Dark Moon, A Work In Progress, Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT
Percy Andrews kept them waiting on Friday morning. Sarah was not amused.
Jim had met her promptly at nine at Andrews’ sterile glass and chrome office on the eleventh floor of the Ximed Building next to Scripps Hospital. He was way too attractive in a dark suit with a maroon tie, smelling of fresh shaving cream and laundry starch, and Sarah wished that two nights with David had done more to put him out of her mind.
“Looks like the court-appointed expert business must be pretty good,” Jim observed as they sat in Andrews’ glass and chrome waiting room gazing out at North San Diego, stretching flat and brown in the August heat toward the blue Pacific on the horizon.
“Agreed. Nice digs. These guys all practice the black arts for a considerable sum.”
He grinned and his eyes twinkled, and her heart flip flopped like a teen’s. This, she told herself, was not good. The implacable Sarah Knight, toughest defense attorney on Wall Street, had to return at once and banish the dangerous idiot with the school girl crush on the ex-FBI agent.
“I thought defense attorneys swore by hired guns.”
“No, you’ve got that wrong. I’ve met a few psychs with integrity, but not many.”
Percy appeared at the door to summon them to his inner sanctum. As they crossed the waiting room, Sarah heard Jim mutter under his breath, “Why do I think we are about to meet one of the latter?”
Percy Andrews, a thin balding man in his fifties wearing the cliche gray cardigan and baggy brown trousers associated with psychs, led them to his inner office which was cozier than the wasteland of his waiting room. He motioned for Sarah and Jim to sit on the large down sofa in the middle of the room, while he stretched out like a snake on a modern reclining chair opposite.
Did digging your heals into a thick, shaggy brown carpet make a patient want to spill his or her most private secretes Sarah wondered as her Jimmy Choos sank into the deep pile. She noticed a package of Rorschach test cards on his desk, and a sand box in the corner of the room, filled with dozens of tiny plastic people and animals, with sand spilled on the floor all around as if the childish exuberance of play with sand indoors could not be contained. Had Brigman used sand play to lure Alexa’s children in Michael’s direction?
“I’m Sarah Knight, and this is Jim Mitchell, my investigator.”
“I know. Let’s not waste anyone’s time here. I’m going to testify she’s competent to stand trial.”
“What?” Jim nearly lept out of his chair, and Sarah thought he was going to throttle Andrews. She pictured him standing next to Alexa’s cot on Tuesday and tried to extinguish the wave of jealousy.
“I said, I’m going to find her competent.”
Unlike Jim, Sarah had retained her lawyer cool. “On what basis? She’s practically comatose, and she hasn’t spoken a word to me or to Jim. In fact, we don’t know if she can speak.”
“Oh, of course, she can.”
“And she spoke to you when you evaluated her?” Sarah wished she could tell Jim to be silent and let her lead the interview.
“No, she was curled up on the cot, like she was when you visited, I bet.”
“Then how can that be competency to stand trial?” Sarah hoped Jim would take the hint and become the observer he was meant to be.
“Meds. Give her some Lexapro and she’ll be right as rain.”
“But there’s a very strict United States Supreme Court test for ordering medication. And Alexa doesn’t meet it.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass. She killed my colleague of more than twenty years, and she’s going to die for that.”
“But only after a fair trial in which she understands the nature of the proceedings and can assist in her defense.”
“What defense? Her cell phone puts her in the neighborhood at the time of the murders that were committed with her gun. She hasn’t got a defense, Ms. Knight. Ronald took her children away because she was a crazy lunatic, and she proved him right by killing him and Michael.”
“Obviously you aren’t familiar with the correct legal test.”
“I’m familiar with Sell v. United States. I’ve been a forensic psychologist for twenty-five years.”
“Then you know she doesn’t meet the test. You can’t show that less intrusive procedures such as counseling wouldn’t produce the same results as forcing her to take Lexapro or some other drug.”
“That’s a pile of crap, if you’ll excuse me for being blunt. Look, Alexa Reed is faking incompetency big time. She graduated first in her class from Georgetown Law School. She knows if she becomes a comatose blob, she’ll get sent to the state hospital, which is a lot cushier lifestyle than death row where she belongs. And she knows the state can’t execute her while she’s incompetent. She’s counting on me to say she has to go to Patten for treatment until competency is restored, but I’m not going to play her game and let her live out her life in a medical facility when she belongs on death row.”
“It’s not a game,” Jim spoke up.
“Excuse me?” Andrews raised his eyebrows as if Jim were an intruder without a right to speak.
“I said, she’s not playing a game. She’s mentally ill and unable to communicate to help us provide a defense.”
“Too bad for her, you aren’t the court appointed expert. She killed a close friend, and I’m not going to do her any favors.”
“You mean you are biased and you aren’t going to be fair,” Sarah said.
“Save your name calling for the hearing. It won’t do you any good.”
* * *
They were silent in the chrome elevators as they slipped effortlessly from the eleventh floor to the marble lobby of the XiMed building. When they got out, Sarah led the way to a quiet corner where they could talk undisturbed.
“That was not what I expected,” Jim began.
“I wasn’t surprised after my interviews with Hal Remington and Trevor Martin.”
“In other words, the legal community in this town is massed against her.”
“The criminal bar is, at least. I wonder how Alan Warrick feels about Alexa Reed.”
“Want me to go find out?”
Why did he sound too eager, Sarah asked herself. And why did that irritate her?
“I know Alan personally. Better that I approach him. The only problem is he’s on a three-month sabbatical right now. His wife is an artist, and they are in Paris until early October.”
“Jets take off for Paris every day.”
“He wouldn’t like being tracked down when he’s on a holiday. Besides, we’ll have plenty of time to talk to him when he gets back.”
“So what’s next, boss?”
“I’m going to go ex parte this afternoon and request appointment of a defense expert to evaluate her.”
“Got anyone in mind?”
“Jordan Stewart in L.A. I’ve used her before in cases that I tried in New York. She’s an international expert on battered women’s syndrome.”
“Do you think that’s going to be our defense here?”
“No idea. But Jordan knows her stuff, and she’s one of the few who won’t give an opinion just for the money. If she can’t testify favorably for the defense, she won’t get on the stand and perjure herself. According to Trevor Martin, Alexa told Brigman Michael had abused her, but Brigman refused to believe her.”
“Looks like I’d better do some digging on Michael, then. See if there are any police reports for domestic violence or hospital visits.”
“Would it be terrible if I said I hope you find some?”
“Not at all. What about dinner tonight to talk over what I find?”
“Plans, tonight. Sorry.”
“Wife still in Cabo?”
“Until Monday. We can talk about whatever you find on Michael in my office at nine on Monday morning.”
He tried to conceal his disappointment. “Okay. See you then.”