The Heaven Makers Part 37

"Mr. Thurlow," he said, pointedly withholding the t.i.tle of doctor. "Am I correct in a.s.suming that, in your opinion, defendant was incapable of determining right from wrong on the night he killed his wife?"

Thurlow removed his gla.s.ses. His eyes appeared gray and defenseless without them. He wiped the lenses, replaced them, dropped his hands to his lap. "Yes, sir."

"And the kinds of tests you administered, were they generally the same kinds as were administered to this defendant by Dr. Whelye and those who agreed with him?"

"Essentially the same -- inkblot, wool sorting, various other s.h.i.+fting tests."

Paret consulted his notes. "You've heard Dr. Whelye testify that defendant was legally and medically sane at the time of this crime?"

"I heard that testimony, sir."

"You're aware that Dr. Whelye is former police psychiatrist for the city of Los Angeles and served in the Army medical corps at the Nuremberg trials?"

"I'm aware of Dr. Whelye's qualifications." There was a lonely, defensive quality to Thurlow's voice that brought a twinge of sympathy to Kelexel as he watched.

"You see what they're doing to him?" Ruth asked.

"What does it matter?" Kelexel asked. But even as he spoke, Kelexel realized that Thurlow's fate mattered enormously. And this was precisely because Thurlow, even though he was being destroyed and knew it, was sticking to his principles. There was no doubt that Murphey was insane. He'd been driven insane by Fraffin -- for a purpose.

I was that purpose, Kelexel thought.

"Then you have heard," Paret said, "this expert medical testimony rule out any element of organic brain damage in this case? You've heard these qualified medical men testify that defendant shows no manic tendencies, that he does not now suffer and never has suffered from a condition which could be legally described as insanity?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you can explain why you've arrived at a conflicting opinion to these qualified medical men?"

Thurlow uncrossed his legs, planted both feet firmly on the floor. He put his hands on the arms of his chair, leaned forward. "That's quite simple, sir. Ability in psychiatry and psychology is usually judged by results. In this case, I stake my claim to a different viewpoint on the fact that I predicted this crime."

Anger darkened Paret's face.

Kelexel heard Ruth whispering: "Andy, oh, Andy . . . oh, Andy . . ." Her voice sent a sudden pain through Kelexel's breast and he hissed: "Be silent!"

Again, Paret consulted his notes, then: "You're a psychologist, not a psychiatrist, is that correct?"

"I'm a clinical psychologist."

"What's the difference between a psychologist and a psychiatrist?"

"A psychologist is a specialist in human behavior who does not have a medical degree. The . . ."

"And you disagree with men who do have medical degrees?"

"As I said previously . . ."

"Ah, yes, your so-called prediction. I've read that report, Mr. Thurlow, and I'd like to ask you this: Is it not true that your probation report was couched in language which might be translated several ways -- that it was, in a word, ambiguous?"

"It might be considered ambiguous only by someone who was unfamiliar with the term psychotic break."

"Ahhh, and what is a psychotic break?"

"An extremely dangerous break with reality which can lead to acts of violence such as that being considered here."

"But if there'd been no crime, if this defendant had recovered from the alleged illness which you say he has, could your probation report have been construed as predicting that?"

"Not without an explanation of why he recovered."

"Let me ask this, then: Can violence have no other explanation except psychosis?"

"Certainly it can, but . . ."

"Is it not true that psychosis is a disputed term?"

"There are differences of opinion."

"Differences such as are being evidenced here?"

"Yes."

"And any given act of violence may be caused by things other than a psychosis?"

"Of course." Thurlow shook his head. "But in a delusionary system . . ."

"Delusionary?" Paret snapped at the word. "What is delusion, Mr. Thurlow?"

"Delusion? That's a kind of inner ineptness at dealing with reality."

"Reality," Paret said. And again: "Reality. Tell me, Mr. Thurlow, do you believe the defendant's accusations against his wife?"

"I do not!"

"But if defendant's accusations were real, would that change your opinion, sir, about his delusionary system?"

"My opinion is based on . . ."

"Yes or no, Mr. Thurlow! Answer the question!"

"I am answering it!" Thurlow pushed himself back in his chair, took a deep breath. "You're trying to blacken the reputation of a defenseless . . ."

"Mr. Thurlow! My questions are aimed at whether defendant's accusations are reasonable in the light of all the evidence. I agree they cannot be proved or disproved with the princ.i.p.al dead, but are the accusations reasonable?"

Thurlow swallowed, then: "Was it reasonable to kill, sir?"

Paret's face darkened. His voice came out low, deadly: "It's time we quit playing with words, Mr. Thurlow. Will you tell the court, please, if you have any other relations.h.i.+p with the defendant's family than that of . . . psychologist?"

Thurlow's knuckles went white as he gripped the chair arm. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Were you not at one time engaged to defendant's daughter?"