Page 64 of The Right to Remain
“With apologies, Judge, this is the best evidence of a depraved state of mind.”
“It’s not evidence,” said Jack. “There’s no predicate showing that myclienteverexpressed any regrets over the transition to anyone. And if he did so in his conversations with Dr. Lopez, those conversations are privileged.”
“Not everything a patient tells a physician is privileged,” said Weller. “And the privilege applies only if the patientassertsit. According to Mr. Swyteck, his client refuses to say anything, even to his own lawyer. That’s not an assertion.”
“I’m asserting the privilege on my client’s behalf,” said Jack.
“Your Honor, that doesn’t work here,” said Weller. “The defendant is not mentally incompetent. He has a mind of his own, and through no one’s fault but the defendant’s, Mr. Swyteck can’t even represent to the court that his clientwantsto assert the privilege.”
“Judge, while it’s true my client won’t talk to me, he’s not deaf. If he doesn’t want me to assert the privilege on his behalf, he can jump out of that chair right now and tackle me.”
Elliott didn’t move. The judge waited a moment longer, then ruled.
“That’s the kind of silence that speaks volumes,” said the judge. “But don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying evidence of the defendant’s regret is irrelevant. My ruling is that the state will have to prove it through a witness who was not Mr. Stafford’s medical doctor. Call your next witness.”
Weller walked back to her table and consulted with the junior prosecutor. Two minutes passed, which in a crowded courtroom was an eternity of silence.
Jack leaned closer to his client and whispered into his ear. “If you have ever expressed any regrets to anyone about your transition, now would be an excellent time to tell me.”
Elliott said nothing, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance.
Jack glanced across the courtroom to the prosecutorial team. They were still conferring.
“Ms. Weller, any day now,” said the judge.
“Almost there, Your Honor.”
The judge was clearly losing patience. “My exclusion of Dr. Lopezshould not have come as a major shock. May I suggest you start with a witness who can explain how a victim who suffered a shotgun blast to the head and left a page-long list of reasons to take his own life did not commit suicide?”
The prosecutors broke their huddle, and Weller stepped to the lectern. Jack could only guess whom they might call, but his money was on a medical examiner. Weller spoke into the microphone, her announcement grabbing the attention of everyone in the courtroom.
“The State of Florida calls Helena Pollard,” she said.
The prosecution was rolling out the big gun for its opening salvo.
Jack glanced at his client. Elliott said nothing. The double doors at the back of the courtroom opened. As Helena walked down the center aisle to the witness stand, her heels clicking in the silence, all heads turned to watch.
Except for Elliott’s.
Chapter 23
Andie woke at dawn. She’d been up nearly all night. It felt like old times. She was near her old neighborhood.
The last time Andie had worked undercover in the Pacific Northwest she was a young special agent in the Seattle field office. At the time, many of her colleagues had said she was too inexperienced to infiltrate a dangerous cult. To her supervisor, however, Andie was the perfect choice. The cult was operating out of the Yakima Valley, east of the Cascade Mountains, where Andie was born. Her biological mother was a full-blooded Yakama, and those striking Native American features combined with the green eyes of an Anglo father to create in Andie the type of exotic beauty the cult leader was recruiting. After more than a decade in Miami, Andie was on assignment in Washington State again, and for similar reasons. A sex-trafficking ring was operating out of the Port of Seattle. Many of the victims were members of the Yakama tribe, including some underage girls. Andie was “on loan” to the FBI Seattle Division Child Exploitation Task Force.
The curtains were drawn, and it was dark inside the tiny motel room, but Andie was dressed and ready to go. The motel was near the interstate, several miles from the port, but she was going no farther than the parking lot across the street. She had a meeting with her FBI handler. Before leaving, however, she had to make sure the eighteen-year-old girl who was sleeping in the other twin bed would still be there when she returned. She bent a knee and spoke softly.
“Hey, Graciela. I’m going out to get coffee. Want some?”
She didn’t stir. Andie imagined it had been her first night of decent sleep in weeks. Graciela was in the clutches of sex traffickerswho offered her services online. A member of the FBI task force had paid for a room and sex online, but only Andie was there when Graciela arrived. Andie’s story was that their john had double-booked a mother-daughter fantasy, but the mother had completely depleted his supply of Viagra, so Graciela was off the hook. The room had twin beds, and Andie invited her to stay the night. The point was for Andie to befriend Graciela and get her trafficker’s contact information—the actual human being behind the online offering service.
Andie nudged her. “Hey. You want coffee? I’m going out.”
Graciela’s eyes blinked open. She seemed alarmed but then recognized Andie’s face, and she smiled.
“Can I have a double hot chocolate chip Frappuccino, extra whip cream?”
Andie smiled back, but with sadness. It was the kind of drink Righley would have ordered.She really is just a kid.