Speaking in Tongues

Matthews is a troubled—
    Mr. Collier: Your Honor?
    The Court: Please answer the question, sir.
    Dr. Rothstein: I—
    Mr. Collier: Is the defendant capable of premeditated murder?
    Dr. Rothstein: Yes, but—
    Mr. Collier: No further questions.
    “All he needed was me!” Matthews now raged. “He didn’t need anyone else in his life. We’d spend hours together—when my wife wasn’t trying to sneak him out the door.”
    “Did you love him that much?” Tate asked.
    “You don’t have a clue, do you? Why, you know what we did? Peter and I? We talked. About everything. About snakes, about stars, about floods, about explorers, about airplanes, about the mind . . .”
    Delusional ramblings, Tate imagined. Poor Peter, baffled and lonely, undoubtedly could do nothing but listen.
    Yet . . . with a sorrowful twist deep within him Tate realized that this was something Megan and he didn’t do. They didn’t talk at all. They never had.
    And now we won’t ever, he realized. We’ve lost that chance forever.
    Their captor fell silent, looking into a corner of the hospital lobby, lost in a memory or thought or some confused delusion.
    Finally Tate said, “So, Aaron. Tell me what youwant. Tell me exactly.” He closed his eyes, fighting the incredible pain in his head.
    After a moment Matthews said, “I want justice. Pure and simple. I’m going to kill your daughter and you’re going to watch. You’ll live with that sight for the rest of your life.”
    So it’s come to this . . .
    Tate sighed and thought, as he had so often on the way to the jury box or the podium in a debate, All right, time to get to work.
    •   •   •
    “I don’t know how you can have justice, Aaron,” Tate said to him. “I just don’t know. In all my years practicing law—”
    Matthews’s face writhed in disgust. “Oh, stop right there.”
    “What?” Tate asked innocently.
    “I hear it,” the psychiatrist said. “The glib tongue, the smooth words. You have the orator’s gift . . . sure. We know that. But so do I. I’m immune to you.”
    “I won’t try to talk you into a single thing, Aaron. You don’t seem to be the sort—”
    “It won’t work! Not with me. The advocate’s tricks. The therapist’s tricks. ‘Personalize the discourse.’ ‘Aaron’ this and ‘Aaron’ that. Try to get me to think of you as a specific human being, Tate. But that won’t work, Tate. See, it’s Tate Collier the human being I despise.”
    Undeterred, Tate continued, “Was he your only child? Peter?”
    “Why even try?” Matthews rolled his eyes.
    “All I want is to get out of this and save our lives. Is that a surprise?”
    “A perfect example of a rhetorical question. Well, no, it’s not a surprise. But there’s nothing you can say that’s going to make any difference.”
    “I’m trying to save your life too, Aaron. They know about you. The police. You heard the message from the detective, I assume? On your answering machine?”
    “They may figure it out eventually but since you’re here by yourself, an escapee, I think I have a bit of time.”
    “What does he mean?” Megan asked. “Escapee?”
    He saw no reason to tell her now that her friend Amy was dead. He shook his head and continued, “Let’s talk, Aaron. I’m a wealthy man. You’re going to have to leave the country. I’ll give you some money if you let us go.”
    “Leading with your weakest argument. Doesn’t that mean you’ve just lost the debate? That’s what you say on your American Forensics Association tape.”
    The faint smile never wavered from Tate’s face. “You saw my house, the land,” he continued. “You know I’ve got resources.”
    A splinter of disdain in Matthews’s eyes.
    “How much do you want?”
    “You’re using a rhetorical fallacy. Appealing to a false need—for diversion.” Matthews smiled. “I do it all the time. Soften up the patient, get the defenses down. Then, bang, a kick in the head. Come on, I didn’t do this for ransom. That’s obvious.”
    “Whatever your motive was, Aaron, the circumstances’ve changed. They know about you now. But you’ve got a chance to get out of the country. I can get you a half million in cash. Just like that. More by hocking the house.”
    Matthews said nothing but paced slowly, staring at Megan, who gazed back defiantly.
    Tate knew, of course, that money wasn’t the issue at all; neither was helping Matthews escape. His immediate purpose was simply to make the