Primal Fear

  “And go out and start carving people up again?”

  “I said I have no problem with institutionalization. But deal with the real murderer. Roy. It will be up to the doctors to determine the rest of it. You think the jury’s going to send Aaron Stampler to the chair now? In fact, I’ll even sweeten the pot for you.”

  “Oh really, what’re you going to do, have him come by at Christmas and sing carols outside my door?”

  “We’ll not only plead guilty to the Rushman kill, we’ll plead to Peter and Billy Jordan.”

  “You’re admitting that?” she said.

  “I said we’d cop to it. That way you get all three cases off the books. Otherwise, I’ll insist we go all the way with this and that means I’ll force you to establish the real motive for Rushman’s murder.”

  “And destroy the reputation of the victim!” Venable said. “He’s dead, he can’t defend himself. The man was a saint.”

  “Not according to Roy. Not according to the altar boys’ tape.”

  “It could be anybody on that tape.”

  “Except Roy will tell the whole story. He’ll corroborate that Rushman was a pedophile.”

  “You bastard!”

  She sat quietly for several minutes. He had her and she knew it. But her inner rage would not permit her to submit.

  “We’re talking about truth here, Jane,” Vail said quietly. “Let the state deal with him. Tuck him away at Daisyland, the public will forget all about him in a couple of months and we can all go home.”

  She turned, her entire body rigid with anger, and stared out the window for a long minute.

  “Forget it.” Vail shrugged. “Couple of months from now we can have a drink some night and trade secrets.”

  “You already know too many of my secrets,” she said bitterly and turned back toward him. “Right now why don’t you tell me one of yours.”

  “You want to know why I didn’t blow the whistle on you in the Castillo case,” Vail said. “Since you were sleeping with Mike Rodriguez.”

  “That’s a good guess. I don’t understand why you didn’t take me down.”

  “I was surprised at your behavior, Counselor.”

  She laughed harshly. “You applying for a job as my mother?” When Vail didn’t answer she sighed. “Maybe I was in love.”

  “Never fall in love with a client,” he said. “It’s unprofessional.”

  “Don’t you ever do anything unprofessional?” she asked.

  “I never do anything that might stop me from winning.” He grinned at her. “Been bugging you all these years, has it?”

  “Just curious.”

  “I had to get the tapes thrown out of your case, then admitted back into evidence in mine, so I gambled. I figured as long as you thought I wasn’t going to drag you and Rodriguez into it, you wouldn’t object—and you didn’t. Once I nailed Rodriguez, it didn’t matter anymore.”

  “Just part of the strategy, right?”

  Vail nodded. “I didn’t need you to win.”

  “I’m glad,” she said with a sneer. “I was afraid maybe you had a heart.”

  “Not a chance,” Vail said and smiled. “So? We got a deal?”

  “You’ll never get it past Shoat,” Venable said finally, weakly. “He’ll want to sentence him and have him serve out his time, if and when he is cured.”

  “Let me worry about Shoat,” Vail said. “Have we got a deal?”

  When Shoat returned, the television set and tape recorder, as well as the residue from lunch, had been removed from the chambers. Venable was reading the plea-bargain agreement which Vail had sketched out on a sheet of paper.

  “Well,” Shoat said, “have you worked anything out?”

  “I think so,” Vail said. He took the sheet from Venable and slid it across the desk to the judge. Shoat put on his glasses and started to read the agreement. He stopped suddenly and looked up at Venable with surprise and shock.

  “Have you agreed to this, Counselor?” he said to Venable.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “This isn’t a compromise. It’s exactly what he asked for going in!” Shoat said angrily. “You’re giving away the farm. No jail sentence? You going to let this killer plead to three brutal homicides and then walk out once he’s pronounced cured?”

  “He’s sick, Your Honor,” Vail said. “If he gets well what can possibly be served by putting him into a hard-time prison?”

  Shoat stared across the desk at Vail.

  “This was a shocking crime. A shocking crime demands retribution.”

  “You mean revenge, don’t you?” Vail said edgily.

  Shoat glared back. “I won’t approve this,” he said. “I want him to do at least ten years after he’s pronounced cured, if he ever is. He has to pay for his crime.”

  “No,” said Vail.

  “No?” Shoat said, raising his eyebrows.

  “No way,” Vail said. “Let’s get on with the trial then. Only I think you should be aware, Judge, the bishop is going to come under some serious scrutiny before it’s over.”

  “And just what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We’re going to raise some serious questions about motive and we’re going to have to scrutinize every facet of the bishop’s life, look into his foundations …” Vail paused for a moment and added, “The Gudheim operation … everything.”

  Shoat barely reacted. His eyes might have widened a hair, his jaw set a little firmer, but basically he was Mr. Cool.

  “You think that’s necessary, eh?”

  “Let me tell you how I feel about it, Judge,” Vail said. “Ms. Venable knows there’s damaging evidence against the bishop. She also knows that if this goes on, it will be dragged into the trial. In the end, I think it would be foolish to destroy a dead man’s good name, hurt the Church needlessly, raise doubts about the Rushman Foundation… for what? So we can exact another ten years out of a sick boy’s life? He’s already done his share of suffering, too.”

  Shoat was not sure what they were talking about. What evidence? Obviously Vail knew about the Gudheim operation.

  Was he willing to blow open the foundation just to discredit Rushman?

  The answer to that was obviously yes.

  Was there something else Shoat did not know about?

  He pondered a little longer, staring at the scribbled agreement lying in front of him as if it were lying on one side of the scales of justice. In the end, Hangin’ Harry Shoat’s decision was the practical one, it had nothing to do with the law or justice or retribution.

  It was a simple answer to a simple question:

  Why take a chance?

  “All right,” Shoat said with a shrug. “In the interest of time and the taxpayers’ money, I’ll go along with it. Hopefully the little bastard’ll never get out of Daisyland, anyway.”

  “I applaud your compassion, Your Honor. Justice does have a heart after all,” Vail said, and laughed, “And thank you too, Jane, for making a wise and prudent decision.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Jane Venable said.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The decision caught everyone in the courtroom by surprise.

  “Your Honor,” Venable said rather brusquely, “the state has determined that Mr. Stampler is suffering from dissociative multiple personality disorder and psychotic schizophrenia and we have accepted his plea of guilty but insane in the murders of Archbishop Richard Rushman, Peter Holloway and Billy Jordan. The state therefore recommends that said defendant, Aaron Stampler, be committed to the state mental institute at Daisyland for an undetermined period and until such time as the state rules that he is capable of returning to society.”

  Shoat did not waste time. “The court accepts your recommendation. The defendant, Aaron Stampler, is hereby remanded to the custody of the sheriff’s department for transfer to Daisyland. The court is in adjournment until nine A.M. tomorrow.”

  Bang. He was a memory.

  As soon as Shoat entered his chambers, the p
ress charged the front of the room like a tidal wave. Pursued by radio, newspaper and TV reporters with their microphones thrust in front of them, Vail and the guards rushed Aaron out of the courtroom, with reporters snapping at them as they fled to the holding room. One of the marshals stood outside the door and kept the press at bay. A few minutes later, the Judge hustled Molly out through a back door into an empty office, where they were joined by Vail. Naomi and Tom searched out an empty courtroom and hastily set up a press conference for the young psychiatrist.

  “I still don’t understand what happened,” Molly said. “All of a sudden it was over!”

  “Marty sandbagged ’em,” said the Judge. “Put Aaron on the stand and Venable brought Roy out. Next thing you know, Roy went over the railing and tried to strangle her.” The Judge chuckled and shook his head.

  “Oh my God!” she said.

  “The clincher was your testimony, Molly,” Vail said with a grin. “Venable caved in when she realized what she’d be up against.”

  “My testimony? I didn’t even get to testify,” Molly complained.

  “Of course you did,” Vail said, smiling. “In the quiet of Shoat’s chambers. And you were dynamite.”

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I thought we were a team. I thought this was about… about…”

  “About what?” Vail said. “It’s about winning, Molly.”

  “I remember all your talk about the the majesty of the law and, and …”

  “I also told you the only way to keep the law strong is to challenge it. We played by the rules and they had all the damn cards. Tell her, Judge.”

  The Judge, true to his nature, raised his eyebrows and this hands. “Excuse me,” he said. “I have another engagement.” And he escaped from the room.

  “You planned this all along,” Molly said accusingly.

  “That’s right,” Vail answered. “It was the strategy all along. Don’t you get it, Molly? We never would have won if we’d played it straight up. There would’ve been a new trial. They would’ve brought in their big guns …”

  “And I wasn’t good enough to face them …”

  “No, no, no. That’s not the point…”

  “What is the point!” she snapped back. “Just winning?”

  “That’s right, winning,” Vail answered defensively. “And Aaron Stampler’s life was in the balance.”

  The answer stopped the argument but not her disillusionment.

  “The court had a right to hear the whole story,” she said finally. “For Aaron’s sake they needed to hear all the testimony.”

  “Molly, welcome to the real world. This wasn’t a popularity contest, it was a matter of life and death.”

  Naomi popped her head in the door. She had arranged the press conference and moved the howling press minions out of the courtroom and down the hall.

  “Press conference?” Molly said.

  “Your moment of glory,” said Vail. “Now you can tell them the whole story. You’ll have the media dancing at your feet.”

  “I’m going back to my world,” she said. “As soon as this dog-and-pony show for the press is over. But I want to say goodbye to Aaron first,” she said. “Then I’m leaving.”

  “Leaving?”

  “I’m going back to my world. My rules. Good-bye, Martin,” she said.

  “Just like that? Can’t we even have a farewell dinner?”

  She smiled sadly. “I was in for the run of the trial, remember? Trial’s over. I have patients waiting for me.”

  “Molly …”

  She turned back toward him at the door and said, “We did save him, didn’t we? We did do that.”

  “Hey, maybe I’ll call you sometime, come over to Winthrop for a big weekend.”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “No, you won’t,” she said. And she left.

  Aaron was sitting forlornly in a corner of the holding room, his hands and feet still shackled. The guards were seated in the opposite corner, talking quietly.

  “I want to thaink yuh, Miss Molly,” Aaron said awkwardly, as she entered the room. “Uh … I reckon I owe yuh m’ life and I …” He stammered, trying to find the right words to express his gratitude.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” she said. “Just get well, okay?”

  “I’ll sure try.” He fell quiet for a few moments and then he said, quite pensively, “Y’know the worst thaing of all?”

  “What’s that, Aaron?”

  “Nothin t’ look forward to,” he said sadly. “I think ’bout thet a lot. Yairs ’n’ yairs of nothin’ t’ look forward to.” He pondered a little longer before adding, “But it’s sure better’n bein’ dead.”

  She would think of that for years to come. Hopelessness was perhaps the worst of all plagues. And what could she say to Aaron, who was about to be sent off to an asylum, perhaps forever?

  She went to him, leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’ve got to go now,” she said. “I’ll come visit you, promise. Bring you Cokes and coconut cream pie.”

  “Thainks,” he said, smiling as she went out the door.

  Vail watched her as she hurried down the hall to the press conference. As the courtroom door swung shut he felt a real sense of loss.

  “That’s real touching, Counselor,” a voice said behind him. “Run-of-the-trial romance?”

  He turned around to see Shaughnessey standing in the doorway to Shoat’s chambers.

  “C’mon in,” the big man said. “I’ll buy you a drink. You deserve it after that show.”

  Vail followed him into the room. Shaughnessey went to the sink, stopping to light a cigar.

  “Shoat’ll drop dead if he finds out you’re smoking in this hallowed lair of his.”

  “I could light a bonfire on his desk and all he’d say about it is ‘Thank you,’” Shaughnessey said as he slid back a panel over the sink to reveal a line of liquor bottles.

  “You a bourbon man?” he asked.

  “Yep,” Vail answered.

  “Figures.”

  He took down two pebbled highball glasses, dropped an ice cube into each and poured each of them half full of whiskey. Shaughnessey sat behind Shoat’s desk and nodded to the chair facing him.

  “Grab a seat, Counselor.” Shaughnessey stared at him with a squinty, cautious look on his face as Vail sat down and swung his feet up on the corner of Shoat’s desk.

  “This resolution of the problem won’t go down well with the public, I can tell you that,” Shaughnessey said.

  “Why? Because they didn’t get to strap the kid in the chair and throw the switch on him? In six months, Aaron Stampler will be forgotten.”

  “You ambushed us, Martin. All that split personality crap. Then you sandbag Shoat.”

  “I didn’t sandbag anybody.”

  “I’m just saying the way this thing wound up, it leaves me wanting more. And the public’ll feel the same way,” Shaughnessey said.

  “Screw the public,” Vail said. “We’re talking about justice here, not appeasing a bunch of foaming-at-the-mouth closet psychos. The ones who want Aaron Stampler to fry are the same ones who’d like to see public executions. They’d sell hot dogs and T-shirts and let the highest bidder pull the switch.”

  “The bishop was a prince, Martin. He could charm the rattles off a diamondback and he never asked for anything for himself. He was a gift to this city.”

  Vail laughed in the power broker’s face. “What a load of bullshit,” he said. “Take off his miter and robes and what’ve you got? A living stereotype of the cold-blooded, power-hungry corporate scavenger. He was above the rules. He was an arrogant, mean, conniving son of a bitch who used every trick in the trade to promote himself and his political itinerary.”

  “Easy—”

  “If this case had gone another day, Rushman’s name would have been garbage,” said Vail, cutting him off. “He would’ve been annihilated! And a lot of big balls in this town would have shriveled up to the size of peanuts. Save me the hearts and
flowers about Rushman and don’t tell me about all the toes I stepped on. You’re not going to believe this, but I did everybody a favor playing it the way I did.”

  “Shoat says you ambushed him and Venable.”

  “All I did was mention the Gudheim Foundation. You know all about that, Roy, you’re on the board of trustees.”

  “So?”

  “So it’s an illegal front. Everybody involved is a goddamn felon and Shoat knows it.”

  Shaughnessey scowled at him. “What’re you gonna do now? Run around town busting everybody’s balls?”

  “Not if it’s stopped.”

  “And how do you suggest doing that?”

  “Simple. Reorganize, change your billing practices. Just get rid of it. I don’t care how you do it—that’s your problem.”

  “Don’t you understand? It’s how things get done these days.”

  “Not anymore,” said Vail. “A guy like Harry Shoat, he takes a fund-raiser from you or some big-shot lawyer and thinks he doesn’t owe. Well, he owes all right. He’s expected to say thanks in a very positive way—as you well know.”

  “It’s the way it’s done, goddammit,” Shaughnessey said gruffly. “That’s the way the country operates, in case you haven’t been keeping up.”

  “When you shake hands with the devil, Roy, you’re already halfway to hell. You can never say no again. You do what you’re told because you’re owned. Whether it’s a million dollars or the key to the statehouse doesn’t make any difference. All that does, that sets the price. It’s like being in the Mafia. The only difference is, in your hustle, if you screw up, you die broke. In the mob, you die, period.”

  Shaughnessey’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. “You are a hard-nosed bastard, all right.” His voice got hard and he speared the air with a forefinger. “You want to get where you’re goin’ in this world, you got to know the routine.”

  “I’m not sure where I’m going and I don’t want to know the routine,” said Vail. “I work for my clients, period. They get all I have to give. Somebody gets shot in the back in the process, tough shit. Now why don’t we talk about what I’m really doing here.”