“Would additional hypnotherapy sessions work?” McGrale asked.
“Not in my professional opinion, no. He either can’t be hypnotized and is faking, or the false memories are locked in too tightly.”
McGrale rubbed his jaw. Goldman asked whether she’d support his client being declared incompetent.
“Absolutely not. He’s lucid and, outside of his fantasies about those weeds, quite rational. I would oppose any attempt to do so.”
“How about whether he’s criminally insane?” McGrale asked, a pained look spreading over his face.
“He could be. He does believe these weeds are monsters. I have no doubt about that, and it’s possible he murdered and disposed of the victim without any conscious awareness of it for no other reason than to erase self-doubts he may have been having about the true nature of those weeds. It’s equally possible that this could be a calculated act to convince others of the existence of these monsters. This is a man who badly needs other people to believe this. The lack of respect he has been receiving in his Caretaker role has been devastating for him, especially since he feels as if he has been sacrificing his life for the world’s sake. For that reason, and because I find it curious that his only supporters are both dead, I’m leaning more towards the latter explanation.”
McGrale stood up, walked around his desk to where Goldman was sitting hunched over, and clapped the younger attorney solidly on the shoulder.
“Well, counsellor,” he said. “For better or worse we’ll be bringing this three-ring circus to the courtroom. Charges will be filed tomorrow.”
That night Goldman visited Durkin to tell him about the arraignment hearing the next day and also that he went to see Jeanette Thompson, but that she claimed she never saw either the contract or book, and doubted whether they even existed. The news devastated Durkin. He sank back into his hospital bed an old man. Goldman was going to ask him for names of anyone else who might’ve ever seen either of those items, more to satisfy his own curiosity than anything else, but one look at Durkin and he knew it would be worse than beating an already whipped dog.
The next day Durkin was taken to the District Court in an ambulance and wheeled into the courthouse with a blanket covering the lower part of his body. The reporters and photographers lined up outside pressed towards him, but he stared blindly ahead and gave them no notice. Inside the courtroom he was charged with manslaughter in the first degree and remanded without bail. When the trial date was set for April tenth, Durkin grabbed Goldman by his oversized suit jacket and pulled him close.
“That’s too late,” he croaked frantically. “That’s going to be at least two weeks after spring thaw. If the Aukowies are left alone for that long-”
“Please, Mr. Durkin, let go of my suit,” Goldman whispered, grimacing. “And don’t worry about the Aukowies. If they’re what you say they are it will only help our case.”
“Help our case? You don’t understand a thing. If they get too big there ain’t nothin’ anyone can do about them.”
“I’ll be checking on them everyday, Mr. Durkin, don’t worry. Please, let go of my suit.”
Durkin noticed people in the courtroom staring at him. He let go of Goldman’s suit jacket, his face flushing a deep red. As he was wheeled out, he caught sight of Lydia sitting in the courtroom watching him. Lester, also. In the back row was Jeanette Thompson looking at him as if he were a bug. He pretended not to see any of them.
A week later Durkin was fitted with a prosthetic foot and, after another two weeks of physical therapy, was brought back to a cell in the County Jail. It was December second when Goldman visited him, telling him he had some good news. Lester had recanted his earlier testimony and was now saying that the Aukowies bit off his thumb.
“So they believe me?” Durkin said, excitement rising cautiously in his eyes. “They goin’ to let me out of here and give me my old Caretaker job back?”
“Well, no. People are looking at this as a son trying to help his father. It won’t have any impact on the manslaughter charges against you for Sheriff Wolcott, but it will force them to drop the aggravated assault charges against you for your son’s injury. As much as they’d like to, they can’t proceed with a trial without your son’s testimony.”
Durkin sat back on his jail cot, his face deflating. “That’s all you got for me?”
“Well, no.” Goldman’s lopsided grin grew large as he took a manila folder out of his briefcase. “I found a copy of your Caretaker’s contract and the Book of Aukowies. Thought you’d like to see it.”
Durkin’s eyes filled with tears as he flipped through each page. When he looked up at Goldman, his leathery face was on the verge of crumbling.
“How’d you get this?” he asked.
“I talked with your wife earlier today. She told me that a lawyer she saw a while back made this copy, so I saw him and he gave it to me. Hope you don’t mind, but I made a copy for myself. Fascinating reading, by the way. I’m planning to use it for our case.”
Durkin shook his head while rubbing a hand across his eyes. He wiped his hand off on his shirt and held it out to his attorney, who only hesitated for a moment before taking it.
“I don’t know why this means so much to me anymore, but it does,” Jack Durkin said. “Thanks.”
Goldman nodded solemnly and left the Caretaker alone with his contract and book.
Lydia visited the next day. Both of them stared stonily at each other until Lydia broke the ice, telling Durkin that she couldn’t stomach the idea of seeing him until Lester told the truth about him not cutting off his son’s thumb.
“Don’t think for a second I believe any of that Aukowie nonsense,” she said. “But I accept that it happened because of an accident.”
“How are you, Lydia?”
“I-I’m good,” she stammered, surprised at the question. “I got a nice apartment. Lester’s with me now. If you can believe it, some idiot publisher from New York is paying me a ton of money to write a book. Guess what it’s going to be called?”
“I don’t know.”
“The Caretaker’s Wife.” She took a heavy breath and added, “This business with Daniel is getting me invitations on all these shows to promote it. I’m on Oprah next week, and Letterman the week after, if you can believe it.”
“Hard to picture.”
“Ain’t it?” She sniffed, dry-eyed, and tried to smile, but it broke. “Jack, why don’t you tell them what you did to Daniel’s body? Your lawyer told me if you do you’ll only have to serve ten years.”
“I wish I could,” Durkin said, showing only a bare trace of a smile. “The problem is I’m telling it the way I remember it. What do you think of my lawyer?”
“He seems smart.”
“You think so? To me, he’s just a kid who can’t even look me in the eye. I think he’s afraid of me.” Durkin laughed at that. “I only got one foot and he’s afraid of me. Thinks I’m crazy. He’s having me see a psychiatrist now who’s trying to convince me I’m crazy, too. According to him I killed Dan and hid his body without knowing it, that I did it so I could ‘continue living in my fantasy-world concerning the Aukowies’. Maybe he’s right.”
“All those years alone in that field were bound to drive you crazy,” she said. “Ain’t entirely your fault. I guess I could’ve been better to you.”
“No, you couldn’t’ve. I’m sorry I married you, Lydia.”
She stared hotly at him, her jaw dropping open. “Why, you old fool! Here I am trying to be nice to you-”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I mean because I married you only because of the contract. I needed to marry someone. But I didn’t love you. And I know you didn’t love me. I stole that from you. Because of me you never had a chance to marry someone out of love, and I’m sorry. But I did grow to care about you, even though we could barely tolerate each other.”