By reason of insanity

29

Catherine jerked awake, startled by her own scream from the nightmare that would not go away. Kenny Towns had haunted her dreams again, coming after her, freezing her limbs with fear. His frat brothers had been there too, wearing their despicable Greek masks. But tonight, as Kenny had taunted her, laughing fiendishly, he had begun to bleed from a gash in his scalp. When he touched the gash and checked the blood on his fingers, his eyes went wide with fear. The blood flowed faster, covering his face and choking his laugh. He started shaking his head, like a dog, blood flying everywhere. It splattered Catherine, and she screamed.

It was one of those nightmares so real that Catherine found herself checking for blood on her face, hands, and clothes. Her heart pounded against her chest as she thought about the gruesome images. She forced herself to focus on other things, eventually chasing the images away with a long, hot shower.

On her way to work that morning, she called Jamarcus.

"Just a minute," he said. A few seconds later, the background noise had disappeared. Jamarcus whispered into the phone. "Why are you using your cell phone to call me?"

"My attorney wants your name," Catherine replied. "He says that Gates might try to pin these kidnappings on me if I don't give up my source."

"That's ridiculous," Jamarcus whispered. There was real urgency in his voice, close to panic. "I told you-they believe you. But you aren't helping matters by hiring an attorney and refusing to work with us."

Catherine sighed. Was she being paranoid? "I'm not going to give you up," she promised.

"I knew you wouldn't," Jamarcus replied. Yet Catherine heard the relief in his voice-the man hadn't been certain. "There's no reason to."

"I agree," said Catherine. "At least not yet."

Jamarcus hesitated, apparently absorbing the implications of Catherine's carefully selected words. "Any more visions?" he asked.

"No," said Catherine decisively. "No more visions."

Though he had been trying cases against Carla Duncan for the last eight years, Quinn had never set foot in her office before. The austere decor did not surprise him. She had hung a diploma and bar certificate on the wall and propped some pictures of children and grandchildren on her credenza. That was it. Carla Duncan was not a showy woman.

She sat behind her desk, looking grave and somewhat sympathetic. "Thanks for coming in," she said. "I thought it would be better to discuss this in person."

Quinn crossed his legs. "No problem."

"I'm ready to deal," Carla said, skipping the preliminaries. The words ignited a small flicker of hope. Driving over, Quinn had speculated this might be the reason Carla wanted to meet. And Carla knew by now the deal would have to be good or Quinn would reject it out of hand.

She placed her forearms on her desk and leaned toward Quinn. "I know you might find this hard to believe, but I do sympathize with your client… your sister. It's been no fun prosecuting this case, Quinn. I'm doing my job, but I can't help despising the victim."

It was almost like a confession. What did she want-forgiveness? She wasn't forced to pursue this prosecution; they both knew that. And in Quinn's opinion, she had pursued the case with the zeal of a true believer. He intentionally let the silence grow uncomfortable.

"In my opinion," Carla continued, "it's time to put this case behind us. You know I can't just slap your sister on the wrist and make her promise not to shoot her next husband. But I do realize she's got a daughter to take care of. Justice in this case is a murky concept. Your sister doesn't need to spend most of her adult life behind bars."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Manslaughter. I'll recommend six to ten." Carla waited a beat, her intense green eyes conveying the fact that this offer was nonnegotiable. "If she behaves and gets counseling, you can apply for parole after three years, and I won't oppose it."

The offer was better than Quinn expected, though he didn't let on. If Carla had suggested a slap on the wrist, Quinn would have argued for a love tap.

"Sierra is thirteen," Quinn said. "That's an age when she really needs her mom. By the time she's sixteen, she'll be a different girl. I can't ask Annie to just walk away from her chance to be a mother during these critical teenage years."

"Perhaps she should have thought about that before she pulled the trigger," Carla countered. "Look, Quinn, I've got my own kids. Grandkids. I'm putting a very generous offer on the table and one for which I'll probably receive a lot of criticism." She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "If you force the issue, I'll try this case again. Next time, I'll get a conviction. What will that do for Sierra?"

"Guilty but mentally ill," Quinn countered. "She gets four years with all but twelve months suspended. Three years of probation and psychiatric counseling."

Carla snorted. "This isn't a DUI, Quinn. In good conscience, I've just given you my best offer. I'm not looking for a counter. Think of it as Deal or No Deal."

Quinn nodded. "Had to ask." He stood, thanked Carla, and shook her hand. "I'll get back to you."

"The end of the week," Carla said. "I'll give you until 5 p.m. Friday."