Randy Singer - By reason of insanity

Gates mumbled an apology.

"Now, gentlemen, we have a case to finish. Let's try to act like professionals for a change."

All three attorneys mumbled appropriate "Yes, Your Honors," and Gates started back to his seat.

"Wait a minute," Quinn said. "I have a motion I need to make."

Gates returned to the bench, giving Quinn a sideways look. Quinn leaned in and lowered his voice. "Your Honor, with respect, I move for a one-day recess."

"What?" Gates said.

"Let him finish," snapped Rosencrance.

"Thank you, Your Honor." Quinn felt the nerves tingle up his spine. Once he made this motion, there would be no turning back. "We've discovered evidence that may require us to change Ms. O'Rourke's plea."

Rosencrance nearly pulled an eyebrow muscle, and Quinn could understand why.

"And a second development that may require me to withdraw as counsel," he added.

At that claim, Marc Boland joined the others in looking at Quinn as if the Vegas lawyer had just turned into a toad.

"This better not be one of your gimmicks," Rosencrance said.

"It's not, Judge." Quinn swallowed his nerves and hoped he was doing the right thing. "We need a day to confirm this evidence. If it checks out, Judge, it could blow this case wide open. As an officer of the court, I would not be able to proceed with an insanity plea. In fact, I would have to withdraw so I could take the stand and testify."

Quinn could tell that Rosencrance wasn't buying it, but he couldn't provide specifics. Not yet. "I would be glad to submit a written proffer first thing tomorrow morning," Quinn said.

Rosencrance still looked skeptical.

Quinn knew he needed to emphasize the one thing trial judges feared more than anything else: appellate courts. Reversible error. "Judge, I don't want to try this case a second time. If this evidence proves out, requiring us to move forward with an insanity defense would be a guaranteed reversal. At the very least, you need to carefully consider this."

Rosencrance turned to Gates and, to Quinn's surprise, the prosecutor shrugged. "As long as you instruct Dr. Mancini that she can't talk to defense counsel between now and tomorrow morning, I'm okay with it."

Of course, thought Quinn. Now that Gates has heard the entire direct examination of Mancini, he wants more time to prepare for the remainder of her cross. Plus, he wants the jury thinking about his last question during the overnight recess.

"I want a written proffer of this alleged evidence first thing in the morning," Rosencrance ordered Quinn. "And it better be good. I'm not inclined to let a defendant change her plea in the middle of the trial absent some overwhelming reason. You don't get to take a trial run at the case and then change your strategy if things don't work out. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely, Your Honor."

"Bring in the jury," Rosencrance told the bailiff. "We're going to give them the rest of the day off."

"What the heck was that?" Marc Boland slammed the door of the conference room adjacent to Courtroom 7. Boland and Quinn were alone in the room, but the way Bo was shouting, Quinn was pretty sure the press contingent in the hallway could hear every word. "I thought we agreed to keep that evidence out of the case."

Boland stormed back and forth on his side of the table, opposite a seated Quinn. "You just destroyed our client's insanity plea," he complained. He bumped into a chair and kicked it for good measure. "You sold her out! What were you thinking?"

"Are you done?" Quinn asked.

Boland stopped and put both palms on the table, leaning toward Quinn. "Heck no, I'm not done. And I won't be done until I get some answers. I worked hard on this case-worked my tail off! And you just flippantly flush the whole thing down the toilet with your Las Vegas showmanship crap."

Boland cursed and slammed the side of his fist into the plasterboard wall. "What were you thinking?" he repeated.

"If you'd sit down and shut up for a second, I'll try to tell you," said Quinn.

Bo sat, his face tight with rage.

Quinn gave him a few more seconds to calm down. "I need to hire you as my lawyer." He kept his voice low and reasonable. "I need to tell you something in absolute confidence. And I need a lawyer who is thinking rationally as opposed to freaking out on me."

This seemed to blunt Bo's rage a little. Nothing flattered a lawyer like another lawyer seeking advice.

"Okay?" Quinn asked.

"I don't understand you," Bo said. "But okay."

Quinn took another few seconds to collect his thoughts. "Our mutual client had another vision last night," he began. "Actually a dream. I'll spare you all the details, but she basically saw the jury verdict. The forewoman was Marcia Carver. Reverend Pryor was ranting away from the back of the courtroom. The jury delivered a guilty verdict on first degree murder but when Rosencrance started to sentence Catherine, the forewoman protested. She said the verdict wasn't against Catherine after all."

Quinn stopped abruptly, barely able to maintain eye contact. He sighed, it was too late to turn back now.

"Cat said she almost fainted when she saw where Marcia Carver was pointing. Cat said she felt so betrayed, like somebody had slid a knife in her back and cut out her heart."

"Why?" Bo asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Because she was talking about me, Marc. The forewoman in Catherine's dream was pointing at me."

"I killed my brother-in-law," Quinn said.

He took a deep breath, and the facts came out in a torrent.

"Annie didn't shoot Richard Hofstetter; I did. Afterward, we decided she should confess to the crime because she'd have a better chance of getting acquitted. If the jury found her guilty, I'd admit the truth. The judge would have to grant a retrial, and I'd take the stand and confess. At worst, Annie might get hit with obstruction of justice, and I'd get convicted of murder. But this plan also gave us the best shot at both of us walking away scot-free."

Boland listened, his face unreadable.

"Annie called me a few days before the shooting and said she suspected Hofstetter was sexually abusing Sierra," Quinn continued. "She decided to confront him about it. The night of the shooting, she sent Sierra to a friend's house. She called and told me about her plans while she waited for Hofstetter to come home.

"He got there late, drunk and verbally abusive, but Annie confronted him anyway. He flew into a rage, cursing Annie and telling her how repulsive she had become. He threatened to divorce her and file for visitation with Sierra. The way he said it, the way he sneered, Annie knew her suspicions were correct."

Quinn paused in his narration, stared at the wall, and sucked in a breath. "When Hofstetter stumbled off to the bathroom, Annie called me again. I was actually sitting in my car a block or two away. I figured there might be trouble, and I wanted to be close by in case Annie needed me. I brought a gun I'd bought a few days earlier after talking with Annie. Got it at a gun show, undocumented. After the second call from Annie that night, I drove to the house and entered without knocking. I heard Annie call my name when I opened the door. She sounded panicked. I hustled back to the living room and found Hofstetter kneeling on the floor with Annie in front of him as a shield, his knife at her throat. Later, Annie told me that he was threatening to rape her just before I got there."

Quinn stopped, feeling the heat of the conference room. "I aimed my gun at Hofstetter's forehead and started inching my way toward him. 'Even if I miss on the first shot,' I said, 'I won't miss on the second.' I stopped about ten feet away and told Hofstetter to drop the knife. When he did and Annie scrambled away, I put a bullet through his forehead.