Saving Max (21 page)

Danielle clutches her purse. It contains the computer discs and two cloth diaries from Marianne’s desk. She has compelling evidence, but is losing hope that she can deliver it in time to save Max.

She is at Gate 21 in the Phoenix airport, where her flight should have been pushing away from the gate. She sits in the crowded waiting area and looks at red blinking dots: “Flight 4831—Delayed—Mechanical difficulties.” Desperate, she fears she has exhausted the capabilities of the hapless check-in girl, whom Danielle has charged to find another flight to Des Moines that will get her to the hearing—before it’s over. No luck yet, but she’s still trying. Her smoking gun won’t matter a damn if she isn’t there. She’ll just have to wait it out.

Exhausted, she senses that her thoughts are no longer linear. The mental discipline that has carried her through this night mare is unraveling. Marianne’s diaries have made her throw up twice, but she forces herself to pull another from her bag. It is covered in pink, sweetheart roses. The first entry blooms on the page in elaborate, feminine handwriting.

Danielle skips over the revolting description of the myriad of tests and torment she put the poor child through.

Danielle shuts the diary as another wave of nausea washes over her. Who will believe such a monster exists if they can’t read these entries with their own eyes? Her watch tells her it is now 10:00 a.m. in the Plano courtroom. Tony must be completely untethered by now. God, she has to tell him what she’s found so he’ll know how to question Marianne if she doesn’t get there in time. She digs in her purse for her cell phone, but realizes that Sevillas is incommunicado. Doaks. She punches in the number.

“Where are you?”

“In the airport.”

“I’m comin’ to get you,” he says. “You’re up shit creek.”

“John, I’m in Phoenix. The flight is delayed.”

“Oh, Christ,” he groans. “For how long?”

“Until they fix the plane. Listen, Doaks, I need you to—”

“Look, Sevillas is so pissed at you that he’s in there right now suckin’ wind. That old sack Kreng’s on the stand callin’ Max a violent psycho and you a world-class whack-job. And Max is totally freakin’ out. I don’t know how long Georgia can prop him up. Get your behind on another flight and get here, Danny, or this whole thing’s goin’ right down the tubes.”

“Doaks, please just listen to me.” She summons her most confident voice. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, but Sevillas can handle it until then. I’ve hit pay dirt, and I’m bringing it with me.”

“Not again.” He mutters something she can’t hear. “Look, I know the mother’s nuts, but you ain’t—”

“Nuts isn’t what I have,” she says. “Murder is what I have.”

She hears a sharp intake of breath. “Better tell me quick.”

“I’ve got cold, hard evidence that shows without a doubt that Marianne had other children, that she killed them in abominable, unthinkable ways—”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. How many kids did she have?”

“I don’t know. At least two before Jonas.”

“Got anything that links her directly to Jonas?”

“Not yet, but I’ll scan all of the entries before I land.”

“Just get here quick,” he says. “Sevillas ain’t got that many card tricks left.”

“I know, but you’ve got to find some way to get into her hotel room. She must have entries on her computer that relate to Jonas. All I have are diaries from years ago. She also probably travels with at least some trophies from her earlier murders, as many serial killers do. Each time she looks at them, they would remind her of her brilliance. Besides, it’s
clear that Marianne is too arrogant to believe that she’d ever be caught. I’ll e-mail you her password from my cell.”

“This ain’t gonna be easy, ya know.”

“Without that evidence, we’ve got nothing to link her to Jonas’s murder.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Christ, pile another fuckin’ felony onto the stack.”

“Put Sevillas on the phone.”

“Can’t. He’s in the courtroom dealin’ with Kreng.”

“Who’s the next witness?”

“Don’t know.”

“Tell him to try to keep Marianne off the stand until I get back.”

“And if he can’t?”

“It’s not an option.”

“Right.” His voice is battery acid. “Tony’ll love it when I lay that on him.”

“Now get going and call me back when you’ve tossed her room.” Her words are cut steel.

“Jesus, you’re startin’ to sound like a fuckin’ cop.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Nurse Kreng perches on the witness stand. She looks like a piece of petrified wood in her conventional whites, her hair yanked back from her face as tightly as a hundred-pack of bobby pins permits. Langley has taken her through every incident Doaks related to Sevillas from her interview: Max Parkman uncontrollably violent shortly after he was admitted to Maitland; Max Parkman psychotic and requiring almost nightly physical restraint; Max Parkman threatening Jonas Morrison’s life on numerous occasions. The list seems endless. All the while, Langley casts sidelong, sly grins at Sevillas as if letting him know he’s just getting warmed up. Then Kreng’s vivid description of the murder scene. For the first time, Judge Hempstead blanched and looked sharply at the defense table.

Sevillas looks at Max. He sat very still during Kreng’s direct, trying to keep Sevillas and Georgia from seeing the tears he rubbed furiously from his face. Georgia kept whispering encouragements to him from behind the bar. Thank God, because the poor kid looked as if he might just crumble into a heap right there in the courtroom.

He looks at the clock. Kreng’s direct has taken an hour. Langley is winding up. Sevillas glances at the note Doaks just slipped him. Scrawled in his inimitable handwriting, Danielle’s instructions are precise. He is not to mention Max. He is to stall if Marianne takes the stand. Danielle has critical evidence that implicates Marianne in Jonas’s murder.

Max sits up when he sees Doaks pass the note to Sevillas. “Is it from my mom?” he whispers. “Is she coming?”

Sevillas leans over. “She’s on her way. Don’t worry, son.”

Max gives him a grateful look and manages a half smile for Georgia.

“A quick question, Nurse Kreng.” Langley’s voice is as slick as canola oil sliding into a glass bowl. “Does your log indicate that the victim’s mother, Marianne Morrison, was present on the day of the murder?”

“No, it does not.”

Sevillas stands. “Objection. There is no evidence, either documentary or through witness testimony, that establishes Jonas Morrison was murdered by anyone.”

“Do you doubt the boy is dead, Tony?” asks Langley.

“Mr. Langley!” the judge barks. “I respond to objections in this court, not counsel. Take your seat.” He goes to his chair like a whipped puppy. “Now, Mr. Sevillas, would you care to enlighten me as to the nature of your objection?”

“Your Honor.” His voice booms with new confidence. “We will be introducing evidence about the specific nature of the decedent’s injuries and whether they were self-inflicted or caused by a third party.” He looks at Langley. “Or both.”

Langley’s confusion is written on his face. The judge looks keenly at Sevillas. “Are you telling me it is the defense’s contention that this boy caused his own death?”

Sevillas folds his hands. “Your Honor, we prefer to introduce our evidence at the appropriate time. Our objection is limited to the extent that there is no foundation at this time for the State to characterize the decedent’s death.”

The judge regards him thoughtfully, then shrugs. “Well, Mr. Sevillas, it’s your defense. Run it any way you want. But don’t think you’re going to spring some cockamamie forensic
theory on me today. I’m not in the mood.” She turns to Langley. “Objection sustained. Rephrase.”

Langley shakes his head, as if Sevillas’s last statement is too absurd to warrant reflection. “Nurse Kreng, did you or your staff contact Ms. Morrison on the day Jonas Morrison…died?”

Kreng purses her thin, colorless lips together. “She was called, of course, after we found the boy. She viewed the body and became hysterical. We administered some medication, and she rested for a while. Then I believe she was interviewed briefly by one of the police officers and taken to the police station for further questioning.”

“Thank you, Nurse, but if you try to testify about what Ms. Morrison said, that would be hearsay.” A small smile lights the D.A.’s lips. “We will hear from the bereaved mother directly, in any event.”

Sevillas turns around to see Marianne looking straight at him. Whatever Danielle thinks she’s found, it better be good. Langley’s star witness may well be a candidate for sainthood after she takes the stand.

“Nurse Kreng, can you tell us if you ever viewed Maitland security footage of Max Parkman attempting to harm Jonas Morrison or, in fact, screaming that he wanted to kill him—”

“Objection, Your Honor!” says Sevillas. “There has been absolutely no foundation laid for the existence of such security recordings, who took the video and whether or not it has been tampered with—not to mention the fact that no such tapes were provided to the defense prior to this hearing.”

Langley strides forward. “Judge, critical to the question of whether or not Max Parkman murdered Jonas Morrison is the twisted relationship the defendant had with the deceased.”

Sevillas stands. “Your Honor, the question is completely
inappropriate. The State’s sole intention is to harass and prejudice my client.”

“Approach!”

Sevillas and Langley walk in unison, trained seals angling for the same fish. They reach the bench in time to hear Hempstead’s angry whisper. “Look, boys, this is not a trial. There is no jury. There’ll be no grandstanding here today. You’ve got reporters out there just waiting to write down every word potential jurors will read in the paper tomorrow. And believe me, you don’t want them to hear what I’d like to say right now.” Her voice sears cleanly through them, a machete through grass. “I’m going to give each of you ample latitude in your questioning.” She shakes a warning finger at them. “But don’t trip each other up on technical objections. And don’t try to sneak in evidence that isn’t in the record.” Her eyes shoot spears at Langley. “You have something you want me to consider, get a witness who can properly introduce it. Otherwise, I’ll make one or both of you a laughingstock by lunchtime.” She gives them a stony look over her wire rims. “Got it?”

Both quickly say “Yes, Your Honor” as if only too pleased to get their judicial ass-chewing. Any other reaction will not serve either of them well when the case goes to trial.

“Mr. Langley,” the judge says, her voice loud for the benefit of the court reporter. “Proceed.”

Sevillas’s lips are tight as he walks back to the defense table. He stares at his legal pad while Langley walks Kreng through the rest of her testimony. He establishes her independent observations of Max’s violent, psychotic demeanor and the obscenities and fears he expressed about Jonas. Hempstead’s expression is impassive, but Sevillas can tell she is riveted, evidenced by her constant note taking. When it is over, she stares at Max with sharp curiosity. Sevillas sees another wave
of panic go through Max and looks at the empty chair next to him. Where the hell is she?

Langley smiles and pitches his last ball. “Nurse Kreng, we know that Max Parkman was found unconscious on the floor in the room where Jonas was murdered, covered in blood. What was Ms. Parkman doing when you entered the room?”

Kreng draws herself up, an ironing board in white. “She was half carrying, half dragging her son through pools of blood, trying to sneak him out of the room—”

“Objection!” Sevillas jumps to his feet. “Any attempt on the part of the witness to ascribe motive to the defendant—”

Hempstead holds up her hand. “Sustained.”

Unperturbed, Langley continues. “Nurse Kreng, how would you describe Ms. Parkman’s affect when you personally observed her?”

Kreng gives Sevillas a defiant look. “I would have to describe it as the reaction of an unbalanced, hysterical woman.”

Sevillas starts to rise to his feet, but Langley jumps in. “That’s fine, Nurse Kreng. Thank you very much.”

Sevillas hesitates, but the cow is already out of the barn and there is no jury to be tainted—only the judge, who has already absorbed the damaging testimony. Objecting now would only draw more attention to it. He sits down.

Langley grins at Sevillas. “Pass the witness.”

Tony walks to the witness stand and keeps his voice calm.

“Nurse Kreng, you have recounted a number of episodes and personal observations of both Max Parkman and his mother at Maitland, including their emotional and psychological states. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a licensed psychiatrist?”

She gives him an annoyed look. “Of course not.”

“I didn’t think so.” His voice is kind. “So you would agree with me that whatever personal observations you have shared with us today involving Max or his mother are simply your subjective opinion—nothing more.”

“No, Mr. Sevillas,” she replies stiffly. “My observations are those of a professional who has observed patient and parental behavior in all of the facets one would experience after thirty years as a highly qualified psychiatric nurse and administrative manager of a psychiatric facility with an impeccable, world wide reputation.”

“Are you qualified to diagnose Ms. Parkman?”

“No.”

“Are you qualified to diagnose Max Parkman?”

“No.”

Sevillas smiles. “Other than following the doctor’s orders, was it your job to speculate upon either Max Parkman’s diagnosis or Ms. Parkman’s emotional state in your capacity as a nurse?”

Kreng glares at Sevillas as the words barely escape her mouth—a furious ventriloquist. “No.”

“Is there any question in your mind that Max Parkman’s mother is devoted to him?”

Her face softens ever so slightly. “No, there isn’t.”

“Given your thirty years as a psychiatric nurse, and as an observer of, I am sure, hundreds of parents’ reactions over those years, has it been your experience that parents of children who are admitted to a psychiatric facility often suffer denial and intense emotional pressure?”

“Of course,” she says. “Whenever a parent watches his or her own child suffer a mental disturbance that requires treatment of that magnitude, there is always considerable emotional pain and stress.”

“Do all parents of these children express that kind of emotional pain and stress in an identical fashion?”

“Of course not.”

“By the way, Ms. Kreng, you also had ample opportunity to observe Mrs. Morrison, the decedent’s mother, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find her behavior to be atypical?”

Langley rolls his eyes. “Your Honor, is there anything relevant about this line of questioning? Other than a diversionary tactic by defense counsel to try to distract us from the actions of his own clients?”

Hempstead peers over her glasses. “Not an unwarranted inquiry, Mr. Sevillas.”

“We’ll drop it for now, Your Honor.” He’d have to wait to see if Danielle can come up with something to implicate Marianne. At least he’s laid some sort of foundation, however flimsy.

He walks slowly in front of the witness box and catches Max’s eye. The poor kid is hanging on to every word. Sevillas nods in what he hopes is a comforting way. Max remains stone-faced. Sevillas turns back to the witness. “Nurse Kreng, when you entered the room on the day of Jonas’s death and established that there were numerous puncture wounds on the body, did you see the implement which might have been used to cause these injuries?”

“Yes.”

“You did?” He shows surprise.

“I most certainly did.” She smacks her lips slightly, a lizard that has just flicked out its tongue and likes the feel of the fly in its mouth, struggling.

“Where was it?”

“The police pulled it out of Ms. Parkman’s purse.”

Hempstead leans forward a bit, intent.

Sevillas smiles and turns back to the witness. “And what was this object?”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Langley is on his feet. “The question exceeds the scope of my direct examination of this witness.”

The judge looks at Sevillas.

“Judge, counsel opened the door when he had Nurse Kreng describe what she saw when she entered the boy’s room. I am merely asking a follow-up question into the very area he introduced.”

She gives Langley a disdainful glance. “Overruled.”

“Exception,” Langley responds.

Hempstead doesn’t even bother to look at him. “Noted. Proceed.”

Sevillas nods. “What was the object you saw in the room?”

“It was a…comb of some sort.”

“What did it look like?”

She holds both hands up, palms facing one another. “I would guess it was about this size—six or eight inches—with long metal spikes.”

“Did you touch the comb when you saw it?”

She gives him an offended look. “Of course not, Mr. Sevillas. One of the policemen pulled it from Ms. Parkman’s purse and held it up.”

“Did you happen to see what he did with the comb at that point?”

She sniffs. “No, I did not. I was extremely busy contacting Ms. Morrison and Dr. Hauptmann and ensuring the whereabouts and safety of the other patients on the unit.”

“Are you aware if anyone besides the police entered the room that afternoon?”

“The medical examiner, of course.” She gives him a stern look. “You would be better served to ask the police about the comb, Mr. Sevillas.”

He looks at Langley and then turns and smiles at the judge. “Yes, indeed, Nurse Kreng. We’ve done that, of course, but it seems that the comb has mysteriously disappeared. Do you have any idea where it might have gone?”

“Objection!” Langley stomps toward the bench. “Your Honor! Asked and answered. This witness has already told us she has no idea what happened to the comb and—”

“And she’s told us that the police took possession of the comb.”

Langley lifts his hands. “Your Honor, we’re going to put on witnesses about the comb.”

“And how they never had it long enough to even test it for prints,” Sevillas says with a flourish.

Hempstead’s thin eyebrows rise and stay there. “Mr. Langley, counsel seems to be saying that the alleged murder weapon disappeared from the crime scene and has not been located. Is that true, Mr. Prosecutor?”

Langley fiddles with his tie, as if the knot is too tight for his neck. “Well, Your Honor, it’s like this. Yes, the murder weapon was at the scene, but we’re still working on locating it.”

“What do you mean, ‘working’ on it?” she asks curtly. “Do you or don’t you have possession of the comb?”