"Did Rennell's retardation affect his relationship to Yancey James?" Terri asked.
"Yes," Lane answered gravely. "At the preliminary hearing, Judge Warner asked Payton, then Rennell, whether they'd agree to waive James's conflict of interest in representing them both. When Rennell's turn came to answer, Warner heard the answer yes. But what he really heard was a retarded teenager taking cues from his older brother. In terms of Rennell's comprehension, the judge could have been speaking in Bulgarian.
"As for James, once Payton had tacitly confessed his guilt, James assumed that Rennell must also be guilty. To James, Rennell's insistence that he 'didn't do that little girl' was merely a failure of imagination—for which Payton compensated by inveigling Tasha Bramwell to lie for both of them." Lane's smile was etched with irony. "The only 'true' part of her story was that Rennell slept through the afternoon Thuy Sen died. Which, given his deficits in memory, surely came as news to Rennell. But all the jury saw was an inept lawyer offering a pathetic alibi to cover up for two degenerates."
To Terri, Lane's measured account of Rennell's fate, accumulating step by step, seemed to have sobered those who watched. The courtroom felt preternaturally quiet. "How do you relate retardation," Terri asked, "to the question of whether Rennell was innocent and wrongly convicted?"
"To me, they're intimately related. Knowing that he was innocent, if Rennell were a man of functional intellect he would have known that Eddie Fleet was framing him and, in all likelihood, favored his lawyer with some conclusions about why. A man of functional intellect might even have challenged Payton about what happened." Sitting back, Lane seemed to imagine Rennell at trial. "Rennell just sat there. With respect to Eddie Fleet, he was truly innocent."
"Unless Rennell knew himself to be guilty," Bond objected.
This, Terri knew, was the opening Tony Lane had been waiting for. "In my view," Lane replied, "retardation only made him look guilty. Aside from the compelling psychological reasons I gave you for believing that he'd never molest a child, there's not the slightest evidence in his life that Rennell would ever do so."
Larry Pell leapt up at once. "Your Honor," he interrupted, "we've been more than tolerant of Dr. Lane's digressions from his area of expertise. But Rennell Price's guilt or innocence is a question for this Court, not for a mental health professional who has no personal knowledge of what happened on the day Thuy Sen was killed. We object to any further speculation."
With an air of agreement, Bond swiveled his chair toward Terri. "Mr. Pell," she answered, "objects to a great deal. He objects to our calling Eddie Fleet. He objects to our calling Dr. Tammy Mattox to testify to Rennell Price's personal history." Turning on Pell, she asked, "You do still object, don't you?"
"Yes."
"In which case," she said to Bond, "I'd like Dr. Lane to set forth the reasons that the accusation of murdering Thuy Sen is in conflict with Rennell's entire life."
Trapped by the presence of the media, Bond gave a grudging nod. "Go ahead."
Quickly, Terri asked Lane, "What factors in Rennell's past suggest that he is not disposed to the crime for which he was sentenced to death?"
"It's more an absence of any factors suggesting that he is." Pausing, Lane summoned the list that he and Terri had rehearsed. "Unlike Eddie Fleet—who has a rich legal history of physically abusing women—Rennell has no such history. Unlike Eddie Fleet, Rennell has no history of violence whatsoever. Either before his imprisonment or after. Unlike what we believe is true about Eddie Fleet, Rennell Price has no history of sexual misconduct—"
"Including with children?"
"Yes," Lane said firmly. "In fact, we can find no evidence that Rennell Price ever had sexual relations—consensual or forcible—with anyone. In this sense, as well, it seems that Rennell is innocent."
Pell folded his arms, a portrait of frustration. "As I comprehend it," Lane continued, "the purpose of this proceeding is to determine whether we can—or should—execute Rennell Price on the basis of the legal system's understanding of him fifteen years ago." Turning to Pell, he finished softly, "Our obligation is to understand him now. You're correct, Mr. Pell, that I wasn't present at the murder of Thuy Sen. But based on my understanding of him, neither was Rennell. And even if he were 'present,' in a more profound sense he wasn't. To execute him would be a crime."
"Thank you," Terri said and sat, satisfied that she and Anthony Lane had accomplished everything they could.
TEN
WHEN THE HEARING RESUMED THE NEXT MORNING, THUY SEN'S father, mother, and sister—at the request, Terri was certain, of Larry Pell—were seated in the front row with Ellen Sutter, a prominent advocate of victims' rights whose four-year-old son had been murdered by a pedophile. Bond's persistent glances toward Sutter and the Sens made Terri uneasy.
She forced herself to concentrate on Pell. Standing a respectful distance from Anthony Lane, Pell inquired, "How many times, Dr. Lane, have you testified with respect to the mental condition of a man charged with—or convicted of—a crime which carried the penalty of death?"
Lane squinted at the ceiling, seeming to conduct a mental count. "Upwards of thirty."
"In how many of those cases did you testify for the prosecution?"
"None."
"Is there a reason?"
Lane regarded him with a neutral look, neither hostile nor ingratiating. "Too many prosecutors view the mental condition of a defendant simply as an impediment to execution. That's not my orientation."
"How would you define your orientation?"
"To form my opinions as objectively as possible."
In the front row, Terri saw Meng Sen fold his arms, signaling his disapproval. Sitting between her husband and her daughter, Chou Sen clasped Kim's hand. But Thuy Sen's sister looked waxen and far away. "Is it objective," Pell demanded, "never to testify for the State?"
"That's not the issue, Mr. Pell. It's objective to refuse to testify for a defendant whose mental condition—in my professional opinion—does not support his claims. Which I've done."
"In how many cases?"
"Ten, at least."
Pell paused, seeming to make his own mathematical calculation. "In other words, Dr. Lane, in roughly three-quarters of the cases brought to you by defense lawyers, you believed that the defendant was mentally unfit to execute."
Lane curled one hand in the fingers of another. "That sounds about right," he answered. "But the death row population is far more troubled than the average run of citizens. And the lawyers I've worked with know better than to bring me a bogus claim."
"But what makes a bogus claim," Pell countered, "is subjective. Do you have a moral position on the death penalty?"
Bond glanced at Terri, expecting an objection. But she did not move or change expression. "Yes," Lane answered. "I'm opposed to it."
"In all cases?"
"Yes."
"Even with respect to serial killers?"
"Yes."
Pell skipped a beat. "Or child molesters?"
"Yes." Lane leaned forward. "I don't believe that we, as humans, are equipped to understand, or to judge, why people commit crimes that society rightly considers despicable. Or, in any given case, if they did. Therefore, I'm uneasy with capital punishment, especially when one alternative is life without parole in a maximum-security prison. But these are my personal beliefs.
"What you're asking by insinuation is whether those beliefs affect my testimony in this case." Pausing, Lane said emphatically. "They do not. Capital punishment is the law. I have an obligation to this Court—and every court—to testify within the legal standards which govern whether we execute a chosen individual. When I took the oath yesterday, I left my personal opinions behind."