“There’s no evidence of that either, Lucy.”
“I know, but what do you think?”
“My guess is that his crazy behavior at the trial was faked for the insanity plea.”
“So you think he was totally rational?”
“I don’t know if rational’s the right word, but he certainly wasn’t psychotic or the prisoner of uncontrollable urges. He chose to do what he did. He liked hurting people.”
She touched a wet cheek. “You don’t think he was sick.”
“Not in the sense of benefiting from a pill or surgery or even psychotherapy.” I handed her a tissue.
“So death’s what’s called for.”
“What’s called for is keeping him away from the rest of us.”
“Well, we did that, all right. The DA said if anyone’s going to get gassed, it’s him.” She gave an angry laugh.
“Does that trouble you?” I said.
“No . . . maybe. I don’t know. I mean, if he ever makes it to the gas chamber I’m not going to be standing around watching him asphyxiate. He deserves it, but . . . I guess it’s the calculated aspect that gets to me. Knowing that on such and such a day, at such and such a time . . . but would I do anything different? What would be the alternative? Giving him a chance of getting out and doing those things again?”
“Even correct choices can be agonizing.”
“Do you believe in the death penalty?”
I thought for a while, composing my answer. Normally, I avoided injecting my opinions into therapy, but this time evasion would be a mistake. “I’m where you are, Lucy. The idea of someone being calculatedly put to death bothers me, and I’d have trouble pulling the switch. But I can see cases where it might be the best choice.”
“So what does that make us, Dr. Delaware? Hypocrites?”
“No,” I said. “It makes us human.”
“I didn’t jump at gassing him, you know. I was the holdout. The others were really on me to finish up.”
“Was it rough for you?”
“No, they weren’t nasty or anything. Just persistent. Repeating their reasons and staring at me, like I was a stupid kid who’d eventually come around. So I guess I have to wonder if part of it was good old peer pressure.”
“As you said, what would have been the alternative?”
“Guess so.”
“You’re in conflict because you’re a moral person,” I said. “Maybe that’s why the images have started returning.”
She looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe at this point in time you need to remember exactly what Shwandt did.”
“To convince myself what I did was right?”
“Yes.”
That seemed to calm her, but she cried some more. The tissue in her hand was wadded tight, and I handed her another one.
“It all boiled down to sex, didn’t it?” she said, with sudden anger. “He got off on other people’s pain. All that defense testimony about uncontrollable impulses was bull— those poor, poor women, what he made them—God, why am I starting my day talking about this?”
She looked at her watch. “Better be going.”
The clock on the mantel said fifteen minutes to go.
“We’ve got time left.”
“I know, but would you mind if I left a little early? Stuff’s been piling up; my desk is a—” She grimaced and looked away.
“It’s what, Lucy?”
“I was going to say a bloody mess.” Laughter. “The whole experience has warped me, Dr. Delaware.”
I reached over and touched her shoulder. “Give it time.”
“I’m sure you’re right. . . . Time. I wish there were thirty-four hours in the day.”
“Are you backlogged because of jury duty?”
“No, I cleared the backlog the first week. But my workload seems heavier. They keep shoving stuff at me, as if they’re punishing me.”
“Why would they be punishing you?”
“For taking three months off. The firm was legally obligated to grant me leave, but they weren’t happy about it. When I showed my boss the notice, he told me to get out of it. I didn’t. I thought it was important. I didn’t know what trial I’d be assigned to.”
“Had you known, would you have tried to get out of it?”