared the unpredictability of ordinary citizens. Quinn knew deep in his bones that the jury would understand his case. The rest of the world might not get it, but that didn't matter. Catherine's fate rested with these twelve and nobody else. Quinn trusted them.

It didn't hurt that most of them were women. Despite Quinn's belief that men would naturally jump to Catherine's defense, he also knew that he would develop a better bond with the women on the panel. Even now, he favored them with the majority of his eye contact.

"When Catherine's family and friends and coworkers heard about her arrest, their reaction was almost always the same," Quinn said. "Disbelief. 'The Catherine I know would never do such a thing,' they said. Or, 'I can't believe the cops have the right person-Catherine wouldn't do something like that.'

"Her friends and family were right. The Catherine they knew would never have committed such a heinous crime."

Quinn began pacing now, working his way slowly from side to side in front of the jury. He was onstage, his left hand accentuating his words, his right hand holding a legal pad that he checked occasionally, the subtle inflections of his voice as perfect as those of a trained Broadway singer.

"Even Catherine herself could not believe it. For days, even weeks, she protested her complete innocence. 'Somebody must have framed me,' she said. She pled not guilty at the start of the case, as opposed to not guilty by reason of insanity. This is to be expected because the Catherine O'Rourke you see sitting in this courtroom today was not even aware that this other side of her personality existed. The Avenger of Blood and Catherine O'Rourke share the same body, but they are not the same person. They are entirely different personalities."