Уильям Макгиверн - Summitt

“Yes, of course. The girl admitted as much to me.” The doctor’s small smile invited the jurors to share his self-assurance. “She told me she had a collection of pictures in her bedroom, virile young men, athletes, in fact, who were — it so happened — fit objects for safe fantasies because all the young heroes enshrined on her wall” — the doctor’s smile was now rueful — “all of those powerful young men were dead. Israeli athletes murdered at the Olympic Games in Germany some ten years ago.”

“You found this suspicious?”

“That’s a pejorative word. I would prefer revealing. It follows that a dead person is a safe object of idealized love — harmless and nonthreatening.”

“Did Shana tell you how old she was when she cut out those pictures?”

“She was four or five, as I understand. But the significant fact is that she has kept them all these years, don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t, Doctor. Shana’s mother was not deceased then, and Shana was not sexually mature — which are the conditions you told us typified damaged females seeking release from their guilty sexual drives by exposing themselves to sadists and rapists. How could your explanation hold water for a child of four or five?”

Dr. Clemens cleared his throat again. “You are simplifying my conclusions.”

“I’m glad to be of help, Doctor.”

“I object, Your Honor, to the sarcasm.”

“Sustained.”

“Doctor, why do you consider it significant that Shana kept the picture of those Israeli athletes all these years?”

“To me, it reveals her need for relationships that are unobtainable and therefore safe and reassuring. Those dead athletes are real to her in one very important sense. They cannot hurt her, they cannot disappoint her, they can never be the living agents to satisfy her rebellious though unconscious sexual needs—”

“Excuse me, Your Honor.” Brett returned to her People’s table and poured herself a glass of water. Her hand trembled slightly as she drank it. When she put the glass down she squeezed Shana’s arm. In a low and conversational tone, she murmured, “Shana, wipe your eyes. Don’t let them make you cry. They’re abominable, disgusting...”

“Miss Brett,” Flood said, “if you wish a conference with your client I will recess for that purpose.”

“Thank you for your consideration, Judge Flood, but I would like to complete my cross of the doctor.” Squeezing Shana’s arm a second time, Brett straightened and walked back to the witness stand.

“Dr. Clemens, you have given us a comprehensive and perhaps necessarily subjective profile of the plaintiff.” Her expression was composed, but as she paced in front of the witness, there was an edge of hostility in the precision of Brett’s movements. “I sense an absence or omission in your testimony, Doctor.” Her words were as measured as the sound of her footsteps. “In all this speculation about the victim, in this pawing over and prying into her innermost private and sensitive feelings, there has not been one word about the person who committed the crimes against her. A young girl has been tortured and raped. Tell us, Doctor, what class of perverted male indulges and delights in such atrocities? What pictures would you find on his wall? What parental influences drive him to these violent, sadistic assaults on young—?”

Davic objected, his face flushing. “Dr. Clemens is here to testify to the mental condition and emotional credibility of the plaintiff . He is here for that reason only. People’s counsel knows that—”

“Your Honor,” Brett cut in, “the defense counsel begrudges me the opportunity to examine his expert witness on the motivation of rapists as a class . I understand Mr. Davic’s concern. He has paid seventy-five thousand dollars for Dr. Clemen’s selected opinions. Naturally, he does not want to share his witness’s expertise with me.”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained. Miss Brett, I’ve ruled that you avoid this matter of expenses.”

“But the fact is, Your Honor, those damaged young females were not alone when they were attacked and raped and savaged. They didn’t strap themselves to beds and beat themselves black and blue and bloody with their own fists. Someone else broke their teeth, burned their flesh with cigarettes and raped and sodomized them, but that class of perverted, sadistic criminal has remained anonymous in these hearings — no profiles of that class of felon has been drawn or even hinted it—”

Judge Flood sounded his gavel.

“—except for a reference by Dr. Clemens to collusion, by which I gather he means that forcible rape is somehow a deal between equally suspect participants—”

“Miss Brett!” Judge Flood brought his gavel down firmly. “That will be enough.”

Brett drew a deep breath; her face was pale; in contrast her gray eyes were almost black, shining with angry intensity. “Your Honor,” she said, “I have not meant to offend the dignity of this court or test the generous limits of your patience. But I am forced to speak out because the victim in this case has been treated as if she were a criminal, not by the court, but by the license given defense counsel by our laws. Shana’s background, her sexual capacities, even the intimate furnishings of her bedroom, all this is not only available and presumably relevant to the defense, but is also subject to clinical probings by their expert witness, Dr. Clemens, who has not spent three minutes, let alone three hours, examining the defendant sitting in this courtroom and charged with torturing and raping Shana Selby.”

Davic stood. “I insist that Your Honor put a stop to these outbursts. The function of Dr. Clemens in this trial is proscribed by statute. The doctor cannot answer any questions in regard to the defendant. If such questions are put to him, I will instruct him not to answer them. ”

“But, Your Honor,” Brett said, “the doctor has referred to the literature of sexual pathology and rape, and studies of sexual disorders. Those are descriptions which embrace males and females. I have no specific questions to ask in relation to the defendant. But if a psychological portrait of rape victims as a class is admissible, then fairness suggests that a similar portrait of rapists as a class be presented to the jury.”

“I object, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Davic, I have pointed out that the People must be given a reasonable leeway in cross-examining expert witnesses.”

“I submit you are giving her more than leeway, Your Honor. I object to the court’s indulgence in this matter.”

“Overruled.”

“Exception.”

Judge Flood nodded at Davic and glanced across his steepled fingers at Brett. “Counselor, you may inquire of Dr. Clemens as to rapists as a class. But your questions must not relate, Miss Brett, even tangentially, to the defendant. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Brett addressed the witness. “Dr. Clemens, does the commission or rape, in your judgment, represent primarily a need for sex or a need for violence?”

“The latter, in almost every instance. The rapist’s basic need is to physically dominate and humiliate a woman. The rapist does not want sex from a woman. It is probably the last thing he wants, because his fears and hatred of women make it impossible for him to sustain a relationship with a female that is based on pleasure or tenderness or mutual respect or confidence.”

Davic looked like he would have liked to kill his witness, whose apparently compulsive grandstanding, and was now helping the opposition.