Five Quarts_ A Personal and Natural History of Blood - Bill Hayes [68]
The woman who awaited sentencing on the afternoon of August 15 looked different from the one Steve and I had seen in court four weeks earlier. Elaine Giorgi’s silver wig was gone, revealing dyed rusty hair in a ratty cut. If possible, she appeared even thinner and more exhausted, as if she were also suffering the full weight of Jerry Orcoff’s fatigue. While the courtroom of superior court judge Hugh F. Mullin III was electric with last-minute activity as the legal teams prepared to begin, she sat frozen.
“So what’s with the hair?” I said, sotto voce, sitting in between Steve and Jerry a few rows behind and to the left of Giorgi. Among the three of us, two theories quickly emerged: Wiglessness was either a ploy on her attorney’s part to make her look as pitiful as possible before the judge, or it merely served a practical consideration—if she were taken straight off to jail, her personal possessions, silver helmet included, would be confiscated, and perhaps in her thinking the day would bring indignities enough. Steve pointed out that her tailored pantsuit was gone, too. The ex-phlebotomist, now a felon, wore informal slacks and a sweater, clothes I doubted she’d have given a second thought to bundling up and using as a pillow.
At Judge Mullin’s entrance, the courtroom clockwork instantly wound down. With his small build, full ruddy cheeks, and clipped mustache, he looked like the tycoon from the game Monopoly, except for his expression, which was, already, one of profound irritation. Giorgi’s attorney, Brian Matthews, wasted no time and called to the stand forensic psychologist Rahn Minigawa. Minigawa had spent seven hours interviewing Giorgi and administering personality assessment tests. From TV courtroom dramas, I suppose, I was primed to think that a photogenic authority such as he would provide a lucid, penetrating explanation of the deep-rooted cause of Giorgi’s behavior. But in this instance, I experienced no eureka-like aha! as Minigawa ticked off the phlebotomist’s laundry list of personal problems, from childhood physical abuse to a more recent history of depression, panic attacks, and compulsiveness. A recovering alcoholic, the fifty-five-year-old Giorgi had had other legal problems stemming from two DUIs as well as a host of financial troubles, he testified. What’s more, “She’s also menopausal.” It was the doctor’s belief that the debilitating side effects of menopause, such as the insomnia and mood swings, together with the aforementioned problems—Okay, here comes his conclusion, I thought at the time, the distillation of seven hours of psychological analysis, the meat of her defense—“All affected her ability to make good decisions.”
Throughout all this, Jerry reacted with a steady emission of sighs and harrumphs, which I believe is the straight man’s way of saying, Oh please. Steve turned his notepad to me and pointed to where he’d doodled a bewigged stick figure wearing a T-shirt that read MENOPAUSE MADE ME DO IT. But I quickly returned to watching Judge Mullin, who, chin propped on fist, continually re-aimed his gaze at Giorgi.
Next up was Dale Sanderson, whose every word and manner in his cross of Minigawa said, Gimme a break. The prosecutor did not hide his disdain for this paid defense witness, this “expert.” Pressed by Sanderson to dispense with the DSM jargon and to provide the court with genuine insight into why she’d done what she’d done, the doctor hesitated, obviously uncomfortable, then replied, “Well . . . she said she didn’t have a clear recollection of her actions . . . she said she was stupid.”
Sanderson, who throughout the proceedings was never granted the opportunity to interview Giorgi, wanted to make sure he had heard Minigawa correctly. Okay, he recapped: You administered two personality tests. You spent several hours with her. You’re an expert who’s testified in more than fifty trials. And the best assessment