James Sheehan - The Mayor of Lexington Avenue

He became a forensic psychiatrist, which meant that he didn’t treat people or “cure” them anymore-he sold his services to the highest bidder as an expert witness on cause and effect and everything else in between. He found Tracey, or she found him, soon after his move to Vero. It was a marriage made in heaven. Tracey moved clients through her office like logs through a paper mill, and a good percentage of them saw H.V. during the trip. Tracey and H.V. shared the opinion that everyone who was injured through the negligence of another had a psychiatric problem as a result.

Because Tracey usually settled cases at an early stage, H.V. was rarely deposed, so the public record of his opinions on behalf of her clients was scant. If the entire record were available, it would have revealed hundreds of opinions suggesting Tracey’s clients had psychiatric conditions ranging from mere depression to the more exotic, like post traumatic stress disorder, all caused by whatever trauma had befallen them. Those opinions translated into hundreds of thousands of dollars in settlements for the James gang and some tidy fees for H.V. as well-not that he didn’t deserve them. On the rare occasions when he did have to testify, H.V. was always well prepared, well spoken, concise and impossible to cross-examine. His credentials were more than solid: He had received his undergraduate degree from Cornell and his medical degree from Penn. When asked about having worked with Ms. James in the past, the doctor’s pat answer was: “I seem to recall that I have but I’m not sure of the name of the client, or clients, or the date. I am called by a great number of attorneys.”

In the modern world of relativism it was known as selective recall.

Rudy was a little different from H.V.’s run-of-the-mill clients. H.V.’s testimony in criminal cases had usually related to insanity or competency to stand trial. But in Rudy’s case Tracey wanted to test a unique legal theory: that because of his limited intelligence Rudy was unable to comprehend and waive his Miranda rights. It was about more than competency, an argument Tracey knew she might lose. It was about competency combined with naivete. Tracey wanted to be able to argue to the judge that, because of his diminished mental capacity, Rudy simply could not refuse to talk to Wesley Brume when Wesley asked him a question, regardless of the fact that Wesley had advised him of his right to remain silent. Because it was a tricky point, H.V. had been given carte blanche in the spending department, an opportunity he did not fail to exploit. The first order of business was a trip to Bass Creek to visit his patient.

Rudy had been in the Cobb County jail for about three weeks when H.V. showed up. Like everyone, Rudy had heard horror stories about jail and was expecting the worst. But it was all quite calm-boring, actually. There were very few prisoners in the county jail and Rudy settled into a routine early on: breakfast in the morning at seven, karate exercises after that, then pushups and situps. The guard had told him he’d literally have to fight for his ass when he hit the state prison system and Rudy wanted to be ready. In the afternoon he did some cardiovascular work, playing basketball or running around the exercise area.

Elena came in the afternoon. She was allowed to come every day because it was county jail, but her visits were hard on Rudy. He was used to hugging and kissing his mother. Seeing her every day but not being able to touch her was like torture. It might have been better if her visits had been less frequent, but nobody could convince either of them of that fact. Elena had never been overprotective of Rudy. She knew it was going to take longer for her son than most young men, but she had always wanted him to stand on his own two feet. Now he was in prison and it was, at least in part, her fault. This was new territory. She didn’t know if Rudy was strong enough to handle such an ordeal. She just wanted him to know she was there for him-every day.

At night, he had books and magazines to read that Elena had brought. Sometimes, though, in the middle of the night he’d dream about state prison and being attacked by gangs of men. They’d call him “stupid” and “dummy” as they held him down for the final act of humiliation. Rudy always woke up before it happened. Shaking and sweaty, he’d lie there for hours, afraid to close his eyes.

I’ll never let it happen , he told himself. They’ll have to kill me first. Then he’d think of the osprey. Flying above it all, swooping down at the perfect moment for the kill. Or the gator, biding his time, always staying cool. I’ll be like them. Fearless, ready to kill. Only then could he fall back to sleep.

His first visitor, besides his mother, was Tracey James herself. Tracey came the second week. She really didn’t need to see Rudy, didn’t need to hear his story at this point. She just wanted to eyeball him, get a feel for the extent of his intellectual deficit, so she could provide a firsthand observation to the judge when the time came. Unlike regular visitors who talked to the prisoners through a screen, Tracey actually met Rudy in a room where they could face each other and talk.

“I’m your lawyer,” she told him after she introduced herself. Rudy smiled.

“I know. My mother told me all about you. She said you’re the best.” It was Tracey’s turn to smile, even blush a little.

“I don’t know about that, but we are going to do our best to get you out of here.”

“I know.” Rudy repeated the words with such confidence that even Tracey was taken aback. Most of her clients were a little less confident and a little more demanding and colorful in their choice of words. Tracey felt the need to file a disclaimer.

“I can’t guarantee anything. There’s a possibility we’ll lose.”

“I know,” he repeated again, still smiling at her. “But you’ll do your best.”

Tracey didn’t know how to respond to such a pleasant, reasonable observation. “Yes, well, I have a few questions to ask you and I want you to respond to just those questions and nothing more. We’ll talk more after I get a copy of your statement to the police, but for now let’s stick to the questions I ask. Okay?”

“Sure,” Rudy replied, the same smile on his face. Doesn’t he know where he is? Tracey wondered.

Later that day, Tracey filed her motion to have bond set. Rudy was now being held without bond and she debated whether to file the motion at all. Elena could barely raise the reduced retainer and she had no property that could serve as collateral. Bond in a capital case was going to be over a hundred thousand dollars, at the very least. Elena could neither post bond nor convince a bondsman to post it on her behalf. As a practical matter, the motion was a waste of time. However, it was a billable waste of time and Tracey’s specialty was churning hours.

When they first met, H.V. had not been surprised by Rudy’s upbeat nature even though he was in jail. H.V. had worked with retarded children in Connecticut for a year during his residency and had noticed that they were consistently cheerful. He remembered one of his colleague’s remarks as they were observing a classroom of children laughing and having fun:

“And they’re the retarded ones. I don’t think so.”

H.V. recalled those words the moment Tracey told him about Rudy and his inability to say no to Detective Brume. None of those kids he remembered would have or could have refused. The hard part would be explaining this to a judge.

H.V. tried to be as upbeat as Rudy during that first meeting, pasting a smile on his face and extending his hand.

“Hi Rudy, I’m Harry Fischer.” He never, ever referred to himself as Harry. It had taken him years to cultivate the moniker H.V. among colleagues and patients and the few friends that he had. But this was a rare event-fieldwork-and a unique assignment that called for a different, more flexible approach. He needed Rudy to feel totally relaxed in his presence.