distinction. There may be sufficient evidence, however, to support a colorable argument relying on genetic and neurological evidence based on a theory of ‘irresistible impulse.’ ” Unquote.
Mr. Logiudice: “There may be sufficient evidence,” “a colorable argument”-that’s a lot of hedging, isn’t it?
Witness: It’s understandable. People were bound to be skeptical about making excuses for murder. If the doctor took the stand and made that argument, she’d better be damn sure.
Mr. Logiudice: But she did say, in fact, at least at this stage, that it was possible? It was a “colorable argument”? Witness: Yes.
Mr. Logiudice: A murder gene? Witness: She never used that term. Mr. Logiudice: Would you read the paragraph labeled “Diagnosis Overview”? Page three, top of the page.
Witness: Neal, do you want me to read the whole thing to them? The document is already in evidence. They can read it for themselves.
Mr. Logiudice: Please. Humor me.
Witness: Quote: “Jacob exhibits behavior and expresses thoughts and inclinations, both in private session and in his history outside direct clinical observation, that would support any or all of the following diagnoses in isolation or in combination: reactive attachment disorder, narcissistic personality disorder”-look, if you’re asking me to comment on a psychiatrist’s clinical diagnosis-
Mr. Logiudice: Please, just one more. Page four, paragraph two, the sentence I’ve indicated with a sticky note.
Witness: Quote: “The best way to summarize this entire constellation of observations-lack of empathy, difficulties with impulse control, occasional cruelty-is to say that Jacob resembles the Grinch of Dr. Seuss: ‘His heart is two sizes too small.’ ” Unquote.
Mr. Logiudice: You look upset. I’m sorry. Does that upset you?
Witness: Jesus, Neal. Jesus.
Mr. Logiudice: Is this how you felt when you first heard that your son had a heart that was two sizes too small?
[The witness did not respond.]
Mr. Logiudice: Is this how it felt?
Witness: Objection. Relevance.
Mr. Logiudice: Noted. Now answer the question, please. Is this how it felt?
Witness: Yes! How do you think I felt, for Christ’s sake! I’m his father.
Mr. Logiudice: Exactly. How is it that you lived with a boy who had the capacity for this sort of violence all these years and you never even noticed it? Never suspected one thing was out of place? Never lifted a finger to address these psychological problems?
Witness: What do you want me to say, Neal?
Mr. Logiudice: That you knew. You knew, Andy. You knew.
Witness: No. Mr. Logiudice: How is that possible, Andy? How could you not know? How is that even possible?
Witness: I don’t know. I only know it’s the truth.
Mr. Logiudice: Again with that. You sure do stick to your talking points, don’t you? You keep saying “the truth, the truth, the truth,” as if saying it makes it so. Witness: You don’t have kids, Neal. I don’t expect you to understand. Mr. Logiudice: Enlighten me. Enlighten all of us. Witness: You can’t see your own kids straight. No one can. You love them too much, you’re too close. If you had a son. If you had a son. Mr. Logiudice: Do you need a minute to gather yourself?
Witness: No. Have you ever heard of confirmation bias? Confirmation bias is the tendency to see things in your environment that confirm your preconceived ideas and not see things that conflict with what you already believe. I think maybe something like that happens with kids. You see what you want to see.
Mr. Logiudice: And what you don’t want to see, you choose not to?
Witness: Not choose. You just don’t see it.
Mr. Logiudice: But in order for that to be true, for it to be confirmation bias, you would have to genuinely believe in the thing. Because you’re talking about an unconscious process. So you would have to genuinely believe in your heart of hearts that Jacob was an ordinary kid, that his heart was not two sizes too small, correct?
Mr. Logiudice: But in this case, that couldn’t be true, could it? Because you had reason to be on the lookout for signs of trouble, didn’t you? Your whole life-your whole life, Andy-you’ve been aware of the possibility, isn’t that true?
Witness: No, it is not.
Mr. Logiudice: No? Did you forget who your father was?
Witness: Yes. For thirty years or so, I forgot. I meant to forget, I purposely forgot, I was entitled to forget.
Mr. Logiudice: You were entitled?
Witness: Yes. It was a personal matter.
Mr. Logiudice: Was it, though? You never really believed that. You forgot who your father was? Forgot what your son might become if he turned out like Grandpa? Come on, you don’t forget a thing like that. You knew. “Confirmation bias”!
Witness: Step back, Neal.
Mr. Logiudice: You knew.
Witness: Step back. Get out of my face. Act like a lawyer, for once.
Mr. Logiudice: Well, now. There’s the Andy Barber we all know. Back in control of yourself. Master of self- control, master of self-delusion. Master actor. Let me ask you something: those thirty years when you forgot who you are, where you came from, you were telling yourself a story, weren’t you? For that matter, you were telling everyone a story. In a word, you were lying.
Witness: I never said anything that was not true.
Mr. Logiudice: No, but you left a few things out, didn’t you? You left a few things out. [The witness did not respond.]
Mr. Logiudice: And yet now you want the grand jury to believe every word you say.
Witness: Yes.
Mr. Logiudice: All right, then. Go on with your story.
23
The visiting booth at Northern seemed designed to disorient and isolate. A claustrophobic sealed white box, about five feet wide by eight feet deep, with a windowed door behind me and a plate-glass window in front. A beige dial-less phone on the wall at my right hand. A white counter to rest my arms on. The booth was designed to keep the prisoners caged in, of course: Northern was a level-five maximum security facility that permitted only no-contact visits. But it was I who felt entombed.
And when he appeared in the window-my father, Bloody Billy Barber-hands cuffed at his waist, a tangle of ash gray hair, smirking down at me-amused, I suppose, at his pissant kid showing up here finally-I was glad for the thick glass slab between us. Glad that he could see but not reach me. The leopard in the zoo wanders to the edge of his pen and, through the bars or across an unjumpable moat, he stares at you with contempt for your inferiority, for needing that barrier between you. There is a shared understanding in that moment, nonverbal but no less real: the leopard is predator and you are prey, and it is only the barrier that permits us humans to feel superior and secure. That feeling, standing at the leopard’s cage, is edged with shame, at the animal’s superior strength, at his hauteur, his low estimation of you. To my own surprise, what I felt in those first moments in my father’s presence was precisely the zoo-goer’s subtle shame. The surge of emotion took me by surprise. I had not expected to feel much of anything. Let’s be honest: Billy Barber was a stranger to me. I had not seen him in forty-five years or so,
