Thursday, March 17, 2016
Jeremy lay on his cot, staring at the gray ceiling as he had for countless hours over the weekend. The few minutes in court had been more intense than he’d anticipated. A lot of people were crowded into that courtroom and would be throughout the entire trial.
I should have studied more about the justice system. A knowledge of the courts wouldn’t necessarily have helped him directly, as the trial was in the hands of the attorneys, but he would’ve felt better prepared to handle the situation. Even though his only job would be to sit there and appear crazy, it would be nice to know what would come next. Perhaps his defender could fill him in.
If I told her what I was doing, would she believe me? Would it affect the way she fought this case?
Jeremy closed his eyes and played back the events from last Friday, where they would be etched forever in his memory. The jail cell gave way to the office, where he could feel the death spewing from his hands, through the rifle. The screams and cries for help would always echo in his mind.
He saw his coworkers lying on the ground, pools of blood forming beneath their limp bodies. Some bled from their mouth and stared lifelessly at the ceiling, others twitched and trembled as they clung to life. He’d never forget the symphony of ringtones when the news had broken across the country as he sat handcuffed in a whirlwind of police and dead bodies. They had kept him handcuffed to a desk while the dozens of officers scrambled to save lives and preserve evidence.
A tear rolled down his cheek as he imagined Sylvia dead on the floor. Her nine-year-old son must be terrified. If Jeremy ever got to see the light of day again, he would find her son, to explain and apologize.
“Heston!” a voice barked, snapping Jeremy out of his daydream. An officer stood at the barred door, holding a tray through the slot. “Come get it.”
It seemed a different officer had brought him his meals each time.
Jeremy stood from his bed and approached the bars, grabbing the tray. It was filled with some sort of mashed potatoes and a ham sandwich that looked to have come from roadkill.
It’s time to snap out of your daze and start selling this insanity.
Jeremy offered a wide grin to the officer before returning with his tray of food to his cot.
“You think this is a game?” the officer said under his breath.
Jeremy sat and put the sandwich in his mouth, not breaking eye contact with the officer before he walked away, cursing to himself.
That was easy.
An hour later, Jeremy entered the visitation room, escorted by yet another officer, who remained a few feet behind him as he sat down on the metal stool. The room housed five booths, each with a glass divider and a phone in a cradle. There were no other visitors at the moment, except for the middle-aged woman sitting behind the glass.
At the sight of him, Linda stood, revealing a form-fitting gray pantsuit. Jeremy had a dazed look of confusion, likely expecting to see Jenna, his public defender, instead. The sight of the mass murderer sent a shockwave of nerves through Linda’s body. Keep your eyes on the prize, he’s a client like anyone else, she reminded herself.
Jeremy looked back to the officer, who gestured for him to sit.
He took his seat and lifted the phone from its cradle, pulling it slowly toward his ear with an absent stare through the glass. “Hello?” he said quizzically.
“Hi, Jeremy, my name is Linda Kennedy. I’ve been hired by your parents to defend you. I’m hoping you can talk with me today. I need to hear your side of the story if you want any chance of surviving this trial.” She spoke confidently.
She sat back and watched him. He leaned closer to the glass before speaking.
“Hi, Linda. What happened to Jenna?” His voice came through mysterious and creepy.
“Jenna was assigned to you as a public defender. She’s been relieved of her duties as I’ll be taking over,” she said, fully in control.
“Lucky lady.” Jeremy’s comment sent chills down Linda’s spine, reminding her of Hannibal Lecter’s first encounter with Clarice. Was Jenna the lucky one? Or herself? He still had that blankness in his eyes that she’d seen—that everyone had seen—in his mugshot.
“And what kind of results have you had?” Jeremy questioned.
“Murder is always difficult when there’s DNA evidence, but I’ve had two successful cases where my client walked free.”
Jeremy nodded. “Well, I did the crime, no point in arguing that I didn’t. As you may know, I was in school for psychology, close to graduating with my master’s. I’ve had plenty of time to think over the last few days, and I believe I suffered from some sort of psychotic episode. Schizophrenia runs in my family.”
Linda was caught off guard by him being so forthcoming. She scribbled notes to later share with the psychologist.
“Thank you for sharing that. So that you know what to expect: the D.A. will pursue the death penalty and we’re going to counter with a plea bargain of life in prison. Is that something you’re okay with?”
Jeremy leaned back and scrunched his face in thought. “So we’re not gonna fight it?”
“We will. It’s all posturing at the beginning. We know the D.A. wants the death penalty, so he won’t take a plea bargain. I’d call it a one percent chance that he takes our plea. When he doesn’t, we’ll then move forward with an insanity defense.”
“You think I’m insane?” Jeremy fought back the excitement in his voice.
“It’s the only fight we have in a case like this. We’ll have some psychologists run tests.”
Jeremy nodded.
“I hope you understand there’s a real possibility that the jury will ask for the death penalty. People are not going to feel sympathy for you.”
Jeremy said, “I understand. I hope they’ll come to understand the nature of mental illness. When will the trial start?”
“It’s hard to say. Jury selection may take some time. Since this is a case with mental illness at the forefront, there will be a lot of interviews between you and different doctors. There’s also thousands of pieces of evidence to process and file. I think the soonest we can start trial is six months from now, and that’s a stretch.”
Jeremy nodded. He’d known there would be a long waiting period between his arrest and the trial. There always seemed to be a lag time in murder cases.
“How long do you think the trial will run?”
Linda paused to remind herself that she was speaking with the man who had just murdered thirteen people at his office.
“I would guess two months at the most, possibly one full month. There will be tons of witnesses giving testimony, and like I said, around one thousand pieces of evidence that will each need to be discussed.”
Linda started in with her own questions. “I’m meeting with your parents tomorrow. Is there anything you want me to pass along to them?”
“When will I get to see them in person?”
“Right now that’s up to the judge’s discretion. For the time being I’m your only permitted visitor. I’d imagine he’ll grant your parents visitation rights, but it’s impossible for me to know when.”
“Okay. Tell them hello for me and that I’m okay.” Jeremy’s request was in sharp contrast to his chilling tone.
Come back to reality, she told herself. He can’t hurt you.
“Jeremy, I need to know why you did it. How long have you been planning this?”
Without hesitation, he replied, “I had an episode. I don’t recall much of it. I remember going to work that morning, but then things get fuzzy. Then I was being handcuffed and there were bodies all over the floor.”
She stared at him, her eyes full of doubt. “Look, if I’m going to defend you I need to know everything. I need to know how things happened from your perspective. I need to know what was going on in your mind. I need to know how the air smelled when you woke up that morning. We can’t afford any surprises in this trial.”
“I’m afraid I’ve told you what I remember. I’ll think some more on it, but that’s all I got.
Linda sighed. “Okay. I’ll be in touch.” She hung up the phone, wrote another note, and stormed out of the visitation room.
Still at square one, she thought. She would need to consult with a doctor on the validity of Jeremy’s claims. Her gut told her Jeremy Heston was full of shit.