victim, no embedded bullets found at the scene, other than the one in the vic’s skull. Point being, if she had a gun, there’s no trace of it.”
“But if he was flashing back, it was just him hallucinating, anyway. So who cares if he was accurately perceiving events?”
“That’s the argument, Counselor. It just would have been nice if she actually had a gun. It would make the whole thing feel more real to the jury.” Chilly hit my arm. “Oh, and I haven’t told you the best part: Our guy told the cops he apologized to the victim. ‘Please don’t die,’ ‘I’m so sorry,’ that kind of thing.”
It was my turn to moan. Seek forgiveness and you might spend your afterlife in heaven. But you’ll spend your mortal life in a state penitentiary. Our state followed the modified ALI on insanity. The defendant had to show that he suffered a mental defect that prevented him from appreciating the criminality of his conduct. Basically, that means he has to prove he didn’t know what he was doing was against the law.
It’s a bit difficult to claim you didn’t know you’d done something wrong when you immediately apologized to the victim after you shot her.
We reached the room. The guard unlocked the door and reminded us that we’d be monitored at all times with video but not audio.
The room was partitioned with thick glass. On our side, besides a dingy floor and peeling paint, there were two chairs and a shelf that ran along the partition. The smell of bleach hung in the air.
We sat in the chairs and waited for the arrival of Bryan’s client.
“There’s a wrinkle,” he said, his voice lowered.
I looked at him. “What’s the wrinkle?”
And then the door on the other side opened, and in walked Thomas Stoller.
4
Tom Stoller was led in by an unarmed guard. He moved awkwardly, as if the guard were helping him put one foot in front of the other.
“Hey, Tom,” said Bryan.
Stoller was wearing a gray pullover, blue jeans, and slippers on his feet. He had hair to his shoulders, an unshaven and scarred face. His eyes were unfocused and his expression was, well, void of expression.
“How’s it going, Tom?”
Stoller rolled his head back and forth. He licked his lips incessantly, his tongue playing peekaboo.
“They had eggs this morning,” he said.
“Yeah? That’s good. You look like you could use a good meal.”
He nodded at Bryan’s comment and looked off in the distance.
“Tom, this is Jason Kolarich. Remember we talked about this lawyer I wanted you to meet?”
Stoller was on the young side, probably not even thirty, and the bright redness of his lips from his persistent licking made him look even younger. He was gaunt, but he had wide shoulders and looked like it wasn’t so long ago that he was in pretty good fighting shape. If he was an Army Ranger, he must have been.
“Tom, you remember I told you that I was leaving the public defender’s office? That I’d need someone to take the lead on your trial?”
Stoller’s eyes dropped for a moment, like he was concentrating. After a time, he said, “You told me you weren’t gonna be my lawyer anymore.”
“That’s right. But I wouldn’t turn over the case unless I found a really good replace-”
“You were… wearing that tie with stripes. Red.”
Bryan paused for a moment. He seemed to be accustomed to disorganized conversations with his client.
“Was I? I don’t-”
“’Cause I said I liked it. And you said your mom bought it for you.” Stoller scratched his jaw.
Chilly sighed and put his hands on the table. “Okay, Tom-”
“You think it’s okay if I wear a tie at my trial?”
“Yes, Tom, but listen to me, okay? Can we talk about the case for a minute?”
The client’s eyes wandered again. He didn’t answer.
“I wanted you to meet Jason. He’s a lawyer like me.”
Stoller was in full motion now, licking his lips and rubbing his hands together. This guy was suffering from more than post-traumatic stress disorder.
“It’s hot in here,” he said. “I take off my clothes at night to sleep, but they don’t like it when I do that. I’m hot all the time.”
“Lieutenant Stoller,” I said with some force. I can make my voice count when necessary.
His eyes popped up to meet mine. He stopped fidgeting.
“I’ll be your lawyer if you want. Is that okay with you? It’s your choice, Lieutenant.”
He broke eye contact after a moment; it was too much for him. He went back to his habitual comforts, his tongue stabbing out and his hands in constant motion. “I just want this to be over,” he said. “Can you make it colder in here?”
I looked over at Bryan, who nodded toward the door.
“Think about it, Lieutenant,” I said. “You don’t have to decide now.”
“I’ll come back soon, Tom,” said Chilly. He stood and motioned to the video camera in the corner of the room. A moment later the same guard came through a door to retrieve Stoller.
“I don’t care who my lawyer is,” he said, as the guard touched his arm. “I just want this over.”
We watched him walk out through his door. Then we left through ours.
“A wrinkle,” I said to Chilly out in the hallway. “What’s the diagnosis?”
“Schizophrenia. Disorganized schizophrenia. They think it was triggered by the PTSD.”
“Disorganized is right.”
“Aunt Deidre didn’t mention any of this?”
“No,” I said. “She said he was sick. She wanted me to see for myself, I think.”
Chilly put his hand on my shoulder. “You surprised me in there, Counsel. I thought this was just a feel-out session. I didn’t expect you to offer your services.”
So Tom Stoller suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder and disorganized schizophrenia. He admitted to apologizing to the victim after he shot her, so an insanity defense was an uphill climb. Self-defense was a sure loser; it would be hard to believe that a young woman would appear to be a threat to a homeless man.
This case was a d-o-g.
“He said he’s hot in his room,” I told the guard at the front desk.
“This ain’t the Four Seasons,” the male guard said, reading some document.
I stared at the guard, but he wasn’t looking at me. Staring at someone doesn’t impress your point if they don’t know you’re staring at them. I wanted him to know. So I slapped my hand down on the table in front of him. Now he knew. He looked up at me, momentarily startled and then offended. He was the guy with the gun, after all.
I said, “This isn’t one of your behavioral cases. This is a guy who’s mentally ill. This is a guy who served two tours in Iraq and came back broken. He put his ass on the line for his country and paid a pretty steep price. Now whaddaya say we check on that temperature?”
“We’ll check on it,” said the woman. “Dial it down a notch or we’ll put you in cuffs.”
We got into the elevator.
“So?” Chilly asked me as we rode down. “Why’d you take the case?”
I shrugged. “Aunt Deidre got to me.”
“Yeah, but you wanted this case, didn’t you?” He wagged a finger at me. “And I’ll bet everything you learned up there made you want it even more. I mean, it looks like a dog, no?”
I shrugged. “You said yourself. With you leaving, there’s nobody available on your staff who could do it without wanting another continuance. And I’m not that busy.”
We reached the ground floor and the doors parted. “Okay, well, this is great, Jason. Thanks. Tom’s a good
