By reason of insanity

105

The night became a blur of activity. The arrest of Marc Boland, Quinn's treatment at the hospital for bruised ribs and a gash that required eight stitches, hours of police questioning, and Quinn's negotiations with two prosecuting attorneys-Boyd Gates and Carla Duncan-on opposite sides of the country. Quinn didn't make it back to the Hilton until nearly four in the morning. He took some pain pills and asked for a wake-up call at six so he could stop by the jail on the way to court and explain everything to Catherine.

He woke up hurting all over and noticed the sunlight streaming through a slit in the curtains. He vaguely remembered answering a wake-up call and allowing himself a few more minutes of sleep. He glanced at the clock-8:05!

He blinked. The digital readout didn't change.

Court started in less than an hour.

Quinn sat straight up in bed and almost passed out. Sharp pain stabbed in his ribs, and a dull aching pain pulsed on his cheek, accentuated by the stitches and swelling that would probably make him look like a boxer in a losing cause. The rotator cuff had its own throbbing rhythm of agony, more intense than it had ever been before.

He climbed gingerly out of bed and flicked on the television. Commentators were speculating about the arrest of Marc Boland, who was to be arraigned later that morning, and a press conference Chief Compton had scheduled for 10 a.m. There was additional speculation about the shooting death of a private investigator named William Long, a former law enforcement officer who might have been assisting the defense team on the Catherine O'Rourke case. Police had confirmed the cause of death as a gunshot wound but were saying little else.

Quinn rubbed on some deodorant, splashed on the aftershave, brushed his teeth, and wet his hair. His ribs ached as he raised his left arm to comb it. He pulled on the same suit he had worn two days ago.

Over the past week, his hotel suite had become a combination war room and bachelor pad, clothes and documents strewn everywhere. Housekeeping cleaned every day, but the maids were no match for Quinn's ability to clutter things up.

He threw a few things into his briefcase and headed out the door. On the way to the courthouse, he dialed the airlines and secured a first-class ticket.

Quinn fought his way through the media circus, greeted the security guards, and remained closed-lipped as he entered the courtroom. He made it to his counsel table at two minutes before nine, just in time to iron out a few last-minute details with Boyd Gates.

"All rise," said the bailiff. "This honorable court is now in session."

Rosencrance took her seat, told everyone else to do the same, and spoke the words Quinn had been waiting for. "Bring in the defendant," she said.

Quinn watched Catherine O'Rourke enter through the side door, her posture perfect, her head held high. She was too thin after a few months of jailhouse food, but she still looked great-elegant, triumphant, her face practically radiating grace. She was, Quinn thought, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He couldn't help but feel a surge of triumph as she came and sat next to him. She obviously knew about the events of last night; he could see it in her eyes. Freedom looked good on Catherine O'Rourke.

Quinn put his left arm around the back of her chair and tried to ignore the pain in his ribs. "You heard?"

"Jamarcus told me early this morning," Catherine whispered. Her eyes teared up, and she placed her hand on Quinn's knee. "I don't know what to say, how to thank you. When I had that vision last night-you in the electric chair-it felt like I was dying myself."

Quinn wasn't good at touchy-feely, especially in the middle of a trial. "All in a day's work," he quipped as Rosencrance ordered the bailiff to bring in the jury. If Quinn let himself get emotional right now, there was no telling where it might lead. He would regret it later; he was sure of that. "Though sometimes I charge extra for shooting serial killers."

The jury filed in, staring at Quinn and Catherine. Especially Quinn. "By the way, you look great today," Quinn told Catherine, changing the subject. "Very media friendly."

This brought a quick blush, followed by a most unexpected request. "Can we do dinner tonight, Quinn? There's no other way I'd rather celebrate my first day of freedom than by having dinner with you."

He hesitated. Was she asking him out? It would have been the perfect ending to his greatest triumph as a trial lawyer. Attorney Quinn Newberg, slayer of the Avenger of Blood, rides off into the sunset with his beautiful client. He had dreamed for weeks about what it might feel like to spend time with Catherine when they weren't separated by bulletproof glass and the need to focus on the case. He wanted to get to know the real Catherine. He wanted to hear her dreams and appreciate her wit and know what it felt like to hold her.

"I can't," Quinn said.

She looked hurt, and knowing he had caused that pain ripped at his heart.

"There are some things you don't know about me," he told her. "Reasons it could never work."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" she asked.

With the jury in the box, the courtroom fell into a hushed silence. Boyd Gates was on his feet. Rosencrance asked him if he had a motion to make.

"I do, Your Honor." Gates buttoned his suit coat and squared his shoulders, always the soldier.

Quinn took a deep breath, felt a sharp bite of pain in his ribs, and leaned close to Catherine's ear. These would be the hardest words he could ever remember uttering. "It's best for both of us this way, Catherine. Another time, another place, things might have been different."

"Judge, we would ask you to dismiss with prejudice the charges against the defendant," Gates said. As part of the deal negotiated during the early morning hours, Gates had also agreed to nol pros the additional felony assault charge he had filed against Catherine for attacking Holly. Quinn had agreed that Gates could save face by dropping that charge quietly at a later date, as opposed to now in open court.

Gates turned toward Catherine and Quinn, causing Quinn to turn his attention to the prosecutor.

"I'm sorry that you had to endure this ordeal," Gates said softly to Catherine. Without waiting for a response, he turned to face the court again. "As Your Honor knows, we have arrested Marc Boland and will be charging him with three counts of kidnapping, four counts of conspiracy to commit murder, two counts of felony murder, and two counts of attempted murder."

Gasps filled the courtroom, and the jury looked like they had collectively seen a ghost. Excited murmuring threatened to break into full-scale chaos while Rosencrance banged her gavel, attemping to restore order.

"Mr. Newberg," she said, "I take it you have no objection to the commonwealth's motion to dismiss?"

Quinn stood and glanced at Catherine O'Rourke before he spoke. Another time, another place, it might definitely have been different.

"I think we can live with that, Your Honor."