The 6th Target - James Patterson [49]
Chapter 66
MICKEY SHERMAN FELT THE NICE, STEADY FLOW of adrenaline that came from knowing his stuff and from believing in his client. Brinkley, the poor schmuck, was just waking up to the real world after fifteen years of slow decompensation as his illness had progressed.
And what a sorry world it was. Going on trial for his life under a thick blanket of antipsychotic medication.
It was a damned tragedy all the way around.
“Mr. Brinkley heard voices,” Mickey Sherman said as he paced in front of the jury box. “I’m not talking about the ‘little voice’ we all hear in our own heads, the interior monologue that helps us figure out problems or write a speech or find our car keys.
“The voices in Mr. Brinkley’s head were directive, intrusive, overwhelming, and cruel.
“These voices taunted him unrelentingly, called him derogatory names — and they goaded him to kill. When he watched television, he believed that the characters and the news anchors were talking directly to him, that they were accusing him of crimes, and also that they were telling him what to do.
“And after years of fighting these demons, Fred Brinkley finally obeyed the voices.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, at the time of the shooting, Fred Brinkley was not in touch with reality.
“He didn’t know that the people he shot on the ferry were made of flesh and blood. To him they were part of the painful hallucinations in his own mind.
“Afterward, Mr. Brinkley saw the TV news report of himself shooting people on the ferry, and because the pictures were on TV, he realized what he had done. He was so overcome with remorse and guilt and self-hatred that he turned himself in to the police of his own volition.
“He waived all his rights and confessed, because in the aftermath of his crimes, the healthy part of his brain allowed him to understand the horror of his actions.
“That should give you a window into this man’s character.
“The prosecution would like you to believe that the hardest decision you’ll have to make in this trial is picking your foreperson.
“But you haven’t heard the full story yet.
“Witnesses who know Mr. Brinkley and psychiatric professionals who have examined him will attest to Mr. Brinkley’s character and his past and present state of mind.
“When you’ve heard our case in its entirety, I am confident that you will find Fred Brinkley ‘not guilty’ by reason of mental defect or disease.
“Because the truth is, Fred Brinkley is a good man who is afflicted with a terrible mind-altering disease.”
Chapter 67
AT 6:30 THAT NIGHT, Yuki and Leonard Parisi were seated in the cavernous sunken dining room at Restaurant LuLu, an old warehouse turned popular eatery not far from the Hall of Justice.
Yuki felt sharp, part of the A-team. The winning A-team. She carved into her rotisserie chicken and Len tucked into his spicy prawn pizza, the two of them reviewing the day as they ate, trying on potential roadblocks, planning how to detonate those roadblocks in their next day’s presentation of the People’s case against Alfred Brinkley.
Leonard refilled their wineglasses with a sixty-dollar merlot, saying, “Grrrrr. Beware of Team Red Dog.”
Yuki laughed, sipped, put her papers into a large leather bag as the dinner plates were taken away. Working as a civil litigator had never felt as good as this.
The large brick oven across the room perfumed the air with burning hickory wood, and as the restaurant and bar filled up, conversation and laughter caromed off the walls and high ceilings.
“Coffee?” Len asked Yuki.
“Sure,” she said. “And I’m so stoked, I think I’m gonna go for the profiteroles.”
“I’ll second that,” Leonard said, raising his hand to signal their waitress. And then, in midgesture, his face went slack. Len put his hand on his chest and half stood, leaning against the seat back, which caused the chair to topple over, throwing him onto the floor.
Yuki heard a tray fall behind her. Dishes broke, and someone screamed.
She realized that the scream had come from her.
She jumped from