The Nose Knows (18 page)

The clicking sound again told us she’d turned off the recorder.

After a few moments of blank tape, we again heard Mom’s voice.

“After waiting over an hour, Joyce’s case was called at approximately three-thirty a.m. The attorney, Mr. Ken Baskin, was present. When Joyce was led into the courtroom, her eyes appeared glazed. Her gait was slow and shuffling. She looked in my direction but didn’t give any sign of recognition. Throughout the entire proceedings she sat quietly looking down at her hands. She had to be assisted to stand when directed to do so by the judge. She made no effort to talk to her attorney and seemed oblivious as to what was going on. The attorney spoke for her. I saw her nod her head one time but I never heard her speak a word.

“The judge, after listening to the DA, the police, and my testimony, asked for the Medical Examiner’s report to be read into the record. His preliminary findings suggest the first stab wound punctured Hank’s heart and appeared to be the fatal blow. The judge himself asked Joyce several questions. Joyce didn’t respond, nor did she look up when he spoke to her. He ordered that the preliminary hearing resume in two weeks and that Joyce is to be confined on the hospital ward. She’s to be evaluated by Dr. Phillip Meyers, the court psychiatrist. Whether or not she subsequently goes on trial, to a mental hospital, or back to her own home seems to depend on whether or not the prosecutor believes she was sane and acted in self defense.”

The tape stopped and then started again.

“The attorney and I just met for about thirty minutes to compare notes. He believed the medical examiner’s initial report was good news. He said if those findings are substantiated, he could argue that all of the subsequent stab wounds, while horrific, didn’t actually cause Hank’s death. The first blow killed him. If Joyce had stopped after the very first stab, Hank would still be dead, so it could be argued the actual number of times she stabbed Hank was irrelevant.”

Click. Recorder off. Click. Recorder on.

“I paid the lawyer for his legal services already rendered. He says he’s not able to take the case. Therefore, if I’m not able to secure the services of another attorney, the case will be turned over to a public defender.

“Conclusion: It’s my opinion that Joyce Capello killed her ex-husband, Hank Capello, in self defense. At this time she’s in a semi-aware state. Without further evaluation it’s impossible to give an accurate diagnosis as to her current mental status.

“Plan: Once I know who her attorney will be, I’ll recommend she also be evaluated by an independent psychiatrist. I recommend Dr. William Hobbs, if he is willing and able to do the evaluation at this time. I’ll visit Joyce tomorrow to make sure she is on the hospital ward as per the judge’s orders and, of course, to provide support. In the meantime I’ll contact several attorneys to see if any of their offices might provide their services pro bono. Otherwise, due to Joyce’s lack of funds, her case will have to be assigned to a public defender. There are only two weeks before Joyce is due back in court. It is now four-thirty a.m. End of note.”

Mom shut off the recorder. She finished writing her notes into Joyce’s clinical record. Mom reread her notes several times before she signed her name. She then erased the tape.

“There that’s done. You know, guys, even though my records are protected by the therapist-client privilege, anything can happen. Truth is, if I don’t want to hear it read back to me in court, I don’t include it in my written record. I just file it away up here,” she said, as she tapped the side of her head. “It’s safer that way. Luckily for me, you guys can’t be called to testify.”

We had no way of knowing what details Mom might be referring to.

But I did know this: Mom had changed. Joyce had touched something in her. Her tone was full of compassion and caring for this woman. Joyce was no longer just an image on that computer. It was the first time I’d heard this tone used toward to a client. In fact, it was a channel of caring that I hadn’t seen in years.

A
fter all that, Mom still had to deal with Martha Bittner. I wasn’t sure I was ready for Martha. I was feeling very protective of Mom and couldn’t guarantee I’d behave myself if Mrs. Bittner started giving Mom—or me—a headache.

As usual we were all in our places when Martha signed on at eight a.m.

For the last few sessions, Martha had been working on learning new ways to react to Stanley. However, she still was having difficulties.

Her opening remark was “I just don’t get it. Why is it taking so long for Stanley to change?”

I whined quietly. Would she ever bury that bone?

Mom sighed. “Martha, I’m not Stanley’s therapist—I’m yours. I’d like to know how you think
you
have changed.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. Okay, I’ll tell you the big thing that happened. Stanley told me we were going to go see our son in two weeks. Keep in mind, Alex only lives four hours away and we’d just seen him a few weeks ago. When we go to see Alex, Stanley always leaves on Friday after work and we stay until after lunch on Sunday. Well, in two weeks, I’m invited to a bridal shower for a woman I know. I told Stanley I couldn’t go see Alex in two weeks, because I had the shower. Of course, according to Stanley, my friend is not nearly as important as seeing our son, so he told me I could just drop off a gift and skip going to the shower. I said, ‘No, Stanley, I don’t want to do that. We can go see Alex the following weekend.’ Of course Stanley had plans of his own in three weeks, so that wouldn’t work for him. He said he didn’t understand how some dumb old shower for a woman I barely know could possibly be more important than going to see our own son. At that point, Stanley decided he had enough of this discussion. Then he did what he always does. He said, ‘We’re going to see Alex in two weeks. That’s the way it is. I need to discuss some business things with him and we have to go then. So you’ll just have to miss your silly little shower. That’s the end of the discussion.’ He turned on the TV, put the paper in front of his face and stopped talking.”

Martha also stopped talking. She shrugged her shoulders and looked up at screen like it was Mom’s turn to talk. Mom obliged. She quietly asked, “And what did you do next?”

Martha took a deep breath and kept going, “I was so mad I could’ve spit nails. But you keep harping at me not to over-react. You say I need to take some time to think, so I did. I walked out. Not just out of the room, I walked out of the house! I knew I had to do a lot of walking before I could walk off my anger. So I walked and I walked. After a while I got tired and sat down on a bench. Then I started to think. . . .”

Martha paused. There were six pairs of ears all leaning forward to hear what she’d say next.

Mom prompted, “And. . . ?”

“In the past, my reactions have ranged from, ‘Yes, Stanley. No, Stanley. Or okay, Stanley.’ I may not have liked doing what he wanted, but I never felt this angry at him. Not like this. So I thought, ‘Why even bother? It’s just too hard this way. He’ll never, ever change.’ But then I heard your voice saying. ‘Martha, it’s not about Stanley, it’s about you.’ I must admit, Doc, I uttered a few profanities in your direction, but I knew cussing at you wasn’t going to do me any good, either. So I did what you’ve told me over and over again to do. I asked myself, ‘I have options here, so what are they?’ Then I was shocked. I couldn’t think of any— not one single option, not a one! Then I got mad at myself. It was pitiful that I couldn’t even think of one. I reminded myself that you’d said I didn’t have to be afraid of
thinking
about an option.
Thinking it
didn’t mean I
had
to do it. So I tried to think what my friends might do. I thought it’d be easier to see their options versus my own.”

Martha stopped talking as if that was the end of it, so Mom asked, “And what did you decide to do?”

Martha looked down at her lap and said, “I got real angry all over again. I marched back home, stood in front of that newspaper with my hands on my hips, and said, ‘Stanley, you’re a grown man. If you want to go see Alex in two weeks then you just go. I’ve made a commitment to be at that shower and I
want
to go to it. You told me what you are going to do—now I am telling you what I’m going to do. I
am
going to that shower. I would love to go with you to see Alex, but I can’t go on that weekend. So if you want to go—go! But I’m not going with you. Now
that
is the end of this discussion!’—And that is exactly what I said to Mr. Stanley Bittner!”

As she delivered her final line, I heard Martha stomp her foot.

Up on the bookcase, Bobby was so excited he almost fell off his perch. He stood up, arched his back and in loud meow he declared, “Hey, I finally got through to Martha. She learned how to head-butt! You go, girl!”

Though Bobby was joshing, we all agreed he had the right picture. Mom must’ve agreed too, since she turned to Bobby and gave him a thumbs-up. The smile on Mom’s face spoke volumes. Before anything else, Mom told Martha how proud she was of her. Mom told her it might take a while before she’d be able to speak up for herself without needing anger to propel her. However, for now, the anger had helped her to overcome her fears, and as long as she only verbally “went upside Stanley’s head,” it was okay.

Then Mom asked, “And what did Stanley do?”

“Oh, he blew a gasket and stomped off to his den and slammed the door. He still isn’t talking to me. See, I told you he’d never change.”

“Martha, what matters is
you
changed. You defended your right to have a plan separate from Stanley’s. You began to value yourself again.”

I’ll admit Martha has never been one of my favorites. It’s hard for a tough terrier mutt to warm up to a whiner. But today I could’ve given her a big lick right on the nose. She’d given Mom a good moment in an otherwise exhausting day. Maybe I will cut the old girl a little more slack.

A
fter Martha signed off, Mom was able to get some sleep. It was ten a.m. She set the alarm so she wouldn’t sleep too long. She said three hours would help a lot. Certainly none of us were complaining about having a good long nap. The whole household was exhausted, except of course for Fancy. I have yet to see that boy get tired. But he was kind enough to say he’d try not to bother us. We settled in for a good snooze.

After Mom awoke and adjusted herself to getting out of bed at one o’clock in the afternoon, she called a friend, Tom Mackey. He’s an attorney. Mom had helped him on numerous occasions when she’d evaluated his clients for free and given him an opinion of their mental status. He didn’t use Mom to testify in court. For that he hired someone with a long string of credentials after their name so they’d impress a jury. But he said he trusted Mom’s gut reaction to people. So when he was uncertain about a client’s status, Mom’s opinion apparently helped him decide which legal avenue to follow.

Tom said he’d be more than willing to assign one of the junior associates to work on Joyce’s case on a pro bono basis. He’d supervise the case and get involved himself if he felt it was essential. He’d let the junior associates do the work and see what he or she found out. He asked Mom whom she wanted to use for the psychiatric evaluation. He agreed with her recommendation of Dr. Hobbs and said he’d contact him immediately to see how quickly he could evaluate Joyce.

After eating some lunch, Mom headed to the jail.

When she returned, it was after four p.m. She got down on the floor to give me my usual hello pets; given the arthritis in my lower spine Mom doesn’t like me jumping up. Out of respect for my age, she usually bends over to my level or gets down on her knees. Today, she acted tired and troubled. All of her movements were slower. She sighed a lot. Then she started doing more hugging than scratching—always a sign that she’s the one in need of a hug. When she got up and went to sit on the sofa, I followed and curled up right beside her.

I heard a car turn in the driveway. I jumped off the sofa and looked out. It was Judy. Her timing was perfect, so long as she came to listen. I alerted Mom that the doorbell was about to ring.