Jonathan Kellerman - Silent Partner

“This father’s IQ will never be tested again,” said Mal.

“In lieu of that, I requested that Mrs. Burkhalter take an IQ test, but you refused that request, Mr. Worthy.”

“She’s had enough stress, Counselor.”

“No matter,” said Moretti. “Inferences may still be drawn from what we know of these people. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Burkhalter finished high school. Both were dropouts , worked at menial jobs. That indicates a less than average genetic endowment for this family. I wouldn’t expect Darren to be average. Would you, Dr. Delaware?”

“It’s hardly that simple,” I said. “Parental IQ predicts children’s IQ better than most other factors, but it’s still not a very good predictor, accounting for less than twenty percent of the variance. Katz, Dash, and Ellenberg emphasize that in their follow-up 1983 study. One out of five, Mr. Moretti. Not great odds for a bet.”

“Are you a gambler, Doctor?”

“No. That’s why I took this case.”

The reporter smiled.

Moretti turned to Mal. “Counselor, I’d advise that you counsel this witness on appropriate demeanor.”

“Consider yourself advised, Dr. Delaware,” said Mal, fighting a grin. He flashed his cuffs and studied his Rolex. “May we proceed?”

Moretti put his glasses back on and scanned some papers. “Dr. Delaware,” he said, then paused as if anticipating a punch line. “Come now, Dr. Delaware. You’re not saying that except for the accident, Darren Burkhalter would have been expected to become a nuclear physicist, are you?”

“No one knows what Darren would have become or what he will become,” I said. “Right now, the facts are that following an unusually severe psychological trauma, his language is below average and he’s experiencing severe stress.”

“What was his language like before the accident?”

“His mother reports he was starting to talk. However, after the traum-”

“His mother,” said Moretti. “And you base your conclusions on what she tells you.”

“Along with other input.”

“Such as your interview with his day-care teacher.”

“Such as.”

“His teacher’s your expert witness?”

“She seemed very credible and had a good understanding of Darren. She reported that the parents were very involved, very loving. His father, in particular, had taken an interest in his-”

“Yes, let’s talk about his father. Gregory Joe Burkhalter had a criminal record. Are you aware of that, Doctor?”

“Yes I am. A conviction for petty theft, several years ago.”

“Petty theft and larceny, Doctor. He did jail time.”

“What’s the point?” asked Mal.

“The point, Mr. Worthy, is that your expert , basing his opinion on an individual who would not qualify as an expert in court, wants to make a case for this father being a major source of intellectual stimulation for this child, hence major material and emotional loss due to paternal death. This father was a criminal, minimally educated…”

“Mr. Moretti,” I said, “is it your position that only educated parents are worth grieving for?”

He ignored me. “… while, in point of fact, the data pertaining to the case in point indicate a socially and emotionally impoverished…”

He went on for a while, picking up volume and speed, fairly glowing with combat lust. Mal, too, was caught up in the joust, poised for the riposte.

More pissing. And the truth be damned. It started to really get to me and I broke in, raising my voice to be heard over the tide of legalese: “Mr. Moretti, you’re a classic case of a little knowledge being dangerous.”

Moretti rose half out of his seat, caught himself, then settled back down and bared his teeth. “Getting defensive, Doctor?”

“This was supposed to be a fact-finding meeting. If you want to hear what I have to say, fine. If you want to play ego games, I won’t waste my time.”

Moretti clucked his tongue. “Mr. Worthy, if this is a portent of his courtroom behavior, you’re in a heap of trouble, Counselor.”

Mal said nothing. But he scrawled on his note pad: Have I created a monster? then covered it with his hand.

Moretti didn’t miss it: “Anything we should have on the record, Counselor?”

“Just doodling,” said Mal and he began to sketch a naked woman.

“We were talking about childhood trauma,” I said to Moretti. “Would you like me to address that issue or am I through?”

Moretti tried to look amused. “You may address it if you have something to add to your report.”

“Since you drew faulty conclusions from my report, I have plenty to add. Darren Burkhalter is suffering a post-traumatic stress reaction that may convert to long-term psychological problems. Brief play therapy and counseling for the mother have brought about some symptom reduction but much more treatment is indicated.” To the other lawyers: “I’m not saying long-term psychological problems are inevitable, but neither will I rule problems out. No reasonable expert would.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Moretti, “this child is two years old.”

“Twenty-six months.”

“Same difference. He was eighteen months at the time of the accident. You’re telling me that you’ll be willing to go into court and testify under oath that when he’s twenty-six years old, he could be psychologically affected by an accident that took place when he was a baby?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. A traumatic scene that vivid and bloody, buried in his subconscious-”

Moretti snorted. “What does a subconscious look like, Doctor? I’ve never seen one.”

“Nevertheless, you have one, Mr. Moretti. As do I and everyone else in this room. In simple terms, the subconscious is a psychic storage bin. The part of our mind where we put experiences and feelings we don’t want to deal with. When our defenses are down, the bin tips over and some of the stored material spills out- dreams, fantasies, seemingly irrational or even self-destructive behaviors that we call symptoms. The subconscious is real, Mr. Moretti. It’s what makes you dream of winning . A big part of what motivated you to become a lawyer.”

That got to him. He took pains to be cool but his eyes twitched, his nostrils opened, and his mouth drew so tight it puckered.

“Thank you for that insight, Doctor. Send me a bill- though judging from what you’re charging Mr. Worthy, I don’t know if I can afford you. In the meantime, let’s stick to the accident-”

“ Accident doesn’t begin to describe what Darren Burkhalter experienced. Disaster would be more accurate. The boy was napping in his car up until the moment of impact. The first thing he saw when he woke up was his father’s decapitated head flying over the front seat and landing next to him, the features still twitching.”

Several of the lawyers winced.

“It missed falling right in his lap by inches,” I said. “Darren must have thought it was some kind of doll because he tried to pick it up. When he pulled away his hand and saw it covered with blood- saw what it really was- he went hysterical. And stayed hysterical for five full days, Mr. Moretti, screaming ‘Dada!’ totally out of control.”

I paused to let the image sink in. “He knew what was happening, Mr. Moretti- he’s played it out in my office every time he’s been there. He’s clearly old enough to form a durable memory. I’ll quote you statistics on that , if you’d like. And that memory won’t disappear simply because you want it to.”

“A memory that you’re keeping alive by making him go through it over and over again,” said Moretti.