The Jodi Picoult Collection #4 Read online

  Jacob is once again sitting at the defense table, holding his mother’s hand. Emma is white as a sheet, and I can’t blame her. After listening to Jacob’s testimony—a detailed description in his own words of how to clean up after a mess of your own making—I find myself in the same position.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I begin, “there’s been a lot of evidence produced here about how Jess Ogilvy died. We’re not disputing that evidence. But if you’ve been paying attention at this trial, you also know that you can’t judge this book by its cover. Jacob is a young man with Asperger’s syndrome, a neurological disorder that precludes him from having empathy for others in the same way you or I might. When he talks about what he did with Jess’s body, and at Jess’s residence, he doesn’t see his involvement in a horrific murder. Instead, as you’ve heard, he takes pride in the fact that he set up a complete crime scene, a crime scene worthy of inclusion in a journal, just like an episode of CrimeBusters. I’m not going to ask you to excuse him for Jess Ogilvy’s death—we grieve with her parents for that loss, and do not seek to diminish the tragedy in any way. However, I am going to ask you to take the information you’ve been given about Jacob and his disorder, so that when you question whether he was criminally responsible at the time of Jess’s death—whether he understood right from wrong in that moment the way you understand right from wrong—you will have no choice but to answer no.”

  I walk toward the jury. “Asperger’s is a tough nut to crack. You’ve heard a lot about it these past few days . . . and I bet you’ve thought, So what? Not being comfortable in new situations, wanting to do things the same way every day, finding it hard to make new friends—these are struggles we’ve all faced from time to time. Yet none of these traits impair our ability to make judgments, and none of us are on trial for murder. You might be thinking that Jacob doesn’t fit your impression of a person with a diagnosable neurological disorder. He’s smart, he doesn’t look crazy in the colloquial sense of the word. So how can you be certain that Asperger’s syndrome is a valid neurological disorder, and not just the latest label du jour for a kid with problems? How can you be sure Asperger’s provides an explanation of his behavior at the moment a crime was committed—instead of just a fancy legal excuse?”

  I smile. “Well, I offer an example from Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart. In the fifties and sixties the Court was involved in deciding a number of obscenity cases. Since obscenity isn’t protected under the First Amendment, they had to determine whether a series of pornographic films met the legal definition of obscenity, and so they’d screen them. Every week, on what was known as Obscenity Tuesday, the justices watched these films and rendered decisions. It was in Jacobellis v. Ohio that Justice Stewart became legendary in the legal field for saying that hard-core pornography was hard to define but that—and I quote—‘I know it when I see it.’ ”

  I turn to Jacob. “I know it when I see it,” I repeat. “You haven’t just listened to experts and seen medical files and seen forensic evidence—you’ve also watched and heard Jacob. And based on that alone, it must be clear to you that he’s not just a kid with a few personality quirks. He’s a kid who doesn’t communicate particularly well and whose thoughts are often jumbled. He talks in a monotone and doesn’t show a great deal of emotion, even when it seems warranted. Yet he was brave enough to stand up in front of you and try to defend himself against one of the most serious charges a young man like him could ever face. What he said—and how he said it—might have been upsetting to you. Shocking, even. But that’s because a person with Asperger’s—a person like Jacob—is not your typical witness.

  “I didn’t want my client to testify. I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t think that he could do it. When you’re a witness in a trial, you have to practice saying things in a way that works to make your case. You have to present yourself in a manner that is sympathetic to the jury. And I knew Jacob could not—and would not—do that. Hell, I could barely get him to wear a tie here . . . I certainly couldn’t make him express remorse, or even sadness. I couldn’t tell him what he should and shouldn’t say in front of you. To Jacob, that would have been lying. And to Jacob, telling the truth is a rule that has to be followed.”

  I look at the jurors. “What you have here is a kid who isn’t working the system, because he’s physically and psychologically incapable of working the system. He doesn’t know how to play to your sympathies. He doesn’t know what will help or hurt his chances of acquittal. He simply wanted to tell you his side of the story—so he did. And that’s how you know that Jacob’s not a criminal trying to squeak through a loophole. That’s how you know that his Asperger’s can and did and still does impair his judgment at any given moment. Because any other defendant—any ordinary defendant—would have known better than to tell you what Jacob did.

  “You and I know, ladies and gentlemen, that the legal system in America works very well if you happen to communicate a certain way, a way Jacob doesn’t. And yet everyone in this country is entitled to a fair trial—even people who communicate differently from the way that works best in court.” I take a deep breath. “Maybe for justice to be done, then, in Jacob’s case, we simply need people who are willing to listen a little more closely.”

  As I take my seat again, Helen stands up. “When I was a little girl I remember asking my mother why, instead of saying toilet paper on the wrapper, it said bath tissue. And you know what my mom told me? You can call it whatever you want, but all the words in the world can’t dress up what it is. This isn’t a case about a young man who has a hard time holding a conversation, or making friends, or eating something other than blue Jell-O on Wednesday—”

  Friday, I mentally correct. Jacob reaches for his pencil and starts to write a note, but before he can, I pluck the pencil out of his hand and slip it into my coat pocket.

  “It’s a case about a boy who committed a cold-blooded murder and then, using his brains and his fascination with crime scenes, tried to cover his tracks. I don’t contest that Jacob has Asperger’s syndrome. I don’t expect any of you to contest it, either. But that doesn’t absolve him of responsibility for this brutal, vicious killing. You’ve heard from the crime scene investigators who went to the house and found traces of Jess’s blood all over the bathroom floor. You’ve heard Jacob himself say that he washed it away with bleach and then flushed the toilet paper away. Why? Not because there’s a rule about where toilet paper goes when you’re done with it . . . but instead, because he didn’t want anyone to know he had cleaned up that mess. He told you, ladies and gentlemen, about how he set up that entire crime scene, and how much thought he put into it. He deliberately tried to lead police down the wrong trail, to make them think Jess had been kidnapped. He slit the screen and used Mark Maguire’s boots to leave footprints, to purposefully suggest that someone else was responsible for the crime. He dragged Jess’s body the length of three football fields and left it outside, so that it would be harder for people to find. And when he grew tired of playing his own little game of CrimeBusters, he took Jess’s cell phone and dialed 911. Why? Not because it was easier for him to interface with a dead body than a live one but because it was all part of Jacob Hunt’s perverse plan to selfishly discard Jess Ogilvy’s life in order to allow him to play forensic detective.”

  She faces the jury. “Mr. Bond can call this whatever he wants, but that doesn’t change what it is: a young man who committed a brutal murder and who actively, over a period of days, covered it up with careful clues to mislead the police. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the MO of a calculating killer—not a kid with Asperger’s syndrome.”

  Emma

  From the archives of Auntie Em:

  Dear Auntie Em,

  What do you do if all signs point to the fact that the world as you know it is going to come to a crashing halt?

  Sincerely,

  HumptyDumptyWasPushed

  Dear Humpty,

  HELP!

  Love,

  Auntie Em