Edge of Reason Ch. 02

"What's wrong with you?" Heather spat out. "You're on trial for murder, you have a press conference ahead of you and all that's on your mind is my strap-on?"

"Don't you love me, Heather?" pleaded Natasha, her large eyes flickering in the light. Heather saw something amiss.

"Did you look on the top shelf of my cupboard?" she asked. Natasha did not respond. Her clumsy attempts to push Heather onto the bed confirmed her suspicions. Her client had indeed found her recreational meth.

"Fuck. Why, Natasha? Why would you take that stuff?"

Heather held her client up by the shoulders. She shivered weakly and looked up at her large, looming eyes for an aeon.

"I thought it would make me forget about Cody."

* *

"Fuck."

"I'm sorry, Tom. I should have removed it."

"Do you realise what we're doing here?" he asked. "We're trying to build the image of a loving mother driven insane by the grief of losing her child. We're trying to give the public someone to relate to. Did I say we need to put drug addict in her character description?"

"I'll fix it," Heather said. "I've removed the stash and I'll make sure she doesn't get her hands on any more."

"Which brings me to my second question – why do you have a meth stash?"

"Not relevant to our case," she shot back.

"Fine, but I do intend to ask this question again in the future," he said, composing himself. "How is she doing now?"

"She's stable. I let her sleep it off."

"No red eyes, short breath?" Tom asked warily. "You do realise she will be at the centre of all those cameras."

"She'll manage. Is the doctor ready to testify?"

"Yes, are you ready as well?"

They walked into the courtroom, ducking the usual melee of reporters. Natasha took care to rush to her seat at the defence table and looked down. Heather rose and walked to the witness stand.

"Could you introduce yourself for the court?"

"Dr Ernest Kravitz," said the middle aged man. "I have a post doctoral degree in clinical psychology from John's Hopkins and I have been associated with the psychology department at Princeton University Hospital for twenty years. I have also published several papers on post traumatic stress disorder and other trauma induced mental issues in that time."

"Dr Kravitz, in your medical opinion, how do you evaluate my client's actions?"

Ernest took a deep breath to collect his thoughts and began. "I would say she has delayed onset traumatic disorder. The death of her son made her brain shut down, so to speak. In simple terms, she went numb. It then took a secondary shock to break her out of that haze into any sort of action."

"The second shock being...?" Heather began helpfully.

"When her son's killer was released," he said plainly. "In my estimation; initially, her brain simply could not reconcile with her natural urge to avenge her son's death. So, it created a reality where the perpetrator of the crime would be punished by the state on her behalf. It was her fantasy world, so to speak. But, when that did not happen, the wall came crashing down leaving nothing except her primal urge for revenge. The double effect of losing her son and being failed by the state caused her to do what she did."

"Have there been any documented cases of delayed onset traumatic disorder before?"

"Yes," he said. "In my article to Lancet last year, I described the case of a man in Seattle who committed suicide a full two months after his wife died in a car accident caused by his drinking. The guilt festered and grew within him, but did not have an impact until two months after the fact."

The prosecution team talked among themselves in hushed tones. Seth gave instructions to the others while one of them arranged some papers.

"One last thing, Dr Kravitz, do you believe that Natasha Belvedere is a threat to society any longer?"

"Objection, speculation."

"I'm asking for a medical opinion, you brain dead retard."

There was a brief ripple of laughter from the gallery and jury alike. Seth glowered and fumed. Giles shifted his glasses up his nose.

"You're on thin ice, Ms Franklin," he said sternly.

"I'm sorry. I'll remember to be more sensitive to the prosecution's stunted intelligence the next time I speak."

"Wafer thin ice."

"Sorry. Now where were we? Yes, in your medical opinion, do you believe that my client is capable of hurting anyone else?"

"It is obviously hard to predict such things with absolute certainty, but from my examination of her, I feel that she is a gentle person who is in equal measure, distraught over the loss of her son and horrified that she could murder someone. She should be pitied, not feared."

"Thank you, Dr Kravitz," said Heather before turning to the judge. "No further questions."

Seth rose from his seat and walked briskly to the witness stand. The recent humiliation seeped out of every pore.

"Delayed onset traumatic disorder?" he asked curiously. "Is it an established syndrome?"

"The research is still ongoing," the doctor said dryly. "I expect we'll know more about it a few years from now."

"Does the American Psychiatry Association recognise this disorder? Is it a part of the latest version of the DSM?"

"No, but awareness about it is growing."

"So we have no way of knowing right now if this disorder will actually be accepted as such by the APA? All we have is your word to go on."

"And all the names mentioned in the peer review."

"Let me ask you something else, did you evaluate Mrs Belvedere in the aftermath of the shooting?"

"No I did not, but-"

"Thank you," Seth interjected. "Are you aware that she made a series of conscious choices that day such as taking out her gun, loading it, finding out where the bar was and staying in wait outside? Does that sound insane to you?"

"There is no one definition to insanity. Sometimes actions which may seem completely normal to us can be the products of a deranged mind."

"Again, all we have is your word to go on," he shrugged. "Nothing further."

"You may step down," said the judge. "We will break for lunch and resume with the prosecution's rebuttal witness."

The trio did their usual ducking act to their room. Tom put his papers down and chuckled to himself.

"That was risky, Heather, getting under his skin before his cross examination. It could have backfired. You can thank your lucky stars it didn't."

"Thanks," she said, turning to her client. "How are you doing?"

"I'm better now. I think the effect has passed."

Natasha turned to Tom. "Mr Markham, when do you plan to have me testify?"

"Soon," he replied. "But first you need to hold a press conference where you can get your story to the people, free from cross examination. The eyeballs of the world are on you. The internet, the media and the city itself is buzzing. The entire world is an audience for us."

"Might as well give them a good show then."

"Natasha," said Heather, clutching her arm. "I'm sorry your life has become a public spectacle, but we couldn't think of any other way to win this case."

Her client smiled back weakly. Tom spoke up again.

"Are you prepared for the prosecution's expert? He will have strong points against the existence of such a psychological condition. Have you found a weakness?"

"Yes," said Heather, clearing her throat. "Dr Groener has not practised or published in the last five years, instead giving expert testimony for the prosecution on a number of cases. I'll spin the fact that he has a vested interest in the prosecution seeming more credible, irrespective of the truth."

"Hence why I think you're the best."

* *

"This is ridiculous. You have no legal basis for this."

"Why don't we let the judge decide that?" Tom asked pointedly. "Your Honour, give me one possible objection to our new witness."

"What could you possibly have to gain by calling the state medical examiner as a witness?" Giles responded.

"It goes to our claim of insanity. He was the only one present when Mrs Belvedere first saw her son's body and is therefore, the only one able to give a description of her reaction."

"He's not qualified to give a medical opinion on her state of mind," Seth protested.

"Less qualified than a construction worker?" Tom barbed sarcastically.

The prosecutor gritted his teeth for a few long moments before he turned to Judge Giles again.

"Your Honour, this is some kind of trick and you know it. Please, don't let them go ahead with this."

"Some kind of trick," said Tom calmly. "Is that a legal argument, Seth?"

"All right, both of you," said Giles angrily. "Mr Markham, I don't know what you're thinking, but I can guess from experience that there is more to this testimony than meets the eye. However, there is nothing legally holding you back from this course of action. The testimony is set for next Tuesday before lunch."

Tom walked out of the judge's chambers with an airy calm in his stride. He met Heather, who was getting the media ready for the imminent press conference.

"Did Giles allow it?"

"You bet he did."

"Do you think it'll work?" she asked, raising her brow.

"We'll find out soon enough. Are all the arrangements ready for the press conference?"

"Yes."

"Let's not waste any more time then. Tell Tatiana to meet me at the Lowell lobby as soon as we get there."

* *

The lobby of the Lowell hotel was chaotic. A veritable army of reporters, cameramen and others had embedded themselves in position. Some of the crowd even spilled out of the doors. A rostrum had been erected near the staircase, displaying microphones bearing the logos of all the major networks.

"How's Natasha?" said Heather, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.

"Well she knows what to say," said Tatiana, partaking in a Marlboro herself. She squeezed her lips together and let out one thick ring of smoke. "Let's hope she can manage the delivery."

"Sites and blogs in her support have popped up everywhere. I got a call from a client saying his nephew in Seoul wants to help financially if at all possible. She gets more followers by the second."

"This is the age of social media, sweetheart. You're about to witness OJ's trial on steroids."

"Do you enjoy what you do?" Heather asked suddenly. "Misinformation, misdirection, propaganda – you essentially make a living of peddling lies."

"Me and every other politician in the world. After all, lies are the currency of politics."

"...and corporates, don't leave them out."

"Still, I suppose it makes it worth it that I'm sticking up for someone not entirely despicable this time. It's not often that I get that luxury."

"That makes two of us," said Heather, lighting up a fresh fag. She stuck out her lighter for her friend to do the same. "Do you ever get to help out someone worthwhile?"

"Ellie Meyers ring a bell?"

"Yeah, I remember. The journalist covering the Gaza strip six months ago. A Palestinian rocket blasted her to bits. It caused a massive international uproar and gave Israel an opportunity to push their military into the area as a result."

"Did they ever mention how they identified her?"

"By her wallet and watch," Heather asked, narrowing her eyes. "The rest of her was charred beyond recognition."

"A watch and a wallet she left at the scene with a corpse before the rocket hit," Tatiana replied calmly. "The Mossad paid me quite handsomely for that."

"Wait, so she didn't die? Where is she?"

"Are you trying to get me to admit to arranging for a fake identity to be made for her and sending her to a remote corner of the world just for my petty gains?" she sighed dramatically. "I'm crushed."

"What about her family?"

"Her husband was an abusive bastard who she was desperate to get away from. That's why she spent so much time in Gaza. She was only too happy to be part of my scheme. Wouldn't you say that qualifies as saving someone?"

"And killing dozens of others, but let's leave the specifics to you."

"It's not about how many I save or how many I kill, it's about the control. It's about being a puppet master and watching the fuckers dance without even realizing it."

"So you like control? Interesting. Do you like to be in control all the time?"

Tatiana's thin lips slowly curled into a wicked smile and she licked them while she cocked her head to the side.

"Would you like to see first hand?" she said.

"Shh... Natasha's about to start," Heather said, peering down at the lobby.

"This conversation is not over."

* *

The glare of the spotlights was unnerving. Natasha Belvedere stood unsteadily on her podium, looking at the throng of journalists, cameras and microphones in front of her. Her eyes made out all the major network logos protruding from her rostrum waiting for her to say something. Tom stood by her side. There were three pictures of Cody facing the audience, two at an angle and one looming large behind her.

"I thank all of you for being present here. What I have to say will not take much of your time. These last few weeks have been so ... difficult for me to get through. More than once, I have considered ending it all. It seems like the purpose of my life was taken from me the day Cody died. Since then, I've been walking around in a haze, desperately trying to make sense of everything. Who could want to hurt my little boy? Who could be such a monster?"

She took a moment to stifle a sob. The screen showed her wipe a tear with her finger. In New York, Chicago, Boston, Los Angeles and Washington – young mothers glued to their television sets might have done the same.

"I loved my son. I don't know why I feel the need to say it, but I did. He was all I had left. I lost my money, my husband and was only months away from losing my house, but none of it mattered. All I needed was my son. He gave me a reason to get out of bed and face every new day."

In San Francisco, Austin, Miami, Las Vegas and Philly, hearts went out to her in every household.

"I swear I didn't cry at first when I saw his body. The shock was too deep. I kept thinking it was a bad dream, that I would wake up soon and hold my baby tight once more. It had to be a dream, there was no other option."

Her words became slightly less coherent, the occasional syllable lost to a sob choked in her throat. In Portland, Seattle, Albuquerque, Phoenix and Houston, entire families huddled around the TV, watching in awe.

"My baby was so warm and full of life and now, there was nothing except the cold emptiness he left behind. I just knew that the man who did this wouldn't walk free. I forced myself to believe it. The thought of hurting him came to me in every waking moment, but I knew Cody deserved better. I went to court, I testified and relived the agony of his death, all so I could ensure that that man would never be able to do to another boy what he did to Cody."

She had to hold onto the podium for support to keep her trembling body upright. In San Diego, Denver, St. Louis and Indianapolis, there was a pall of silence as grief claimed more and more souls.

"I'm sorry," Natasha squeezed out. "I didn't mean to kill him. I didn't mean to break the law. I'm not a violent person. When Mr Whittaker was released by the court on a technicality, all I kept thinking of is how Cody felt in his last few moments. How he must have felt when that man put his hands around his neck and pressed down. I kept thinking about his final thoughts – why me? What did I do to deserve it?"

She let her misty gaze swim over the assembled reporters for a few moments. A few of them looked down to hide their unprofessional tears.

"I ask all of you here – what did Cody do to deserve it? What did the next boy who Mr Whittaker would've killed do to deserve it? These thoughts wouldn't let me go. The court let him free but my conscience simply could not. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't think. So on that fateful day, I wasn't even aware when I took my gun, found him out and pulled the trigger. The only thing I remember that day was when the police arrested me."

"I do not expect to be forgiven for what I have done. It was a crime in the eyes of the law. I do hope, however, for your understanding and compassion. I am not a monster. Until a few months back, I was a mother. Now, I am not even that. Bear with me, my heart hurts from the memories that my mind won't let go of. Please, let me take a few moments to remember Cody."

A pin dropped in the lobby of the Lowell hotel would have given off a deafening sound, such was the silence. Seasoned journalists sat in their seats, alternately staring at Natasha and the enlarged pictures of Cody in a small Yankee tee. Cameras kept rolling, their operators lost in the moment.

Hidden out of sight, Heather and Tatiana peered out at the crowd and took a long drag from their respective cigarettes.

"Wait for it," said Tatiana.

"Wait for what?"

Tatiana held her hand up, silencing Heather for a few moments before she took out her smartphone. A few taps later, she smiled and held the screen out for her. Heather looked on, stupefied by what she saw.

#RememberCody was trending.

"Wait till tomorrow when the rest of the world sees the press conference on YouTube. Twitter will explode."

They turned their attentions back to the podium as Natasha began taking questions.

* *

"All right, Seth. You called us in here for a reason," said Tom dryly. "Let's hear it."

They stood at opposite ends of the table. Heather sat beside Tom, eyeing the prosecutor with a look of consummate disdain. He pushed a file of papers in their direction.

"Second degree murder. If you take the plea, I'll add my recommendation for parole in ten years."

"What's the matter, Seth?" drawled Heather. "Not as arrogant now, are you? Was it the protesters outside the courthouse who caused this sudden change of heart?"

"Don't play those games with me, Heather," he snarled. "You have done nothing but incite a mob. If you think that will make me back off, you're sorely mistaken."

"Evidently not, given how you suddenly seem in a generous mood."

"Ten years in prison is a gift considering how plain your client's guilt is," he said. "I'd take it if I were you."

"A gift, huh?" she replied. "I'll make sure to wrap it up and stick a card on it saying it's from you."

"You're making a big mistake," seethed Seth. "The jury might be sympathetic to her, but not enough to give her a free pass for murder."

"Is the medical examiner here?" Tom interrupted. "I'm just about ready to put him on the stand."

Seth turned pale. Even Heather looked stunned by the revelation.

"You're going to take his testimony? Yourself?"

"Why not? I've been bored sitting on the sidelines so I thought I'd get some exercise," he said stretching his arms over his head. "That's of course if you're okay with it. You're still first chair."

"Of course," stuttered Heather, still dumbfounded.

"It's settled then. I'd better get ready. It's been a while since I last did this."

The two of them walked off, leaving the prosecutor a bundle of nerves. He was going to witness a legal legend in action. Unfortunately, he was going to be on the receiving end of it.

The media went into a feeding frenzy as the news spread about Tom Markham himself taking a witness testimony. The jam-packed courtroom sat in silence as a wizened old man took the stand.

"Could you state your full name and occupation for the record please?"

"Gilbert Sykes," he said in a dignified voice. "I work for the office of the chief medical examiner and have done so for the past thirty years."

"Thirty years. That's a long time," said Tom. "How many cases have you worked on in that time?"

"Objection, relevance."

"I want to provide some context, your Honour. It's relevant."

"Objection overruled," said Giles. "Please do get to the point soon, though."