Authors: David Eddings
“About six months,” Fallon replied. “Then one morning for no apparent reason, she started speaking English. The first thing she said, though, was ‘where is this, and who am I?’ She obviously couldn’t face or accept what had happened, so as a means of escape, she simply erased all memory of her previous life.”
“Amnesia?” Rankin suggested.
“Exactly. Her amnesia was a flight from reality, and made more complicated for those of us trying to treat her by the fact that she was almost certainly thinking in two different languages, and we could only understand one of them. It’s obvious that when she lapses into that private language, she’s talking with her sister. They appear to have been living in an entirely different world from the rest of us—and
that’s
the world where the survivor’s gone.”
“But her sister’s not
in
that world anymore, Dr. Fallon,” the judge objected.
“Miss Greenleaf seems to believe that she
is
, Your Honor.”
I almost choked on that one. There was no way that Doc Fallon could know about it, but Father O and I had
seen
Renata’s sister in the church. We’d heard her speak the language of that separate world to her anguished sister. And then she’d taken Renata in her arms and merged with her, and together they had left the rest of us behind and gone their own way.
Judge Compson ordered a short recess at that point, and when we returned, Mr. Rankin picked up where he’d left off. “Are we to understand then, that Miss Greenleaf had no memory whatsoever of her life prior to her awakening in your sanitarium, Dr. Fallon?”
“
Almost
no memory, Mr. Rankin,” Fallon replied. “There was one exception, though. She didn’t recognize her parents, but she
did
recognize Mr. Mark Austin, a longtime friend of the Greenleaf family. Mr. Austin had been a key figure in the twins’ early childhood, and his presence seemed to give her something to cling to. Her motivation isn’t very clear.”
“What is your current diagnosis of her condition, Dr. Fallon? Is she paranoid-schizophrenic, manic-depressive, or what?”
“My best guess at the moment is the fugue state, Mr. Rankin,” Fallon replied.
“Would you clarify that for us, please?”
“The ‘fugue’ is an episode of altered consciousness during which the patient wanders off and may do or say things that are very uncharacteristic. When the episode concludes, the patient is frequently agitated and confused. I was not aware of these episodes during Miss Greenleaf’s stay at the sanitarium. They were probably taking place, but they were so brief that we didn’t realize that they were happening. In her present condition, there’s no way that I could verify this, but as I suggested before the recess, I’m convinced that Miss Greenleaf’s alternate persona is her twin sister, Regina.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Fielding stepped in. “That’s pure speculation.”
“Overruled, Mr. Fielding,” Judge Compson said. “This is not a trial, so we can be more flexible. Please continue, Dr. Fallon.”
“Yes, Your Honor. After her recognition of Mr. Austin, Miss Greenleaf’s recovery seemed quite rapid, so I began to grant her furloughs to her parents’ home. By the late spring of ’97, she appeared to have progressed far enough that I decided to upgrade her to outpatient status, and she soon expressed an interest in attending the University of Washington.” He leaned back in the witness chair, squinting reflectively at the ceiling. “Given what’s been happening recently, I can’t be entirely positive which of her identities was making decisions at that point. It may have been Renata’s normal persona, or it could very well have been her fugue-state identity. If it
was
, in fact, the Regina side of her, she fooled me completely. I thought that permitting her to stay with her aunt and audit classes would aid her recovery, and she and I had regular weekly sessions so I could evaluate her progress. As luck had it, Mr. Austin moved into a nearby boardinghouse, and one of the other boarders there was Miss Sylvia Cardinale, a graduate student in psychology. After Renata and Miss Cardinale became acquainted, Miss Cardinale undertook a case history on Miss Greenleaf.”
Judge Compson glanced up at the clock. “Would this be a good place to break, Mr. Rankin?” she asked. “We’re getting close to lunchtime.”
“I was about to suggest that myself, Your Honor,” Rankin replied. “Dr. Fallon and I can pick up after lunch.”
“How much longer do you estimate that Dr. Fallon’s testimony will take?”
“Not much longer, Your Honor. Mr. Fielding should have most of the afternoon for cross-examination.”
“Good,” the judge said. “Court’s adjourned until one-thirty, then.”
We grabbed a quick lunch in the cafeteria. Trish assured us that reporters weren’t permitted to pester people while they were eating, so we waited in the cafeteria after we’d finished. Les Greenleaf ate with us, but he didn’t say very much.
“How are we doing, Trish?” Charlie asked with uncharacteristic seriousness.
“Not bad,” she replied. “Mr. Rankin’s managed to slip several things in that wouldn’t be admissible during a criminal trial. Judge Compson’s cutting him a lot of slack.”
“We’re winning, then?”
“Let’s wait until we hear Fielding’s cross-examination before we start celebrating, Charlie,” she said.
Judge Compson reconvened the hearing at one-thirty on the dot, and Rankin picked up where he’d left off. “You mentioned Miss Cardinale’s case history, Dr. Fallon. Did I understand you to say that she was tape-recording her interviews with Miss Greenleaf?”
“Yes, Mr. Rankin. Renata knew the tape recorder was running, but it didn’t bother her.”
“And all during this period, murders were taking place all over the Seattle area?”
“So I understand. Mr. Austin made certain connections that the rest of us missed, and I’m sure that he’ll go into much greater detail than I can.”
“Then to sum up, it’s your opinion that Miss Greenleaf has crossed the line into a perpetual fugue state?”
“We can always hope that she might recover someday, but given the circumstances, I’d say that the chances of that are very slight.”
“Then her alternate persona—her sister—simulated recovery for one purpose only—to track down Mr. Fergusson and take her vengeance upon him.”
“So it would seem.”
“And the earlier killings were little more than practice murders to hone up her skills?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far, Mr. Rankin. It’s more probable that she was trying to lure potential rapists into attacking her in the hope that sooner or later, the man she was
really
looking for might turn up. The alternate persona was functioning at a very primitive level, especially at first. It was only after several killings that she realized that the license plate number she’d happened to see at the time of Regina’s murder was the crucial piece of information. Once she’d made that connection, the random killings stopped, and she went after the one man she’d been seeking since last September. Her revenge is complete now, and she’s retreated into a near-infantile state—that period in her life before the horrors of her sister’s murder and her psychotic obsession with retribution. There’s no way I could verify this—Renata is the only one in the world who understands that private language—but I’m almost positive that she sees her sister. Even as she sits here in this courtroom, she and Regina are talking to each other about things that none of us here could possibly understand.”
“Thank you, Dr. Fallon,” Rankin said. Then he turned to Judge Compson. “No further questions, Your Honor,” he said.
“Your witness, Mr. Fielding,” the judge said then.
Fielding was staring at Renata with a troubled expression on his face. “No questions, Your Honor,” he replied quietly.
“Very well,” the judge said. “Court’s adjourned. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning at ten A.M.” And she rapped her gavel down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I didn’t sleep very well on Tuesday night, and I don’t think anybody else at the boardinghouse did either. Doc Fallon’s testimony had definitely gotten Judge Compson’s attention, but whether it’d been enough to persuade her that Renata didn’t belong in some state-run asylum was still up in the air.
Then too, Mr. Rankin had told us that we’d each be called to testify on Wednesday. The anticipatory stage fright that followed that announcement certainly helped keep us awake. I think we were all grateful when the smell of Erika’s coffee came wafting out of the kitchen.
“Mr. Rankin wants us in early this morning,” Trish told us at breakfast. “He’s made arrangements to use one of the conference rooms in the courthouse. He doesn’t like surprises coming up in open court, so he’ll go over our testimony with us.”
After breakfast we caught a couple of TV news programs and the reporters were still pretty miffed about the news blackout. We got some more sermons on the first amendment and the “public’s right to know.” For some reason, no reporter ever gets around to mentioning “the right of privacy.”
Isn’t that odd?
We took off at a quarter after eight, and when we reached the courthouse, Trish led us to the conference room. Mary was already there, and she was still wearing her uniform—probably at Rankin’s suggestion. I guess he thought it might not hurt to let Judge Compson know that the
whole
Seattle Police Department wasn’t in the same camp with Burpee.
Les Greenleaf was also there, but I think the boss was still pretty much out of it. This whole thing seemed to be almost more than he could handle.
“Now, then,” Rankin told us after we’d all filed in, “this is the way we’ll proceed: I’ll put Mary on the witness stand first. I’ll want to establish Miss Greenleaf’s periodic breakdowns fairly early. Judge Compson’s probably been going over Dr. Fallon’s testimony in her mind since yesterday afternoon. Mary’s testimony should help to confirm most of what Dr. Fallon said, and to keep the word ‘psychosis’ out in plain sight. Then I’ll call each of you in turn. We’ll start with James. Let’s use that magnificent voice to our advantage. I’ll want you to give Judge Compson an overall background of your housemates, James. Let’s establish the fact that this is no ordinary student group—you aren’t any run-of-the-mill collection of party animals.”
“I can deal with that,” James rumbled.
“Good. Then I’ll move on to Patricia and establish
her
connection to our law firm. From Patricia, we’ll go to Erika and her medical school status—just the term ‘med school’ makes people sit up and take notice. After Erika, I’ll call Charlie. We’ll briefly touch on the periodic meetings with Sergeant West. We don’t want to get Sergeant West in trouble, but I’ll need to show some connection between him and the boardinghouse group. You’ve had certain information that wasn’t available to the general public, and I need to be able to show Judge Compson how you came by it. All right?”
“Just as long as you don’t get my big brother all steamed up,” Charlie said. “He’ll kick my butt if we push it
too
far.”
“I’ll be careful,” Rankin promised him. “From Charlie, we’ll move on to Sylvia and her case history.” He looked at Sylvia then. “You
did
bring those tapes as I asked, didn’t you?”
She patted her oversize purse. “They’re right here, Mr. Rankin,” she replied.
“Good. We may not need them today, but let’s have them handy, just in case. I’ll probably be asking you questions in greater detail than your friends, since your case history’s fairly crucial.”
She smiled faintly. “Thank you,” she said.
He inclined his head in an almost courtly bow. This guy had a lot of class.
“Now, then,” he continued, “I can’t be sure how far Mr. Fielding will go with his cross-examinations, but I’m hoping that we finish up with Sylvia’s testimony by the noon recess. That should give me the entire afternoon for Mark’s testimony. We want Judge Compson to have the whole thing before she adjourns this afternoon. Loose ends are distracting, so let’s give her all she needs today so she can get on with her job.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get upstairs,” he said. “Judge Compson’s big on punctuality, so let’s not offend her.”
When we trooped into the courtroom, Fielding was already there. Bob West wasn’t with him, but Burpee was still camped in his back pocket, obviously not the least bit happy about this sanity hearing—and Judge Compson’s gag order was driving him right up the wall.
We went through the “all rise” routine, and the judge came in and took her place at the bench. She looked fairly tired. I’m just guessing, but I’d say that Fallon’s testimony had bothered her almost as much as it’d bothered me.
“You may call your next witness, Mr. Rankin,” she said.
“The defense calls Officer Mary Greenleaf,” Rankin said.
Judge Compson’s head came up sharply at that.
Mary came forward and took the oath, then she took her seat on the witness stand.
“You are a member of the Seattle Police Department, is that correct, Officer Greenleaf?”
“Yes, sir,” Mary replied.
“And you are related to Miss Renata Greenleaf, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. She’s my niece. Her father’s my brother.”
“After Miss Greenleaf had been released from Dr. Fallon’s sanitarium, she came to live with you, is that also correct?”
“Yes, sir. She wanted to attend classes at the university, and I live in the Wallingford district.”
“Now then, previous testimony has established the fact that Miss Greenleaf periodically exhibited some peculiar behavior, is that also correct?”
“Definitely, Mr. Rankin. Whenever I mentioned those incidents, I glossed over them by calling them ‘bad days,’ but they usually went way past ‘bad.’ I didn’t want to start using terms like ‘whacko’ or ‘bonkers’ or ‘screwball,’ so I just said ‘bad days’ and let it go at that.”
“Could you describe these incidents for the court?”
“She’d do a lot of moaning and screaming, and she’d say things that didn’t make much sense—things about wolves howling, blood, and cold water. Then she’d stop speaking English and switch over to a language that nobody else could understand.”
“And what was your usual response to these incidents?”
“I’d knock her out with a sleeping pill,” Mary replied bluntly. “I’ve been a police officer for quite a few years, Mr. Rankin, and I’ve had a lot of experience with people who suddenly go into hysterics. We don’t let that go on for too long. We don’t want the subject to hurt himself—or anybody else—so we just tap him out with a pill.”
“Excuse me,” Judge Compson interrupted. “Is that strictly legal, Officer Greenleaf?”
“Probably not, Your Honor,” Mary admitted, “but when a subject—or a prisoner—goes into hysterics, those of us who are on the scene have to take immediate steps. We don’t have time to wait for court orders or any of the other niceties of the legal system. The alternative would be to club the subject into submission, and that seems a little extreme, wouldn’t you say?”
“You get right to the point, Officer,” Judge Compson observed.
“It saves time, Your Honor, and in these situations we don’t usually
have
much time. A pill’s a lot kinder than a rap on the head with a club.”
“I see your point,” the judge conceded. “How long did your niece usually remain comatose after you’d sedated her?”
“Usually until the following morning, Your Honor,” Mary replied, “and when she woke up the next day, she’d seem perfectly normal. I’m fairly certain that she’d sleep the clock around after I’d sedated her, but I work the graveyard shift, so I wasn’t always around to keep an eye on her.”
“You may proceed, Mr. Rankin,” the judge said then.
“I believe you ladies have already covered everything, Your Honor. I guess I’m just taking up space here.”
“It wouldn’t be the same without you, Mr. Rankin,” Judge Compson told him sweetly.
“No further questions, Your Honor,” he said with a smile.
“Splendid. Your witness, Mr. Fielding.”
“No questions, Your Honor,” Fielding said. He may have been a bit green, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut.
“The defense calls Mr. James Forester,” Rankin said.
James was sworn in and took the seat in the witness stand.
“Are you acquainted with Miss Greenleaf, Mr. Forester?” Rankin asked him.
“We’ve met, Mr. Rankin. One of the residents at the boardinghouse where I’m staying is Mr. Mark Austin, who probably knows her better than anyone in Seattle—with the exception of her aunt Mary, of course. Miss Greenleaf was auditing a freshman English course Mr. Austin taught during the autumn quarter, and she wrote a paper for him entitled ‘How I Spent My Summer Vacation.’ She described life as a patient in a mental institution, and her paper was highly original and in many ways very disturbing. It gave us a thought-provoking glimpse into the world of the mentally disturbed.
“Our housemates are all graduate students in a wide range of disciplines: law school, medical school, advanced psychology, and engineering, as well as Mr. Austin’s major field—English—and my home base in philosophy. We’re a bit more mature than the underclassmen whose primary interest lies in parties. Miss Greenleaf’s paper struck sparks in our minds, and we all agreed that we’d like to meet this strange and gifted child. We asked Mark to invite her to dinner one evening. She agreed, and we found her to be thoroughly engaging. After that, we all followed her progress—particularly when Miss Cardinale, who majors in abnormal psychology, undertook a case history of Miss Greenleaf. We followed that unfortunate young woman’s ups and downs, and her recent mental disintegration struck us all as something akin to a death in the family.” James paused then. “These proceedings and the evidence that prompted them have elevated our sense of loss to the level of Greek tragedy,” he added. “The Renata
we
knew would not have been capable of these murders, but evidently there’s another Renata, and she was obviously driven by an overpowering lust for vengeance.” He made a wry face then. “That sounds pompous, doesn’t it? True, perhaps, but pompous all the same.”
“It doesn’t bother me all that much, Mr. Forester,” Rankin said. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Your witness, Mr. Fielding,” Judge Compson said.
“No questions, Your Honor,” Fielding replied.
Burpee glared at him, and he appeared to be right on the verge of an explosion.
“Call your next witness, Mr. Rankin,” Judge Compson said, after James had left the stand.
“The defense calls Miss Patricia Erdlund,” Rankin said.
Trish took the stand, and Rankin explained her connection to his law firm to the judge. “In point of fact, Your Honor,” he said, “it was largely at Miss Erdlund’s urging that I became involved in this case. As Mr. Forester has so eloquently testified, the students who live in the Erdlund boardinghouse are a tight-knit group, and they have an abiding interest in Miss Greenleaf.”
“The court recognizes that, Mr. Rankin. Proceed.”
Trish verified Renata’s impact on our little family, and then she began citing precedents. Lawyers are big on precedents, I guess. I noticed that Judge Compson was taking lots of notes while Trish was testifying.
Fielding had a few questions for Trish, mostly involving her citations. Trish spoke fluent legalese, and she impressed the heck out of both the judge and the prosecutor. She made a lot of points for our side.
Judge Compson ordered a short recess after Trish had stepped down, and when court reconvened, Mr. Rankin called Erika to the stand. Then he pulled a quick shrewdie on her. “Would you please tell the court how many classes you’ve taken from Dr. Yamada, Miss Erdlund?” he asked her.
“Oops,” Erika said mildly.
“Would you like to clarify ‘oops,’ Miss Erdlund?” he said with a faint smile.
“You caught me with my finger in the cookie jar,” she replied. “I
do
know Dr. Yamada quite well, and I
did
suggest that he might want to contact the Snohomish County Coroner’s Office for a DNA sample taken from the body of Renata’s sister. It was only a suggestion, Mr. Rankin. It wasn’t as if I’d planted any false evidence or anything.”
“It wasn’t an accusation, Miss Erdlund. It was just a loose end that I thought we should tie up. What prompted you to make that suggestion?”
“It seemed logical, Mr. Rankin. The business with that license plate suggested that there was additional evidence available that could prove that Fergusson was indeed the murderer of Regina Greenleaf—and of quite a few others as well. There’s a certain perverse charm in the notion of one serial killer murdering another serial killer, don’t you think?”
“I don’t believe I’d care to comment on that, Miss Erdlund,” he replied blandly. “No further questions.”
“Your witness, Mr. Fielding,” the judge said.
“No questions, Your Honor,” he replied.
“The defense calls Mr. Charles West,” Rankin said after Erika had left the stand.
Charlie was sworn in and took the stand.
“Would you please tell the court of your relationship to the prosecution witness, Sergeant Robert West?” Rankin asked.
Charlie shrugged. “He’s my big brother,” he replied.
“And would you describe your relationship as very close?”
“We stay in touch,” Charlie said. “He yells at me when I forget to call our mother every so often. He and I get together more often now than we did when I was still living in Enumclaw.”
“And why
did
you move to Seattle from Enumclaw, Mr. West?”
“I work for Boeing, and they bullied me into going to graduate school.”
“And what is your specialty, Mr. West?”
“I’m not permitted to talk about that. It’s classified.”
“Where did you and your brother customarily meet, Mr. West?”
“At the Green Lantern Tavern in Wallingford. Bob stops there for a couple of beers after he gets off work. Back in the early days of the Seattle Slasher killings, James, Mark, and I used to meet him there to get the inside dope on those killings. We weren’t drooling at the mouth or anything, but there are three ladies at the boardinghouse, and we wanted to know if they were in danger. Serial killers
usually
kill women, not guys, so we were worried. Bob told us to play it safe. We weren’t supposed to let them go out alone after dark. Then he suggested that the girls carry those little cans of pepper spray—just in case. Eventually, we all had pepper spray on our key rings.”