House Rules: A Novel Read online

  “With all due respect, Your Honor,” I reply, “I think the court should listen to my client’s mother and psychiatrist.”

  The judge waves me on, and with a gesture, I motion Emma to come forward to the witness stand. She has dark shadows beneath her eyes, and her hands are shaking. I watch her move them from the railing to her lap, so that the judge cannot see. “Please state your name and address,” I say.

  “Emma Hunt … 132 Birdseye Lane in Townsend.”

  “Is Jacob Hunt, the defendant in this case, your son?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Can you tell us how old Jacob is?”

  Emma clears her throat. “He turned eighteen in December.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “With me, in Townsend.”

  “Is he in school?” I ask.

  “He goes to Townsend Regional High School; he’s a senior.”

  I look directly at her. “Ms. Hunt, does Jacob have any particular medical condition that makes you concerned for his safety while he’s in jail?”

  “Yes. Jacob’s been diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome. It’s high-functioning autism.”

  “How does Asperger’s affect Jacob’s behavior?”

  She pauses for a moment, glancing down. “When he decides to do something, he needs to do it immediately,” Emma says. “If he can’t, he gets very agitated. He hardly ever shows emotion—either happy or sad—and he can’t relate to the conversations of kids his own age. He takes words very, very literally—if you asked him to eat with his mouth closed, for example, he’d tell you that’s impossible. He has hypersensitivity issues: bright lights, loud noises, and light touches set him off. He doesn’t like being the center of attention. He needs to know exactly when something is going to happen, and if his routine gets disrupted, he becomes extremely anxious and acts in a way that makes him stand out even more: flapping his hands at his sides, or talking to himself, or repeating movie lines over and over. When things are really overwhelming, he’ll go somewhere to hide—his closet, or under his bed—and he’ll stop speaking.”

  “Okay,” says Judge Cuttings. “So your son is moody, literal, and wants to do things his way and on his own timetable. That sounds very much like a teenager.”

  Emma shakes her head. “I’m not explaining this well. It’s more than just being literal, or wanting a routine. An ordinary teenager decides not to interact … for Jacob, it’s not a choice.”

  “What sorts of changes have you seen since your son’s incarceration?” I ask.

  Emma’s eyes fill with tears. “He’s not Jacob,” she says. “He’s hurting himself, on purpose. He’s regressing in his speech. He’s started stimming again—flapping his hands, bouncing on his toes, walking in circles. I’ve spent fifteen years trying to make Jacob a part of this world instead of allowing him to isolate himself … and a single day in that jail reversed everything.” She looks at the judge. “I just want my son to come back, before it’s too late to reach him.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “Nothing further.”

  Helen Sharp stands up. She is easily six feet tall. Did I not notice that when she walked in? “Your son … has he ever been incarcerated before?”

  “No!” Emma answers.

  “Has he ever been arrested before?”

  “No.”

  “Are there other times you’ve witnessed a backslide in your son’s behavior?”

  “Yes,” Emma says. “When plans change at the last minute. Or when he’s upset and can’t verbalize that.”

  “Then isn’t it possible that his current behavior has nothing to do with incarceration, and everything to do with him feeling guilty for committing a horrific crime?”

  Heat floods Emma’s face. “He would never do what you’ve accused him of doing.”

  “Maybe, ma’am, but at this point your son’s been charged with first-degree murder. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Emma says tightly.

  “And your son has been placed in protective custody, so his safety isn’t at issue—”

  “If his safety wasn’t at issue, would he have to be in a padded cell in the first place?” Emma retorts, and I want to run up there and give her a high five.

  “Nothing further,” the prosecutor says.

  I stand up again. “The defense calls Dr. Moon Murano.”

  Jacob’s psychiatrist’s name may sound like that of someone who grew up on a commune, but that was her parents. She must have rebelled and joined the Young Republicans, because she’s turned up for court in a power suit, killer heels, and a bun so tight it is practically functioning as a face-lift. I walk her through her credentials and then ask her how she knows Jacob.

  “I’ve been working with him for fifteen years,” she says. “In conjunction with his Asperger’s diagnosis.”

  “Tell us a little about Asperger’s,” I say.

  “Well, the syndrome was discovered by Dr. Hans Asperger in 1944, but it wasn’t known in the English-speaking world until the late 1980s, and it wasn’t classified as a psychiatric disorder until 1994. Technically, it’s a neurobiological disorder that affects several areas of development. Unlike some other children on the autism spectrum, kids with Asperger’s are very bright and verbal and crave social acceptance … they just don’t know how to get it. Their conversations might be one-sided; they might be focused on a very narrow topic of interest; they might use repetitive language or a monotone voice. They won’t be able to read social cues or body language and therefore can’t identify the feelings of people around them. Because of this, someone with Asperger’s is often considered to be odd or eccentric, which leads to social isolation.”

  “Well, Doctor, there are a lot of folks in the world who are odd or eccentric and haven’t been diagnosed with Asperger’s, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “So how do you diagnose it?”

  “It’s theory of mind: the child who chooses privacy versus the child who can’t connect but wants to, desperately, and cannot put himself in the shoes of another child to better understand how to facilitate that.” She glances at the judge. “Asperger’s is a developmental disability, but it’s a hidden one. Unlike, for example, a mentally challenged individual, a child with Asperger’s might look normal and even sound fairly normal and appear incredibly competent, yet he will have crippling difficulties with communication and social interaction.”

  “Doctor, how often do you see Jacob?” I ask.

  “I used to see him weekly when he was younger, but now we’re down to once a month.”

  “And he’s a senior in public school?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “So he doesn’t have any educational delays due to his Asperger’s?”

  “No,” Dr. Murano says. “As a matter of fact, Jacob’s IQ is probably higher than yours, Mr. Bond.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Helen Sharp murmurs.

  “Does Jacob have any special accommodations at school?”

  “He has an individualized education plan—an IEP—which is mandated by law for children with disabilities. Ms. Hunt and I meet with the principal and Jacob’s teachers four times a year to review strategies that will help him function well at school. What’s normal to certain high school students would set Jacob off into a tailspin.”

  “Such as?”

  “Commotion in a classroom is going to be very overwhelming for Jacob. Flashing lights. Being touched. Crumpled paper. Something that’s unexpected in terms of sensation—like darkness in preparation for a video or film—is hard for Jacob if he doesn’t know in advance that it’s going to happen,” Murano says.

  “So his accommodations are meant to keep him from becoming overstimulated?”

  “Exactly.”

  “How’s he doing in school this year?”

  “He got all A’s and one B the first semester,” Dr. Murano says.

  “Before he was incarcerated,” I ask, “when was the last time you saw Jacob?”