Primal Fear (39 page)

“I’ll keep an open mind and overrule, but don’t stray, Mr. Vail.”

“Thank you. Do you recall the case, Lieutenant?”

“I believe so.”

“Mr. Jeffries was arrested for what?”

“Murder and armed robbery.”

“And you arrested him because it seemed logical at the time, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes, there was … uh …”

Stenner hesitated in mid-sentence.

“A great deal of physical evidence?” Vail said. “That what you were going to say, Lieutenant Stenner?”

“Something like that.”

“Even had an eyewitness, did you not?”

“That’s true.”

“A preponderance of evidence, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Was Mr. Jeffries convicted of this crime, Lieutenant?”

“Yes.”

“Was he tried?”

“Yes.”

“Found guilty?”

“Yes.”

“What was his sentence, Lieutenant?”

“He was sentenced to death.”

“And was that sentence carried out?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Jeffries was subsequently released.”

“Who arranged that?”

“I did.”

“Why? Why, after submitting the case to the prosecution and getting a guilty verdict, why did you then help get him released?”

“I discovered while working on another case that our eyewitness lied.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Because he was the guilty party.”

“You see, Lieutenant, I have a problem with some of these logical assumptions that have been made during this trial. Do you understand why?”

“Most of the time—”

“Lieutenant, my client’s life is at stake here. ‘Most of the time’ won’t do. And so much for logic and a preponderance of evidence. Mr. Danielson says he cannot say for sure that Aaron was alone in the room, cannot say for sure that only one person actually stabbed the bishop, and cannot prove evidentially that Aaron even came in the back door or brought the knife to the murder scene. Yet you assumed Aaron Stampler lied to you because it wasn’t logical, right?”

No answer.

“The fact is, Lieutenant, that you are willing to accept on faith that Christ was crucified and died, that he arose from the dead, and went to heaven. But you don’t choose to believe the fact that a person, under extreme stress or shock, can black out and enter a scientifically described limbo called a fugue state. So you never actually tried to prove that Aaron Stampler was lying, did you?”

“The physical evidence—”

“Answer my question, Lieutenant. Did you seek any evidence that might substantiate Aaron Stampler’s statement?”

“The evidence itself disputes it.”

“Really? At what point did you rule out the presence of a third person in the room?”

“He had the weapon, he was covered with blood, he left fingerprints …”

“My question, sir, is at what point did you specifically rule out the presence of a third person in the room?”

Stenner hesitated.

“Isn’t it a fact, Lieutenant Stenner, that you never even considered the possibility?”

“Not seriously. No.”

“In other words, you never specifically ascertained that Stampler was lying, you simply assumed that his story was bogus and the jury would not believe it, right?”

“It’s not my job to prove the defendant is innocent, it’s yours,” Stenner snapped.

“On the contrary, Lieutenant, it’s your job to prove he’s guilty.”

Stenner glared at Vail, his eyes flashing with anger.

“It’s your job to prove—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that this crime happened exactly as you claim it happened and to do that I would suggest you must also discredit the claims of the defendant, which you have not done.”

“The physical evidence alone is overwhelming.”

“But not conclusive.”

“Of course it’s conclusive.”

“How many witnesses did you interview about the altar boys’ meeting in the room earlier that night?”

“Actually none …”

“Was there a meeting of the altar boys in that room earlier in the evening or not?”

“I can’t say for sure.”

“Lieutenant, were there fibers recovered from the murder scene that have not yet been identified?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s possible they were left by a third person in the room, is that correct?”

“I guess …”

“Or by one of the altar boys earlier in the evening?”

“There’s no record of any meeting …”

“Ah, but there is a record, Lieutenant. The bishop’s date-book, which you introduced into evidence. On this page, the bishop wrote ‘Altar Boy critique’ for eight
P.M.
”

“The bishop could have canceled it.”

“Well, he could have danced in a topless bar, too, but he didn’t.”

The gallery broke into subdued laughter, having been warned more than a few times about demonstrations by Shoat.

Venable said, “Your Honor…”

“Yes, Ms. Venable. Mr. Vail, we can do without the metaphors and analogies. Stick to the facts.”

“Lieutenant, can you prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that only the defendant and the bishop were in the room at the time of the murder?”

“I suppose not, but the preponderence of evidence indicates—”

“ ‘Indicates’?
‘Indicates’?
The evidence is
all
circumstantial,” Vail said. He turned back to his notes. “I have only one more question, Lieutenant Stenner. You stated a few minutes ago that this crime was premeditated. You said it unequivocally,
as a statement of fact. Isn’t that just another one of your unsupported allegations, sir?”

“No sir, it is not.”

“Well, will you please tell the court upon what evidence you base that supposition?”

“Several factors,” Stenner said confidently.

“Such as?”

“The symbols on the back of the bishop’s head.”

The answer was a shock to Vail. He had broken the first commandment in law—never ask a question unless you know the answer. So they had unraveled the mystery of the symbols. Vail realized he could not back away now. He was in it with Stenner. He had to pursue the line of questioning he had opened, and do it with great caution.

“And what about the symbols, Lieutenant?”

A flicker of a smile crossed Stenner’s lips.

“They refer to a quote from a book in the bishop’s library. The passage was marked in the book. We found similar markings in a book retrieved from Stampler’s quarters in the Hollows. Same highlighter was used and we can identify the handwriting in both books as Stampler’s.”

“Your Honor,” Venable said, “I can offer both of these volumes in evidence at this time.” She carried both books to the bench.

“All right, mark them appropriately, Clerk,” Shoat said.

Vail’s mind was racing. Could he afford to continue? If he dropped the line of questioning at this point, Venable would finish it. If he went on, he would most likely shoot himself in the foot.
What the hell,
he thought,
it’s in the open.
Better for him to pursue the point.

“Lieutenant,” Vail began, “why do you believe these markings on the victim’s head prove premeditation?”

“Because he planned it. He wrote in blood, on the victim’s head, the symbol B32.156. B32.156 is the way this book is identified, it’s a method for cataloging the books in the bishop’s library.”

“And what does it mean?”

Careful, Abel,
Venable thought.

“It is a quote from the novel
The Scarlet Letter
by Nathaniel Hawthorne,” Stenner said, opening the book. “‘No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another
to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.’”

“What is the significance of that quote?”

“It is our belief that Stampler felt betrayed by Bishop Rushman, who made him leave Savior House. His girlfriend left him, he was living in a hellhole. He felt the bishop was two-faced. So he put this symbol in blood on the victim’s head to add insult to injury.”

“Nothing more than that?”

“Just further proof that Stampler was planning to murder Bishop Rushman all along.”

“Why?”

“Because he memorized the index number of the quote, and put it on the back of the victim’s head when he killed him,” Stenner said. “I don’t know what you call it, Mr. Vail, but I call that premeditation.”

Vail had to make a fast decision. Should he bring in the whole sordid story of the altar boys or drop the questioning now? He decided to back off.

“I think you’re reaching, Lieutenant,” he said. He walked back to his desk. “You can’t prove the defendant was alone in the room with the victim, you can’t prove he struck the fatal blow, you can’t prove he came in the back door, or took the knife to the bedroom, and you base premeditation on some highlighting in books and you can’t even prove Mr. Stampler made those markings.”

“We proved it to my satisfaction.”

“Well, I guess we should thank our lucky stars you’re not on the jury, sir. I have no more questions, Your Honor. The witness may come away.”

The judge stared at Vail as he sat down. Had Vail been ambushed? he wondered. It appeared to him, and probably to the jury, that Vail had backed away from the quote from the book. It seemed to have snapped his momentum and juries picked up on things like that.

“We have no more witnesses at this time, Your Honor,” Venable said. “The state rests.”

Now it was Vail’s turn.
What’s he got up his sleeve?
the judge wondered. He didn’t wonder for long.

“Are you ready, Mr. Vail?” Shoat asked.

“Yes sir, the defense is ready to proceed.”

“Please do.”

Vail said, “The defense calls Aaron Stampler.”

And the courtroom went berserk.

THIRTY-FIVE

Although Aaron Stampler had been sitting in the front of the courtroom for several days, the anticipation of the young killer on the witness stand created a minute or two of bedlam in the room. Shoat rapped the room into silence, and an eerie quiet settled over the legal arena as Aaron stood up.

For five days, he had sat quietly and attentively as the witnesses for the prosecution painted him as an ungrateful psychopath who had turned on the Saint of Lakeview Drive in a brutal, senseless, and perverse combination of anger and vengeance. Throughout the trial, the well-dressed, handsome young man had listened with deep concern to the accusations made against him, seeming almost intimidated by the procedure. Now, as he approached the witness stand, the courtroom became funereal, the spectators silently watching his every step, scrutinizing his expression, as if his countenance might mirror the most perverse secrets of his soul. They were disappointed. All they saw was a baby-faced vulnerable youth who appeared both confused and frightened.

When he answered the oath he said in a loud, clear voice, “Yes suh, I will tell all the truth.”

Vail approached him with his hands in his pockets, the hint of a smile on his face, his attitude calm and reassuring.

“Please tell the court your name.”

“Aaron Stampler.”

“How old are you, Aaron?”

“I be nineteen yairs old.”

“And where were you born?”

“Town called Crikside in Kentucky.”

“That’s C-r-i-k-s-i-d-e?” Vail asked, spelling the name to a ripple of laughter.

“Yes suh.”

“That’s in the mountains in coal mining country, is it not?”

“Yes suh, ’bout an hour or so south of Lexington.”

“And where do you live now?”

“I had a stander down in th’ Hollows.”

“Was it pretty awful down there?”

“Yes suh. Dark, dirty, smelled bad, n’ air, n’ water, n’ toilets ’r showers. It were bad, yes suh.”

“And how long did you live there?”

“Three weeks.”

“Before you were arrested?”

“Yes suh.”

“Did you have a job at the time you were arrested?”

He nodded. “Yes suh, cleanup man at the libury.”

“How much did you make?”

“Well, it were part-time. Two-fifty an hour and I worked ’bout twenty-five hours a week.”

“About sixty-five dollars a week?”

“Yes suh.”

“Aaron, did you blame Bishop Rushman for that, for having to live in that awful place?”

“No suh, it were my choice.”

“Your choice?”

“Yes suh. M’ girlfriend, Linda, and I decided to live t’gether. We found this one-room apartment and she had a job in th’ supermarket s’ we could afford it. Then she went back home to Ohio and I had t’ move. But it weren’t the bishop’s fault, I mean all thet what happened, ’tweren’t anybody’s fault.”

“Was the bishop upset that you were going to live with Linda?”

“He never said a thaing ’bout it, one way or t’other.”

“Aaron, did you ever have a serious fight with Archbishop Rushman?”

“No suh, I never had any kinda fight with th’ bishop. We talked a lot, mostly ’bout things I read in books, ideas ’n’ sech. But we were always friends.”

“So the bishop did not order you out of Savior House and you were still friends after you left?”

“Yes suh.”

Vail walked to the end of the jury box and leaned on the railing so Aaron was looking straight at the jury.

“You had access to the bishop’s library, did you not?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Could borrow books anytime you wanted?”

“Yes, ’cept if somebody were in the office with him. His office and the libury were the same.”

“And this was after you left Savior House?”

“Yes suh.”

“So he trusted you?”

“Yes suh.”

Not a mention of the books that Stampler marked with the highlighter,
Venable thought to herself,
particularly the one book.
He was obviously tiptoeing around that one. She made a note to herself.

“How much schooling do you have, Aaron?”

“I finished high school and one yair o’ college in the extension.”

“You took night courses here in the city?”

“Yes suh.”

“How were your grades in grammar and high school?”

“I were always an A student.”

“Were you valedictorian of your high school graduating class?”

“Yes sun.”

“How about college?”

“Well, I taken fourteen hours altogether ’fore I had t’ quit. It were five courses in all. Made all A’s ’cept for a B in economics.”

“Why did you make a B in economics? Was it hard for you?”

“No suh, it just didn’t matter much t’ me.”

“When did you leave Crikside, Aaron?”

“After I gradjiated high school. I were seventeen.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Was nothin’ thair fer me.”

“No future?”

“Only coal mining, which I refused t’ do.”

“Why?”

“I feared it. Killed m’ paw. Killed lots of folks I knew growin’ up. It were no way t’ live.”

“Your mother was still alive when you left?”

“Yes suh.”

“Did she condone your leaving?”

“No suh, not partic’ly. She was fer me goin’ into the hole.”

“You mean go down in the mines?”

“Yes suh. I call it goin’ in the hole. M’ paw whipped me ’cause I wouldn’t go down and she stood with him on it, mostly ’cause it were all she knew t’ do.”

“How did your father beat you?”

“I object, Your Honor,” Venable said. “There’s a significant difference between a whipping and a beating.”

“Never mind,” said Vail, “I’ll rephrase. How often did your father hit you?”

“Once ’r twice a week.”

“Did he hit you with his hand?”

“Sometimes. Mostly he took th’ strap t’ me.”

“The strap?”

“ ’Twere his belt. Big, thick black belt, maybe two inches wide.” Aaron held up his hand and measured the width between two fingers. “He would pull it off ’n’ lick me with it.”

“How would be hit you?”

“Make m’ bend over a chair and pull down m’ britches, ’n’ gimme licks.”

“How many licks?”

“Sometimes five, sometimes ten. Maybe more.”

“Did he break the skin with these licks on your bare behind?”

“Yes suh. Sometimes they took t’ bleedin.”

“And he did this once a week?”

“Sometimes more. Whenever he were drinkin’.”

Vail turned to the judge and said, “Your Honor, I don’t know how the state defines a beating but getting stropped once a week with a two-inch belt until you bleed qualifies in my book.”

“You made your point, Counselor,” Shoat said with a nod.

“Aaron, could your father read?”

“No suh.”

“Your mother?”

“A mite. ’Twere she first read the Bible t’ me—in a kinda falterin’ way.”

“You had a brother?”

“Yes suh, m’ brother Sam. He were killed in a car accident.”

“Aunts, uncles, other relatives?”

He shook his head. “Nary.”

“Who was the most important influence in your life, Aaron?”

“ ’Twas Miss Rebecca, m’ schoolteacher.”

“She was your teacher until you went to high school, wasn’t she?”

“Yes suh, it were a one-room schoolhouse and she was our teacher. She taught me ev’thin’ I know. Taught me ’bout readin’, history, the geography of the world. ’Bout science and psychology, adventure books and the like. She had lotsa books at her place and I were allowed to read one at a time. I read all of
those books ’fore I went to high school, and all the books in th’ Crikside libury—which weren’t many. Like maybe half as many as were in the bishop’s libury.”

“Your parents didn’t like you to bring books home to read, did they?”

“Uh, well, it were like an insult to m’ paw, him not being able t’ read ’n’ all. I think he and Maw considered it a waste o’ m’ time.”

“Did Miss Rebecca encourage you to leave Crikside?”

“Yes suh. Told me ’tweren’t no future thair and thet sooner or later, I would end up in th’ hole.”

“So you left when you were seventeen?”

“Yes suh.”

“Where did you go first?”

“Went to Lexington and I worked in a funeral home ’bout six months, then I came hair.”

“Why did you leave Lexington?”

“I always planned to come hair to the city.”

Vail slowly walked down the length of the jury box, sliding his hand along the highly polished railing.

“What’s the first book you ever read, Aaron?”

“The Bible. ’Twere the only book in our house.”

“How old were you then?”

“When I read it th’ first time?”

“Yes.”

“ ’Bout six.”

“You read the Bible when you were six years old?”

“Yes suh.”

“Is religion important to you?”

“Yes suh.”

“Why?”

“Well suh, I guess I’m tryin t’ figger it out.”

“Religion’s in your thoughts a lot, is it?”

Aaron nodded. “Yes suh.”

“Do you believe in God?”

“Yes suh.”

“Are you a Christian?”

“Yes suh.”

“Other than reading the Bible, when’s the first time you became aware of Christ?”

“ ’Twere from Reverend Shackles.”

“How old were you then?”

“ ’Bout nine, I reckon.”

“Tell the jury about Reverend Shackles.”

“Well, he were a fearsome man, tall and lean like a pine tree, and he had terrifyin’ eyes and a long beard, come down t’ about hair.” He pointed to his chest. “ ’N’ he would put his hand on m’ shoulder, and press down real hard till m’ knees hurt, and he would sermonize over me. ’Twere like … he were pickin’ me out to yell at.”

“And that embarrassed you?”

“No suh, scairt me outta m’ wits. He preached hellfire and damnation ’n’ thair were no room fer sinners. ’Twere like, if you sinned, you were hell-bound, an’ nothin’ to stop it. No absolution, no forgiveness, just hell awaitin’ down thair. I mean, even if yuh jest had bad thoughts. Even when yer nine yairs old, y’cain’t help havin’ a bad thought now and agin.”

“So he was a frightening figure?”

“Yes.”

“And he said you were going to hell?”

“Yes suh.”

“And that troubled you even at the age of nine?”

“Yes suh, troubled me from then on.”

“So you tended to suppress your bad thoughts, as you put it?”

“Yes suh.”

“Tried not to think bad thoughts?”

“Tried.”

“And when you did have a bad thought, what then?”

“I would be scairt… I would feel… uh …”

“Guilty?”

“Guilty, yes suh, but also … y’know, like helpless?”

“Helpless in what way?”

“Thet I were goin’ t’ hell and nothin’ I could do would stop it.”

“Aaron, are you familiar with the term ‘fugue’ or ‘fugue state’?”

“Yes suh.”

“What does it mean?”

“Mains forgettin’ things fer a while.”

“Do you have a term for it?”

“Yes suh. Call it losin’ time.”

“And did you ever lose time?”

“Yes suh.”

“Often?”

“Yes suh.”

“When?”

“Well, I’m not perfeckly sure. At first you don’t know it’s happenin’. Then after a while, you know when you lose time.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, one minute I’d be settin hair, a second later—jest a snap of a finger—I’d be settin over thair, ’r walkin’ outside. Once I was in the movies with a girl ’n’ jest an instant later we were walkin’ outside the movie. I don’t know how the picture ended, I was jest outside on the street.”

“Did you tell anyone about this?”

“No suh.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t think they’d b’lieve me. Thought they’d make fun o’ me or maybe put me away.”

“So it was fear?”

“Yes suh.”

“Did it worry you?”

“Well, mainly I would wonder if I did somethin’ wrong.”

“Like what?”

“Y’know, maybe I said somethin’ wrong, made somebody mad, somethin’ like thet.”

“Did you tell Miss Rebecca?”

“No suh. I din’t tell anybody.”

“Did you know what caused it? By that I mean, were there subjects you avoided because you knew they might bring on this condition?”

“Reckon it were lotsa things. Sometimes when m’ paw were lickin’ me, I’d lose time. Next thing I know, I’d be in m’ room and ’twould be ’n hour later. Sometimes when I were havin’ sex, suddenly I’d be in the shower or on my way home. It was like that. First time I went in th’ Catholic church it happened. Jest no way o’ tellin’.”

“How did you meet Bishop Rushman?” Vail asked.

“I was down on South Street, beggin’ fer a meal, when this big black car pulled up and the door opened and the bishop, he leaned out ’n’ says, ‘C’mere son.’ So I went over ’n’ he asked where I were livin’ and I told him sleepin’ in unlocked cars ’n’ he says, ‘Come along with me,’ and he took me to Savior House and I moved in thet night. Reckon Billy Jordan hed tole him ’bout me.”

“And you became friends after that?”

“Yes suh. From thet moment on.”

“And did you talk about religion with the bishop?”

“Yes suh. He were tryin’ to convince me t’ become a Catholic.”

“And you resisted?”

“Not really. I were jest, you know, tryin’ to get it all straight in m’ mind. Reverend Shackles tellin’ me one thaing, ’n’ the bishop tellin’ me jest the opposite.”

“And you thought a lot about that?”

“Yes suh.”

“And sometimes when you were having sex with your girlfriend did you lose time?”

“Yes suh.”

“But you don’t know why?”

“Not really.”

“And you have no recollection of what happens when you’re in this state?”

“No suh. I jest lose time.”

“And this has been happening for ten years or more?”

“Yes suh.”

“And you never told anyone?”

“No suh.”

“Now I want to talk about the night Bishop Rushman was murdered. There was an altar boy meeting scheduled, wasn’t there?”

“Yes suh.”

“Did any of the other altar boys show up?”

“No.”

“Nobody else?” Vail was saying.

“No suh.”

“Was the bishop upset?”

“No. He said he were tired anyway and we could meet another time.”

“What did you do when you left?”