On the second day of the new year, Briley raps on Jim Myers’s open door. “Just wanted to check in,” she says, waving when he gestures for her to enter. “Seattle’s wet, your elevator witness fully corroborated your version of the accident, and I ordered regular turnaround from the court reporter. She said you should receive a copy of the deposition in the next couple of weeks.”
“Wait a minute,” Myers calls as Briley turns toward her office. “Come in, let’s talk about it.”
“Can’t.” She flaps her fingers in a wave. “I’ve got records to review, reports to read, and e-mail to answer.”
She exhales in exasperation when she finds her computer in-box overflowing. Along with the usual spam, urban myths, and interoffice memos, she discovers several important messages: Franklin wants a report on the status of the Tomassi case, Bystrowski wants a receipt for the documents he’s messengered over, and the court clerk wants to confirm her hearing for pretrial motions on January 26—only four weeks away.
Briley grits her teeth as she deletes offers to help her lose weight, increase her libido, and deliver a thirty-million-dollar bequest if she’ll send a measly ten thousand to a foreign bank account. If Franklin hadn’t asked her to fly to Seattle to take that deposition, she could have stayed on top of all this correspondence. If she hadn’t lost two days in travel time, she might have already finished her status report. And if she hadn’t spent New Year’s Day flying from one side of the country to the other, she might have enjoyed a wonderful holiday with Timothy.
Her finger freezes above the delete key when she recognizes a familiar name: Pamela Lu writes that she has completed her evaluation of Erin Tomassi and would be happy to meet and discuss it. If Briley will call her office at the earliest possible opportunity…
Briley dials the number before she finishes reading the e-mail. Relieved to find the doctor in her office, she greets the psychologist and asks if she’s free for lunch.
“Do you know Los Dos Laredos on Twenty-sixth Street?” Dr. Lu asks in her throaty voice. “I’m craving an enchilada, so if you’d like to join me around noon…”
“I’ll be there.”
Briley hangs up and settles back in her chair. Los Dos Laredos isn’t far from the Cook County Jail, so while she’s in the area she should stop and deposit another twenty dollars in Erin Tomassi’s commissary account. The last time Briley checked, her client had only five dollars’ credit. She’ll need more before her trial is finished.
By the time Briley drives to Twenty-sixth Street, finds a parking place, and visits the jail, Dr. Lu has already settled in a booth and ordered tortilla chips. Briley slides into the seat across from her and apologizes for being late, then notices a large manila envelope on the table. “Is that for me?”
“My evaluation, along with a transcript of my session with your client. You’ll also find the results of a standard personality test.”
“Thank you.” Briley sets the envelope on the seat and picks up the list of daily specials. “What’s good here?”
“Everything,” Dr. Lu says, setting her menu aside. “You can’t go wrong with Mexican food in this part of the city.”
Briley orders an enchilada platter with rice and gratefully accepts a glass of water from the waitress. When the woman has gone, she unwraps her straw and gives the petite psychologist her full attention. “So, let me have it straight out—is my client insane?”
Dr. Lu’s mouth curls in an expression that barely deserves to be called a smile. “Do you always cut to the chase before the food arrives?”
“I haven’t much time, nor do I have much help on this one. I need to settle on a credible case theory as soon as possible.”
“Okay, then.” The doctor folds her arms. “At first I thought your client was a sure candidate for dissociative identity disorder. She fits most of the criteria—the presence of two or more distinct identities, occasions when each identity apparently takes control of the subject’s behavior, blackouts and memory loss, and the lack of a physiological explanation like alcohol abuse or seizures. The typical DID patient will talk about having heard voices, or a voice, in her head since childhood, and your client almost fits that profile.”
“Why almost?”
“Because DID is the result of childhood trauma, usually sexual abuse. Dissociation is a creative way of keeping the unacceptable memories out of sight while allowing children to maintain an emotional attachment to the abuser. Your client, however, insists she was not sexually abused. So either she has totally repressed this information, perhaps within another alter, or she’s telling the truth and doesn’t fit the profile for DID.”
“If you interviewed her again, do you think you could somehow dig out a memory of the past abuse?”
“You’re assuming abuse is present. Why do you think it is?”
“Because she’s a grown woman who still believes she has an invisible friend. That has to be DID, doesn’t it?”
Dr. Lu lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s possible. But even if you’re right, it might take years of therapy before we’re able to uncover the alter who is safeguarding the traumatic memories. Unless you have evidence that could point us to an individual who might have abused your client, I wouldn’t know how to begin.”
Briley drops her straw into her glass. “Erin says Lisa Marie speaks to her in dreams. Don’t people with DID have flashbacks in dreams? Isn’t that enough to prove that Lisa Marie is associated with some traumatic memory from Erin’s childhood?”
Dr. Lu reaches for her coffee mug. “I could testify that Lisa Marie might be an alternate personality resulting from a previous trauma, but I could never affirm that as fact. The prosecutor would chew me up, because I could just as easily testify that there’s no clear evidence to indicate Erin’s delusion is the result of trauma.”
Briley sorts through her thoughts. While the doctor’s belief that Lisa Marie might be an alter might help establish reasonable doubt, “could be” statements never cut it in court. The prosecutor would be on his feet in a flash, and the judge would rule the statement inadmissible. “Dr. Lu—” she looks the woman directly in the eye “—if Lisa Marie is not a product of DID, then what is she?”
The psychologist sips from her mug and smiles across the brim. “To use Erin’s own words, Lisa Marie is an invisible friend.”
Beyond exasperation, Briley exhales in a rush. “Adult women do not have invisible friends.”
“Maybe they should. How is your client different from the lonely widow who spends all day talking to her Yorkie? Or the romance reader who fantasizes that she’s lying in the hero’s arms when her portly husband comes home? By keeping Lisa Marie alive, your client found a way to survive in a pressure-filled public arena. The verbal and physical abuse she suffered only intensified her need for a confidante. Since she felt she couldn’t trust her mother or anyone in the Tomassi family, she relied upon her best friend from childhood. Until recently, her delusion was harmless, even beneficial. Unfortunately, other people are rarely willing to see the benefit of a good delusion.”
“So you’re saying I should forget about mental illness and seriously consider the Ambien defense. Diminished capacity.”
The doctor tilts her head. “That’s not bad, but you’d be placing the murder weapon directly in your client’s hand. Are you sure you want to do that?”
Briley barks out a laugh. “It’s not like I have many choices. The evidence puts the murder weapon in my client’s hand. Unless…Do you believe…Did Erin say something that’s led you to believe she’d be incapable of murder?”
“I think—” the psychologist pauses as the waitress approaches with two steaming platters “—I think it’s highly unlikely that Erin Tomassi killed anyone. Her personality test reveals that she’s not a schemer, not the sort to prepare for murder. She wants the people around her to live in harmony, and she may be one of the most phlegmatic people you or I will ever meet. If Jeffrey Tomassi hadn’t been given an overdose of insulin, she might have borne his abuse for years without uttering a peep. Look how she endured her mother’s indifference.”
Briley leans back in the booth, more confused than ever. “Maybe I should tell Travis Bystrowski to indict Lisa Marie.”
“Might as well tell him to arrest the tooth fairy. What I’m saying, Counselor, is that I don’t believe your client is capable of planning and carrying out the murder of her husband. I’d testify to that in court. On the other hand, I can’t swear that Erin Tomassi suffers from DID. As to whether Lisa Marie is a genuine delusion or a desperate attempt to evade a murder conviction…I’d have to vote for the former. I don’t think your client is naturally duplicitous. The prosecutor’s shrink, of course, is likely to disagree with everything I’ve just said.”
“Anyone,” Briley says, thinking of former clients, “is capable of surprising those who know them best. I can’t tell you how many mothers have assured me that their children simply couldn’t have committed the crimes they were accused of, but I knew those kids were as guilty as Cain.”
“No one is perfect, but few people are as bad as they can be.” Dr. Lu picks up her fork. “If I were you, I’d choose to believe in Erin Tomassi’s innocence. I can’t speak to the evidence, but I’d stake my professional reputation on my belief that your client has done nothing to deserve the death penalty.” She nods at Briley’s steaming plate. “Now, enjoy your lunch before it gets cold. I didn’t ask you to come all the way down here to eat a cold enchilada.”