Jodie Picoult - Plain Truth

“It’s possible,” Riordan agreed.

“If she then could not recall how the baby died, might her memory lapse be due to this dissociation?”

Riordan grinned indulgently. “It might, if it were a reasonable scenario, Ms. Hathaway, which it unfortunately is not. If you want to claim that the defendant went into a dissociative state that morning that subsequently led to her memory lapses, I’m happy to play along with you. But there’s no way to prove that the stress of the baby’s natural death put her into that state. It’s equally possible that she dissociated due to the stress of labor. Or as a result of the highly stressful act of committing murder.

“You see, the fact of dissociation doesn’t absolve Ms. Fisher from committing neonaticide. Humans are able to perform complex meteoric actions even when the ability to recall these actions is impaired. You can drive your car while in a dissociative state, for example, and travel for hundreds of miles without remembering a single landmark. Likewise, in a dissociative state, you can deliver a baby, even if you can’t recall the specifics. You can try to resuscitate a dying baby, and not recall the specifics. Or,” he said pointedly, “you can kill a baby, and not recall the specifics.”

“Dr. Riordan,” Ellie said, “we’re talking about a young Amish girl here, not some self-absorbed mall-rat teen. Put yourself into her shoes. Isn’t it possible that Katie Fisher wanted that baby, that it died in her arms, that she became so upset about it her own mind unconsciously blocked out what had happened?”

But Riordan had been on the stand too many times to fall so neatly into an attorney’s trap. “If she wanted that baby so badly, Ms. Hathaway,” he said, “why did she lie about it for seven months?”

George was standing up before Ellie even made it back to the defense table. “I’d like to redirect, Your Honor. Dr. Riordan, in your expert opinion, was the defendant in a dissociative state on the morning of July tenth?”

“No.”

“Is that important to this case?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Riordan shrugged. “Her behavior is clear enough-there’s no need to invoke this psychobabble. The defendant’s subversive actions before the birth suggest that once the baby arrived, she’d do anything within her power to get rid of it.”

“Including murder?”

The psychiatrist nodded. “Especially murder.”

“Recross,” Ellie said. “Dr. Riordan, as a forensic psychiatrist you must know that for a Murder One conviction, a person must be found guilty of killing with deliberation, willfulness, and premeditation.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Women who commit neonaticide-do they kill willfully?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do they deliberate about the act?”

“Sometimes, in the way they’ll pick a quiet place, or bring a blanket or bag to dispose of the baby-as the defendant did.”

“Do they plan the murder of the infant in advance?”

Riordan frowned. “It’s a reflexive act, stimulated by the newborn’s arrival.”

“Reflexive act,” Ellie repeated. “By that you mean an automatic, instinctive, unthinking behavior?”

“Yes.”

“Then neonaticide isn’t really first-degree murder, is it?”

“Objection!”

“Withdrawn,” Ellie said. “Nothing further.”

George turned to the judge. “Your Honor,” he said, “the prosecution rests.”

Sarah had held dinner for them, a spread of comfort food that offered no appeal for Ellie. She picked at her plate and felt the walls closing in on her, wondering why she hadn’t taken Coop up on his suggestion to get a bite to eat at a restaurant in Lancaster.

“I brushed Nugget for you,” Sarah said, “but there’s still tack to be cleaned.”

“All right, Mam,” Katie answered. “I’ll go on out after supper. I’ll get the dishes, too; you must be tired after helping out with the milking.”

From the opposite end of the table, Aaron belched loudly, smiling a compliment at his wife. “Gut meal,” he said. He hooked his thumbs beneath his suspenders and turned to his father. “I’m thinking of heading to Lapp’s auction on Monday.”

“You need some new horseflesh?” Elam said.

Aaron shrugged. “Never hurts to see what’s there.”

“I heard tell that Marcus King was getting set to sell that colt bred off his bay last spring.”

“Ja? He’s a beauty.”

Sarah snorted. “What are you gonna do with another horse?”

Ellie looked from one family member to another, as if she were following a tennis match. “Excuse me,” she said softly, and one by one they turned to her. “Are you all aware that your daughter is involved in a murder trial?”

“Ellie, don’t-” Katie stretched out her hand, but Ellie shook her head.

“Are you all aware that in less than a week’s time, your daughter could be found guilty of murder and taken directly from the courthouse to the prison in Muncy? Sitting here talking about horse auctions-doesn’t anyone even care how the trial is going?”

“We care,” Aaron said stiffly.

“Hell of a way to show it,” Ellie muttered, balling up her napkin and tossing it onto the table before escaping upstairs to her room.

• • •

When Ellie opened her eyes again, it was fully dark, and Katie was sitting on the edge of the bed. She sat up immediately, pushing her hair back from her face and squinting at the little battery-powered clock on the nightstand. “What time is it?”

“Just after ten,” Katie whispered. “You fell asleep.”

“Yeah.” Ellie ran her tongue over her fuzzy teeth. “Looks like.” She blinked her way back to consciousness, then reached over to turn up the gas lamp. “Where did you go, anyway?”

“I did the dishes and cleaned the tack.” Katie busied herself around the room, pulling the shades for the night and sitting down to unwind her neat bun.

Ellie watched Katie run a brush through her long, honey hair, her eyes clear and wide. When Ellie had first arrived and seen that look on all the faces surrounding her, she’d mistaken it for blankness, for stupidity. It had taken months for her to realize that the gaze of the Amish was not vacant, but full-brimming with a quiet peace. Even now, after a difficult beginning to the trial that would have kept most people tossing and turning, Katie was at ease.

“I know they care,” Ellie heard herself murmur.

Katie turned her head. “About the trial, you mean.”

“Yeah. My family used to yell a lot. Argue and spontaneously combust and then somehow get back together after the dust settled. This quiet-it’s still a little strange.”

“Your family yelled at you a lot, didn’t they?”

“Sometimes,” Ellie admitted. “But at least all the noise let me know they were there.” She shook her head, clearing it of the memory. “Anyway, I apologize for blowing up at dinner.” She sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Katie’s brush stopped in the middle of a long stroke. “You don’t?”

“Well, no. I mean, I’m a little anxious about the trial, but if I were you I’d rather have me nervous than complacent.” She looked up at Katie, only to realize the girl’s cheeks were burning.

“What are you hiding?” Ellie asked, her stomach sinking.

“Nothing! I’m not hiding a thing!”

Ellie closed her eyes. “I’m too tired for this right now. Could you just save your confession until the morning?”

“Okay,” Katie said, too quickly.

“The hell with the morning. Tell me now.”

“You’ve been falling asleep early, like you did tonight. And you exploded at the dinner table.” Katie’s eyes gleamed as she remembered something else. “And remember this morning, in the bathroom at the court?”