Tuesday, July 5, 2016
“We have a few matters to cover today,” Judge Zamora said, “so I expect us all to get to the point.”
It was the morning of Jeremy’s preliminary hearing, and he sat at Linda’s side. His parents sat in the front row of the gallery; he had locked eyes with his mom before quickly looking to the ground. He had to remain emotionless. The sight of his mother forced him to fight away the growing lump in his throat that always accompanied crying. She looked exhausted and miserable, despite a sharp outfit and perfect makeup. He could see the pain in her eyes.
His father refused to meet his eye, looking down at his lap. Through all his planning, Jeremy had never really considered the effects his actions would have on his parents. Seeing them in such visible pain forced a flood of tears that he held back behind his eyeballs.
The judge continued, “The first matter I would like to address is regarding the press coverage for this trial. I’ve decided to allow one camera in the courtroom for the duration of the trial. The workings of our justice system should always be available for public viewing. Since this case already has a national following, I’m allowing the trial to be shared. The camera will be set up in the back, facing me, and not showing the jury box. We will restrict the amount of press allowed in the courtroom.” The judge spoke to the press that filled the back of the courtroom. Most of them nodded, expecting such a decision.
“My clerk will be in touch with the members of the press, to grant some of you passes, and the remainder of you will have to follow along on TV. We will open a separate viewing room should you wish to still be in the courthouse, but I want to save space for the victims and families of the deceased to attend this trial.”
The judge turned to Linda. “Now, Ms. Kennedy, you had something to bring to the court’s attention?”
Linda stood, wearing a purple pantsuit that revealed curves Jeremy hadn’t noticed before.
“Yes, Your Honor. The defense would like to request more time in preparing our case. We believe our client to be mentally ill and need more time to assess the nature of his illness.”
“And what have you been doing since we last met in March?” the judge demanded.
“Your Honor, our client has now met with two different psychiatrists: one appointed by the state and one by the defense. Each doctor met with our client for twenty hours of interviews. As you can imagine, we have a lot of reading and research to conduct, based on these interviews alone. We’re working as fast as we can, but between the interviews and the mountain of evidence being presented, it’s been impossible to complete our due diligence for the defendant.”
“Any objections, Mr. Batchelor?” the judge asked the district attorney.
“No, Your Honor. We’re still evaluating the reports ourselves,” Geoff said.
“Very well then,” Judge Zamora said. “We will plan on a follow-up hearing on Monday, September 19. Please be prepared then to discuss evidence being submitted for this case.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Linda said, and sat back down.
“Is there anything else that needs to be discussed today?” Judge Zamora asked. Geoff and Linda shook their heads. “Court is adjourned.”
Linda followed Jeremy to the jailhouse.
“We’re going to stall as long as we can,” she told him through the phone. “It’s part of our strategy.”
“How so?” Jeremy asked.
“These events are still too fresh in the public’s eye. And since the judge denied our request to transfer this case outside of the county, your jurors are going to be selected from this community. I want to put as much time between March 11th and the start of the trial as possible, to take the sting out of the situation.”
“Exactly how long are you thinking?”
“I think I can buy us another year, possibly two.”
“Two years!” Jeremy gasped. “Is that really necessary?”
“Jeremy. You slaughtered thirteen people and wounded dozens more. I would love to stall five years, but that’s simply not possible.”
Jeremy clenched his teeth and felt blood rush to his face, a sensation he had felt toward Shelly before he pulled the trigger on her. Sometimes he felt Linda was his greatest shot. Other times, he thought she was full of shit and should quit her profession. This was one of the latter instances.
“What have you found from the interviews with the shrinks?”
“We’re still sorting through all of that, as I mentioned in court, but it looks like Dr. Brown diagnosed you with a severe case of psychosis. The prosecution’s doctor stated that you are legally sane, as expected.”
Psychosis. That’s an easy cop-out—a blanket statement that covers all kinds of disorders.
Jeremy nodded. “Is there any sort of treatment I can receive?”
“Yes. We have two options for that. You can either go through another interview process with the state’s psychiatrist and they can set up a treatment plan and prescribe drugs. Or we could have a hearing with the doctors who already interviewed you, and get them to all agree on what your treatment plan should be. But with one of them working for the other side, it will never happen. We’ll need to go with a third, neutral party to get you on medication.”
Jeremy groaned. “No more interviews.”
“There may be more, should you receive treatment. The doctor would need to follow up and make sure there’s progress.”
“Okay, let’s just do it.”
“I can arrange that.” Linda wrote a reminder to herself. “We need to start preparing you for these public appearances, since the camera will be allowed in the courtroom. I’ll arrange for you to get a haircut before the next hearing. The public views you as a villain. We need to show them you’re still a human, just in need of help.”
“Okay, if you say so,” Jeremy said, not pleased. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. He knew it wouldn’t be a quick process, but two years was a long time to stay in the same solitary cell. The plan was to keep him in the county detention center for the duration of the trial. He couldn’t legally be sent to a prison unless sentenced, and the center was only a five minute drive to the courthouse.
He wanted desperately to tell Linda about his experiment, but had no idea how she would react. The risk outweighed the reward.
At least the doctor had given him a diagnosis they could work with.
Psychosis does open the door to a lot of possibilities. Dr. Brown may have spared my life. Am I really suffering from something, or did I do a good job of selling it?
Jeremy pondered this as he returned to his cell, certain he had no mental issues.
The following week, a state-appointed doctor paid a visit to Jeremy. Dr. Chang was a young psychiatrist in his mid-thirties who had just come to the U.S. from his home in South Korea. He had a full head of thick black hair slicked to the side, and high cheekbones that complemented his youthful appearance. Jeremy had a round of interviews with Dr. Chang, whose sole purpose was to implement a medication plan for the inmate.
The interview with Dr. Chang only lasted three hours in total, much shorter than the marathons Jeremy had grown accustomed to with Dr. Reed and Dr. Brown. Dr. Chang’s questions weren’t focused on his childhood or his inner desires, but rather his medical history. Heavy duty drugs would be administered as long as Jeremy passed as healthy enough to receive them. The doctor took urine and blood samples, as well as scraped Jeremy’s skin with various swabs to check for allergic reactions.
Dr. Chang returned the next day with a plan.
“Mr. Heston, I’m prescribing you Chlorpromazine. We’ll be starting with small dosages every other day, to make sure there are no major side effects. It will make you feel drowsy. You need to report immediately if you feel any sort of chest tightness or severe muscle spasms. These occurrences are extremely rare, but be aware. Once we’re in the clear, I’ll increase your dose.”
Jeremy started taking Chlorpromazine that same day. The pills gave him a high that reminded him of his college days, smoking marijuana in his dorm room. A half hour after he swallowed the pill, his body relaxed to the point where he could barely stand up from his cot. His mind drifted into the clouds and he felt as if his soul had actually risen from his body and was looking down on him.
The days in between doses were to protect him from developing an addiction to the drugs. While he didn’t seem to develop a physical dependence right away, his mind craved the high—it gave him something to look forward to every other day.