Dr. French touched Ami on the arm. “Let’s let Mr. Morelli rest,” he said. Ami was worried about Morelli, but the doctor was right. Her client had shut down and she knew they wouldn’t get anything more out of him today.
”What do you think?” George asked as they walked to their cars.
“Dan was obviously not your typical GI,” Ami answered enthusiastically. “Can you imagine what it must have been like for him after his escape from the Vietnamese?”
“Then you buy his story?” George asked, without revealing his own opinion.
“It certainly sounded real. Why, do you have doubts?”
“Last year, I was involved with a fellow whose defense to an embezzlement charge was that he worked for the CIA and was using the funds for a covert operation. He was very convincing and could look you in the eye and say the most outrageous things, but they were all lies. He had read every book ever written on the CIA and spy novels and newsmagazines. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of the history of the CIA and its workings.”
“You think that Morelli is making this up?”
“He has the army training routines down, but those details are easy to learn. He could have known someone in the army or read about them in a library or online. Think about his story, Ami. Morelli wouldn’t discuss the smallest detail of any of his missions. I’ll tell you something else. I was in army intelligence during Vietnam. I’ve never heard of an American making a successful escape from a Vietnamese prison camp.”
Ami’s unlawyerly enthusiasm for Morelli’s exciting story made her feel foolish. It had been a welcome addition to the life of someone whose excitement usually came mainly at her son’s Little League games.
“Don’t look so glum,” George said with a light laugh. “I haven’t drawn any conclusions about Morelli yet. I’m just not going to accept a story like this without hard evidence. I have a friend who may be able to get us a copy of Morelli’s military records. Let’s see what they say.”
“What are the implications if he’s telling the truth, George?”
Dr. French thought for a moment. “The stress he would have been under if he was in a Vietnamese prison camp could cause PTSD. But I’d have to have a hell of a lot more proof that he was a prisoner and a lot more information about his conditions of captivity before I’d give that opinion in court.”
“Let me ask you something else. What if he made it all up, but he believes he was some kind of commando? Would that make him legally insane?”
“Well,” George said slowly, “that would be paranoid behavior, but he’s far too integrated to be paranoid schizophrenic. I don’t see that at all. He has good contact with reality. By that I mean that he speaks rationally, he’s aware of his situation, and his responses to questions are appropriate.”
Dr. French paused. “Paranoid personality disorder is another possibility. The onset usually occurs in early adulthood. There’s a pervasive distrust of others. People’s motives are interpreted as being malevolent. But I don’t really see that here. Morelli was willing to talk to us. He confided sensitive information to us, which someone with this disorder would be reluctant to do.”
They walked through the parking lot with Dr. French deep in thought. When they arrived at Ami’s car, French ventured another opinion.
“There’s a possibility that Morelli is in a paranoid state, but that form of paranoia is extremely rare.”
“Explain that to me.”
“A person is in a paranoid state when he has a very tight delusional system that develops in early adulthood. It starts with a belief that an outside force, like the CIA, is controlling him. Once the delusion is in place the individual constructs an extremely complex delusional system that is based on it. If you buy the original premise, everything else in the system works logically and it’s almost impossible to crack it. This type of individual is always in the delusional system, but he keeps his mouth shut because he learns that talking about it gets him into trouble and he is healthy enough to control it.”
“Would he open up to us because he’s afraid of going to jail?”
“That’s possible, and you told him that his conversation was confidential. Opening up under those circumstances would be consistent with that type of paranoia.”
“You said that a paranoid state is extremely rare.”
“Almost as rare as meeting someone who’s done what Morelli claims to have done. Look, it’s more fun believing an exciting story like Morelli’s than subjecting it to scrutiny, but that’s what we have to do.”
“Okay, get the military records. Call me if they confirm or rebut his contentions. Meanwhile, I’ll work on finding a lawyer with criminal experience who can take over Morelli’s case.”
CHAPTER TEN
Ami was in a good mood when she entered the office reception area two days after her meeting with Morelli and Dr. French. Ray Armitage, one of the top criminal defense attorneys in the country, had returned her call. He was in Colorado conducting pretrial motions in a murder case involving a member of the Olympic ski team, but he would be back in Portland on Monday and was interested in taking over Morelli’s case.
Ami had called Vanessa as soon as she’d finished talking to Armitage. Vanessa was prepared to pay his retainer and any additional fees and expenses, even though they were steep. Ami was surprised that Vanessa had not asked if Morelli had changed his mind about meeting with her.
“Good morning, Nancy,” Ami sang out.
“Am I glad you’re here,” the receptionist answered. “The phone has been ringing off the hook.”
Ami looked puzzled.
“Don’t you read the morning paper or listen to the news? They indicted your friend for the Little League assault. It’s on the front page. Everyone knows you’re his attorney.”
Nancy handed Ami the newspaper. The story was featured beneath the fold, but it took up the bottom third of the front page.
“Oh, and there was a call from that man Kirkpatrick.”
“What did he want?”
“Morelli is being arraigned at the hospital at one o’clock.”
“Today?”
“That’s what the message said. He called last night after we forwarded the phones. The answering service took the call.”
“And Kirkpatrick didn’t bother to tell them to try and reach me at home,” Ami thought to herself. “That bastard is trying to sandbag me. How am I going to handle an arraignment today, or anytime?”
Ami had only the vaguest idea of what an arraignment was and no idea what one did at this type of court appearance. She grabbed her phone messages and fled to her office. Most of the calls were from the press. She put the message slips on top of a stack of unanswered mail and dialed Betty Sato, a classmate from law school who worked at the Multnomah County district attorney’s office.
“Oh, my God!” Betty said when they were connected. “Ami Vergano, the world-famous criminal lawyer, is calling
“Stuff it, Sato.”
Betty laughed.
“You read the papers, huh?” Ami asked.
“That, too. But Brendan Kirkpatrick found out that we were classmates and he pumped me about you. I’ve got to tell you, he’s not your biggest fan.”
“That’s the least of my problems.”
“Since when do you take criminal cases?” Betty asked.
“It’s a long story,” Ami answered, a bit concerned that Kirkpatrick was checking up on her. “That’s why I’m calling you. You’re my only friend who knows anything about criminal law. I just found out that my client is going to be arraigned this afternoon, and I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do at an arraignment.”
There was silence on Sato’s end of the line. When she spoke, she used the tone that a nurse in a psychiatric hospital uses with an irrational patient.
“Can I say something, Ami? I mean, we’re friends, right?”
