Robert Bidinotto - Hunter

Wulfe nodded sympathetically at the jerk. “I’m truly sorry, doctor. Your work has been such a big help to all of us, and I’m sure to many others.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wulfe. I appreciate that more than you could know.”

Oh, I’m sure of that, Hairball.

“It’s really an either-or choice for society,” the pompous ass continued. “We can dwell in the bitter past, looking behind us down the path of retribution and recrimination. Or we can look forward and take a new path to personal rehabilitation and restoration.”

“What he’s writing, if you ask me, it’s downright un-Christian,” Wulfe interjected. “It’s contrary to the virtues of forgiveness and trust as rewards for sincere repentance.”

“Amen, brother!” Preacher Jim chimed in.

“Precisely!” The Hairball said, nodding enthusiastically.

Encouraged, Wulfe stood and kept going, taking care to keep his voice restrained. “I think it all comes down to this: How do the American people want to see themselves when they look in the mirror? As cold-blooded, Old-Testament, eye-for-an-eye savages? As an angry lynch mob looking for revenge for every slight against them? Or do they want to look into that mirror and see a reflection of the New Testament virtues of mercy and compassion and human salvation?”

He nodded as he said it, looking around the room at the others. They caught on and nodded in agreement, and Preacher “amened” him twice more.

“What I’ve learned here from you, Dr. Frankfurt,” he concluded, “is that the lessons of psychology are really the same lessons that we can find in the Sermon on the Mount. And I’m grateful to you for teaching me that.”

The Hairball stared at him, blinking rapidly. For a minute, he thought crazily that the idiot was going to rush across the room and hug him; it seemed all he could do to contain himself.

“Thank you, Mr. Wulfe!” he said at last. “As I mentioned, I have to go to Washington now, so I’m going to cut this session short today. I hope we’ve all learned something from Mr. Wulfe’s heartfelt words. I want us to ponder them until we meet again on Thursday. That will be all for now.”

The men looked at each other and got up to leave.

“Adrian, if I could have a word with you for a moment.”

So it’s Adrian now. Wulfe sat back down as the room cleared.

“Let me tell you how much I was moved by your eloquent statement just now. I want to thank you for that, and also share with you how impressed I am by your progress.”

“I certainly couldn’t have gotten this far without your help, doctor.”

“You’ve already demonstrated your maturity in so many ways over these many months. I’ve shared with my colleagues the story of your enormous restraint, compassion, and dignity during your meeting with Mrs. Copeland two months ago. You’ve also taken a leadership role here in Group, and your behavioral record in Claibourne has been spotless. Adrian, I want to say that I consider you to be an exemplary client.”

“Dr. Frankfurt…I just don’t know what to say to that.”

“I know that it’s highly unusual, given the crime for which you were convicted, but there’s no question in my mind, none at all, that you’ve earned placement in the Accelerated Community Reintegration Track.”

Yes. Wulfe’s heart was pounding. He did his best to push his face into a humble expression of speechless gratitude.

“Given the current circumstances,” The Hairball went on, “with all this media sensationalism and vigilante rubbish, I’m not sure how much longer we’ll even have enlightened programs such as this one. So I want to make sure that I initiate your transition right away. And as a first step in your reintegration, Adrian, I’m recommending you for your initial community furlough this coming Christmas.”

Nobody else was in the room, so it was time for Stanislavsky. The first tears began to flow as he reached out and clutched the shrink’s hand.

“Dr. Frankfurt, you can’t begin to imagine how important this opportunity is to me. And let me assure you, I know how to take full advantage of it.”

Washington, D.C.

Monday, November 17, 2:02 p.m.

Kenneth MacLean checked his watch as a straggler entered the room at the back, found a chair, and sat down. He turned and smiled reassuringly at Dr. Frankfurt, who was seated beside him, sweating and tapping his foot. Then he rose from his chair and took position behind the podium.

Before him, nearly three dozen seats in the Murrow Room on the thirteenth floor of the National Press Club were filled with reporters, and no less than five television cameras faced him from the back and sides of the room. It was exactly the kind of media circus he’d done his best to prevent, all along. But the “D.C. vigilantes” story had gone national weeks before, and now the Inquirer had tried to link those lurid stories directly to his foundation.

To him.

He fought down his anger while he shuffled his notes. It would be counterproductive to lose his temper here, in spite of how unfair the smear campaign was. He had to remain calm and focus on the facts. For the facts were on his side. He raised his eyes. Many of the reporters were reading the materials in the press packets they had distributed. Good. He knew that much of that information would find its way into the stories they filed this evening.

He spotted George and Wendy, Congressman Horowitz’s aides, sitting near the back. They would be reporting back to their boss on how it went. He took a deep breath, knowing that his life’s work was on the line. He let it out slowly, smiled, and began.

“Good afternoon. Thank you for coming. My name is Ken MacLean, and I’m president of the MacLean Family Foundation. Seated to my right is Dr. Carl Frankfurt, chief of the Psychological Services Unit in our Justice Program. We’re here to set the record straight concerning a host of misrepresentations in the media about us. So, we’ll begin by having Dr. Frankfurt give you a PowerPoint presentation to clarify who we are, what we do, and why.”

Frankfurt took his place at the podium and flipped a switch to shut off the lights in the room. For the next ten minutes, he clicked through the slides, explaining the foundation’s history, objectives, and projects in the criminal justice area. At one point, the door in the back of the room briefly opened and closed. MacLean turned to look, but the brightness from outside the darkened room prevented him from seeing who had entered.

“As you see, then, the MacLean Family Foundation has developed safe, cost-effective, ground-breaking alternatives to incarceration for minor and nonviolent offenders,” Frankfurt concluded, pausing on a final slide. It showed a group of smiling young men, mostly African-American and Hispanic, posing with him on the sidewalk outside the main entrance to the foundation. “We’ve pioneered inmate therapeutic programs that have reduced their recidivism. We’ve championed the cause of diversionary sentencing, to ease the burden of prison and jail overcrowding. We’ve persuaded many governors and state legislatures to repeal the mindless get-tough crime laws and mandatory-minimum sentencing statutes that they passed in recent years. Besides being the humane thing to do, it’s simply good economics. States are going bankrupt due to an orgy of expensive prison construction.”

He clicked the lights back on.

MacLean rose from his seat to stand beside him. “Thank you, Carl. Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve shown that we can manage tens of thousands of convicted offenders safely, and far more economically, outside of prison walls. But what primarily motivates us at the MacLean Family Foundation is the moral dimension of our work.”