Lassiter 07 - Flesh and Bones by Levine, Paul (best fiction books to read TXT) 📗

normal. The belief is that these memories are stored implicitly in the amygdala, completely independent of the hippocampus."

"Can you prove that? Can we look into Chrissy Bernhardt's brain and find these memories in her—what'd you call it—her hippopotamus?"

One juror snickered. Good.

"Of course not," he bristled. "These are scientific theories about the workings of the brain."

"Theories," I repeated. "The earth is flat. That was a theory, too."

"Objection," Socolow said. "Argumentative and . . . archaic."

"Sustained," the judge said. "Let's get back on track, Mr. Lassiter."

"Wherever these events might have resided in her brain, Chrissy couldn't remember them, correct, Doctor?"

"Yes, but it would have been negligent for me to stop there. Remember, I had tested her. I knew her symptoms, the difficulty she had in relationships and knowing what she wanted, the fear of new experiences, the promiscuity, the sleeping and eating disorders, and several other classic symptoms."

"And these proved to you that she was the victim of sex abuse?"

"They were consistent with childhood sexual abuse. Indeed, they were extremely strong indications of such abuse."

"But why her father? Even if you're right, why not an uncle, a teacher, the gardener?"

He didn't have a ready answer, but he covered up by appearing to weigh the question with utter seriousness rather than terror. He was a good witness, and I hated him. After a moment, he said, "The father is a prime abuser in our society. Parental incest is rampant."

"So, you relied on statistics?"

"Not entirely. I relied on my experience and training."

"And the fact that you knew Harry Bernhardt?"

He nodded before answering. "Yes. I knew Harry. It added a dimension not usually available to a therapist."

"Let's explore that. At the time Chrissy was eleven years old, you were visiting her mother four or five times a week in her home, isn't that correct?"

"Yes."

"And Chrissy was there during those visits?"

"Yes."

"And her father was there, too?"

"Yes."

"Did she run away from her father or seem frightened of him?"

"No."

"Did Harry ever touch his daughter in an inappropriate manner?"

The jurors were all looking at Schein. He had to answer no. If it had been yes, he wouldn't have needed the great, climactic hypnotic therapy to solve the mystery of Chrissy's misspent life.

"No. He was affectionate to his daughter, but there were no overt manifestations of incest."

"Did Chrissy ever display any of the signs of sexual abuse when she was eleven or twelve years old?"

He thought before answering, and I could read his thoughts. That happens sometimes on cross-examination. You know where you're going, and so does a smart witness. Again, Schein was in a bind. If he answered yes, I'd ask what he'd done about the suspected abuse. The answer, of course, would be nothing, and then I'd question both his competence and his credibility. Cross-examination is like chess. You're always thinking three moves in advance.

"No, not that I noticed."

"But this extra dimension of knowing Harry Bernhardt somehow led you to conclude that he had raped his daughter?"

"It was just one factor," he said quickly.

"What else did you rely on, Dr. Schein—the factor that you hated him?"

He ran a hand over his shaved head, then crossed his legs, knee over knee. He turned his body away from the jury box at a forty-five-degree angle.

Body language.

Dr. Les Weiner had taught me all about it for three hundred bucks an hour. The jurors had never taken any lessons, but they knew. Unconsciously, we all notice the signs. Preening, clenched fists, tightly crossed legs, unnatural gestures are all products of tension. A jerky motion with the hand reveals that the person is trying not to extend too far, and rapid hand movement may mean that the witness is trying to make a point and get it out of the way. Covering the mouth with a hand—psychologically covering up the words—is a giveaway, too.

In the nearly silent courtroom, I heard Schein's feet shuffle. The witness stand was closed in the front, so I couldn't see inside, but I'd give you two to one that he crossed his feet at the ankles beneath, not in front of, his chair. It's a sign of closing down, and I hoped the jurors noticed through the open side of the witness stand.

"No," Schein said finally. "As I told you earlier, I didn't hate him."

"Forgive me. At first you said you were Harry's 'friend,' but no, you then said you misspoke about that. You admit being in love with Harry's wife, writing her romantic poetry, and spending several days a week by her side. You blame Harry for her early death, and now you conclude fifteen years later that he must have sexually abused his daughter, because she was a skinny, unhappy model who slept with a lot of men in Paris and Milan. Is that about it?"

At the defense table, Chrissy sobbed quietly. Schein's mouth moved but nothing came out. He reached for the pitcher, and his hand shook as he poured water into a glass. It took another moment for him to have a sip, then say, "No. My personal feelings had nothing whatsoever to do with my diagnosis."

"Then why, Doctor, even after Chrissy denied that her father abused her, did you suggest that he had?"

"I didn't suggest anything. I continued the inquiry."

"So you did," I said, hitting the Play button.

"Christina, memory is a funny thing. There are memories we recall and some we just feel. What do you feel?"

''I don't know. Strange things.''

"Ah, that may be the beginning. Do you know what sex is?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever have sex with your father?"

A sob. Then, "I don't remember that."

''But you 're crying. Why are you crying?"

''I don't know.''

"Christina, have you ever seen the tracks of a wild animal in the woods?"

"Not in the woods, but I've seen turtle tracks on the beach."

"And did you see the turtle, too?"

"Not always. Sometimes just the tracks."

"But you knew the turtle had been there."

"Yes."

"I can see the tracks of the animal all through your life. The monster has been there. I think you see it, too, but you've covered it with