41

Six weeks later, Piper was notified that both defense and prosecution had completed their evaluations of Owen Whittaker. The defense had used three different experts: a psychologist, forensic psychiatrist, and neurobiologist who specialized in brain injuries. The prosecution had used the two clinical psychiatrists they frequently worked with.

County and district attorney’s offices used the same experts over time, which made the cases a stable part of the experts’ income. And though any DA would deny it, if the experts suddenly started testifying to things that didn’t help the prosecution, they ran the risk of potentially receiving less work. It created a system of government experts and defense experts , which Piper had always found ridiculous. The facts should speak the same from either side. Without consensus by equally qualified experts, the results of the hearing were in doubt. No one could predict which way it would go, and it frightened her.

Piper was dressed comfortably in shorts and a T-shirt in the backyard, doing paperwork. She had felt restless with only one case and called Tom Williams at the office and told him she was going crazy. He said he would send her some overflow work, so now she worked from home, and it at least occupied her mind for short periods.

“Piper?” her grandma shouted from somewhere in the house.

“Yeah?” she yelled back.

“Someone is here to see you.”

Piper took off her reading glasses and placed them next to her laptop as she rose and went to the door. Judge Dawson stood in the foyer in a black suit, cut to trim. Her arms hung casually at her sides, and she wore little makeup.

“Hope you don’t mind I looked up your address,” the judge said. “It was on your CV Tom sent over.”

“It’s fine. Um, Grandma, this is Judge Dawson that I told you about.”

Her grandmother smiled and held out her hand, and they shook. “Lake Danes. Nice to meet you, Judge.”

“It’s Hope. This is a lovely home you have.”

“Oh, thank you. Would you like some water or an iced tea?”

“Actually I need to speak to your granddaughter for a moment, if I may.”

Lake glanced at Piper, a little disappointed, and said, “Well, I have some gardening to finish up, so I’ll leave you to it. Nice to meet you, Hope.”

“You as well.”

When they were alone, the judge looked around the house with her hands behind her back.

“I know this area. Mostly retirees and not many children. Must’ve been lonely for you.”

“I got by.”

“I have no doubt.” She stopped, lightly touching a photo of Piper and her grandmother at a birthday party. “Do you have somewhere we can talk?”

They sat out on the patio, watching a couple of older men on the golf course, and sipped iced tea that Lake had brought out for them.

“Did you read the evaluation reports?” Judge Dawson said.

“I did. Did you?”

“I may have taken a peek. We judges don’t mind sharing with each other. We’ve got our little clique, too. So what do you think?”

“Delusional personality conduct disorder is a mouthful. Sounded like stretching to me.”

“Maybe.” She sipped her iced tea. “Dr. Brown said it stemmed from his brutal upbringing coupled with serious brain injuries while in his youth.”

“Do you think a jury will be sympathetic?”

“I have no doubt that once Russo Bianchi gets through explaining his upbringing, that jury’s going to be in tears.”

The judge tilted her head slightly, almost like a shrug. “But what do I know? I’ve been in juvenile court my entire career and never had a jury.”

“Do you wish you did?”

“No.” She set her iced tea down on the table. “Are you going to cross-examine the doctors?”

“I don’t know. Guess we’ll have to wait and see what comes out.”

“Pay attention to how Russo presents her case. You could learn something.”