Dr. Ian West

I hold up my right hand, left placed on the Bible, as the registrar swears me in.

My gaze is fixed on Shaver at the defendant’s table, my words directed toward him. His dark eyes alight with a grin that doesn’t match the rest of his severe expression, but I can feel his amusement. Because that’s what this is to him; a game. Another move on the board.

Only it’s not a move on my part. It’s checkmate.

I stand in the witness box and recite my credentials. Then Eddie approaches. We rehearsed this briefly just a couple of hours ago. But—pardon my pun—I have a literal card up my sleeve that he’s not aware of.

“Good morning, Dr. West. During your evaluation of the defendant, were you able to determine whether or not Quentin Shaver is of rational and sound mind?”

I look to the jury to answer. “I was. And he is.”

Eddie nods. “You were able to do this with only an hour-long assessment?”

“Yes. Along with my evaluation, I ordered an MRI and CAT scan to determine if there was any significant brain trauma that would warrant further study into Mr. Shaver’s behavior.” I lock eyes with juror number seven. Our history teacher and assumed jury foreman. “Mr. Shaver passed with flying colors. He has never suffered any brain damage. Therefore, my conclusion is that Mr. Shaver was completely aware and in control of his actions when he murdered Devin Tillman. To which he planned and executed, in my professional opinion, meticulously.”

“Thank you, Dr. West. What is your official diagnosis of the defendant?”

“Quentin Shaver displays clear signs of psychopathic tendencies and antisocial personality disorder. In short, he feels no remorse or empathy for his victims. Shaver stalked Ms. Tillman, then manipulated her. When his compulsion to make her a part of his Tarot fantasy couldn’t be contained any longer, he bound her, tortured her, and murdered her. Then he staged the murder scene to resemble the Eight of Swords Tarot Card.”

Eddie clicks the remote in his hand, and an image that Mia spliced together appears on the large monitor. One side is a portrait of the Eight of Swords Tarot card, the other side is a picture of the Tillman crime scene.

A burst of shocked disbelief rolls through the courtroom. I filter out the murmurs and gasps. I’m not here to impress the court; I’m intent on watching the jury, logging every reactive expression as they stare at the screen.

They see it. They can’t deny the evidence; it’s right in front of their faces. It just needs a name.

“This is Shaver’s MO,” I say, speaking over the subtle commotion. “A combination of Shaver’s method and motive.”

There it is, folks. Motive.

The proverbial nail in the coffin.

Smigel is right on cue as he bounds out of his seat. “Your Honor, objection. Extreme prejudicial speculation. Dr. West is not a member of law enforcement, and therefore doesn’t have the credentials or skills to make this assessment.”

Eddie speaks up. “Dr. West has worked in the field of forensic psychology, Your Honor.”

“Overruled,” Judge O’Hare says. “As Dr. West does in fact work closely with officials and has previous experience, I would like to hear more of this theory.” Bushy white eyebrows raised, Judge O’Hare motions for me to continue.

“It is pure speculation,” I admit, then look right into juror number three’s eyes. The mother of the addict. “However, when something is just too damn obvious to ignore, how can we?” She frowns, but she knows. Guilt is a powerful tool.

Smigel barely gets his objection in before the judge slams the gavel. “The jury is instructed to disregard Dr. West’s statement.” His gaze zeros in on me. “I’m being lenient with you, Dr. West, but if you try my patience, I’ll have you removed from my courtroom again. Understood?”

Ah. So the man does have an excellent memory. “Yes, sir, Judge O’Hare.”

“Good. Mr. Wagner, please proceed.” He points a deliberate finger at him. “And I warn, cautiously.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.” Eddie rubs his chin. His signal that he’s about to go for the jugular. I can take it. “Dr. West, do you, in fact, have any law enforcement credentials or training?”

“No. Not at all.”

He nods. “So your evaluation of Mr. Shaver is purely based on the hour you spent with him, correct?”

I sit forward, so every member of the jury can see me clearly. “No. Officially, I had three meetings with Mr. Shaver. My observation went further when he had my girlfriend, Mr. Shaver’s former attorney, Porter Lovell, abducted and tortured for thirty-one hours in a shipping container in order to manipulate me into giving a false testimony.”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Smigel springs to his feet. He waves his hand around, seeking the right words. “Objection to…all of it. This is ludicrous. Hearsay. Facts not in evidence. Speculation—”

Judge O’Hare motions for the defense lawyer to stop. “I get it, Mr. Smigel. I want all counsels to approach my bench now.”

I swivel to face the judge as Eddie and Smigel advance.

Smigel starts. “This is a deliberate attempt by the DA’s office to poison the jury, Your Honor. Dr. West’s theories are a part of a current, ongoing investigation, and there is a motion in place that forbade mention of any part of the investigation or Ms. Lovell’s situation during this trial.”

Judge O’Hare frowns as he directs his attention to Eddie. “Is this true, Mr. Wagner?”

“It is, Your Honor, and the DA’s office is complying with the motion. However, Dr. West is not citing hearsay from the investigation. This is his direct, firsthand experience with the defendant, and should be admissible.”

The judge attempts to mask his disgust as he turns toward me. “Is Ms. Lovell all right?”

This cinches my heart. No matter the rules, she’s one of them—one of us. She’s a reminder to the judge that, sometimes, the system fails us. “She is recovering, Your Honor. And, if I may, I am giving my firsthand testimony so that Ms. Lovell can be spared taking the stand in her condition.”

Smigel scoffs. “Your Honor, see? This can’t be allowed. This evidence clearly belongs in a separate case—”

“That’s enough, counselor.” The Judge considers his options for a moment. “All right. I’ll allow Dr. West to speak to his experience in relation to the defendant only.” He inclines his head my way. “Don’t cross that line, Dr. West, or I will hold you in contempt.”

“Duly noted, Your Honor.”

Smigel is not pleased as he resumes his place behind the defense table. I straighten my tie, wondering how much this is going to cost me in fines. We might need a Get Ian out of Jail fundraiser.

Eddie moves before the witness stand and braces his hands on the edge. “Dr. West, during your assessment of Mr. Shaver, did he make any threats directed toward you or Ms. Lovell?”

“Yes,” I answer. “Specifically, after I discovered Ms. Lovell missing from her apartment, during my second meeting with Mr. Shaver—and I paraphrase—he asked me how I saw my cup—” I glance at Shaver, then to the jury “—whether I viewed it as half full or empty, as my answer would determine whether Ms. Lovell lived or died.”

The appall on the jurors’ faces is enough. That’s the expression I want; that’s the emotion that will make sure Shaver doesn’t walk away a free man.

Eddie nods to me. “Thank you, Dr. West. No further questions.”

Judge O’Hare can’t help but shake his head as he instructs Smigel on his cross examination.

I square my shoulders, braced, as the lawyer lines me up in his sights and moves in. Oh, the troll wants to take me down. This should be fun.

“Dr. West, isn’t it true that psychologists are required to keep their sessions with patients confidential?” Smigel asks.

So, he’s going for the ethical card to try to discredit me. “This is true,” I say, “except for in the case of court mandated evaluations and threats of harm made against the psychologist.”

Smigel scowls, brow creased in hard thought. “During your recent meeting with Mr. Shaver, did you attack him?”

There’s an expectant pause, where the judge and the whole courtroom prepare for an objection from the prosecutor. It never comes, however. This is good reality TV drama right here. Who wants to interrupt this?

I speak into the mic. “I did. Absolutely.” I lift my hand and make a fist. “I stuck this fist right in his face when he refused to give me the location of where Porter Lovell was being held against her will.”

Ethical? No. But the jury doesn’t care about ethics. They’re people. They’re human. They commiserate and identify with me. What if it was their loved one? What would they do? Eleven out of twelve would want to do exactly what I did, or worse.

And this isn’t about me, Eddie, Smigel, or the judge. It’s all about the jury.

Smigel knows this and, as he glances at the jury, decides to change tactics. “Dr. West, you maintained that the defendant acted on some compulsion pertaining to his pathology.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Yes, that’s correct.”

His nod is slow, leading. “In theory, if this speculation is true, wouldn’t Ms. Lovell be a part of this proposed Tarot fantasy?”

I see where he’s going, and he wants me to stumble. “In theory, but she wasn’t. Let me explain—”

“I see. So, in theory, according to you, we have a pathological and meticulous killer who keeps to a particular method, and you’re saying he broke his own MO?” He looks at the jury, resonating doubt. “In your experience, how often do ritualistic offenders deviate from their MO?”

Son of a bitch. “Rarely, but in this case—”

“Thank you. Now, Ms. Lovell is a fine defense attorney. However, to your knowledge, has she won every case she’s presented?”

“I don’t believe so”

“So, it’s possible Ms. Lovell has disgruntled clients, then. Some who may have been convicted of crimes with expensive fines or served a prison sentence due to her failings?”

“It’s possible.”

He’s going for the illusory suspect. Typically, a defense attorney will try to point the finger at another possible suspect to cast reasonable doubt on the defendant. If it’s possible that someone else orchestrated the crime, then it’s possible the defendant is innocent. Therefore, doubt.

“And, to your knowledge, where was Mr. Shaver during Ms. Lovell’s abduction?”

“In court holdings.”

He nods, pleased with himself. I peek at the jury to get a quick eval. They don’t like his smug attitude. Still, they’re open to consider the facts. This is a smart jury.

Smigel doesn’t let up. “You stated before that you’re in a romantic relationship with Ms. Lovell. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Smigel paces before the witness stand, getting his lawyerly groove on. “In your experience, do romantic feelings cause conflicts of interest in the work place? Say, where your feelings for Ms. Lovell may skew your evaluation of the defendant, or inflame you to point the finger at the defendant without any solid evidence?”

Eddie snaps to attention. “Objection. Compound and leading, Your Honor.”

“Sustained. Let the witness answer a question, Mr. Smigel.”

“Sorry, Your Honor.” He swipes a hand through the air, urging me to answer. “Can romantic feelings cloud judgment, Dr. West?”

“Of course,” I say. “Let me go ahead and answer the rest for you, as well. When it comes to Porter Lovell, I am a mess of a man. I admit that. I’ve apparently been in love with her for the past three years, and too stubborn to see it.”

A woman on the jury inhales deeply. Everyone can sympathize with me being a dumbass in love.

“But that doesn’t change the facts of what I’ve witnessed and know,” I add. “Quentin Shaver requested a meeting with me during his previous trial where he alleged vague threats if I didn’t declare him temporarily insane as an expert witness. He then made good on those threats when Porter was taken. He confirmed this was his doing by proxy when I confronted him.”

Smigel observes me closely. “According to you, that is. A psychologist who, for the woman he loves, takes the stand and breaks an ethics oath to reveal a patient’s session.”

Oh, Smigel. We already covered this. He thinks by reiterating his viewpoint, repeating lies, the jury—who is vastly becoming bored—will be swayed.

Time for a magic trick to wake them up.

“Actually, according to Shaver himself.” I reach into my jacket inseam and reveal the bagged Tarot card. Tada. I hold it up and flip it around, displaying the note Shaver slipped into my pocket during our altercation. I explain this briefly.

Smigel practically vaults to the stand to try to snatch the evidence bag. But I’m faster, moving it to the judge’s bench. “Your Honor, I’m sure the ADA would like this admitted into evidence. I received this missive from the defendant after my third meeting with him.”

Smigel makes his argument, but Judge O’Hare, after looking over the card and note, admits them both into evidence, with the stipulation they are to be evaluated by both opposing counsels.

Then the judge takes over the questioning. “What is this card, Dr. West?”

“The Five of Cups Tarot card, Your Honor.” I tell Judge O’Hare and the jury about where it was discovered, and Shaver’s confession of having the card delivered to me by proxy. “Before Mr. Smigel moved the questioning on too quickly, I was going to state that no, Shaver’s victim was not Ms. Lovell. In fact, I was his intended victim.”

I meet Shaver’s gaze across the courtroom. His mouth kicks up into a crooked smile. His arrogance hasn’t wavered. That’s mine, he mouths. I can only assume he refers to the card. He claims he always returns the cards to his deck.

Not this time, I answer back.

Regardless of where I sit, having beaten him by his own rules, Shaver is still trying to intimidate me. As if the fortune this card holds has some kind of power over me. But I faced it, didn’t I? I followed the path, I crossed the damn bridge, I climbed the fucking tower. I win, asshole.

The judge places the card and missive into evidence, then instructs Smigel to wrap up his questioning.

“I have nothing further, Your Honor.”

With that, Judge O’Hare calls a recess, and I step down from the witness stand.

As I pass the line of jurors, I take a brief assessment. Despite my damning testimony, there is still one possible holdout from our foreman Smith. But I know it’s because he’s waiting for the science. He’s a teacher. Facts are important.

Right before the jury is dismissed, the history teacher catches my eye, giving me a slight nod. Validating my performance.

Does this change his mind? Not for the first time today, I wish I had Mia in my ear. I need her insight. Mouth pressed in hard assertion, I try to find the thread that altered his opinion so quickly. Even now, he’s difficult to read.

Either way, once the science prevails, we’ll have the support of the entire twelve jurors.

It started here. It ends here.

Game over.